Page 19

DOMINIC

S team hissed softly from the espresso machine in the kitchen, the scent of dark roast drifting across the open floor plan of the penthouse. Evening light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making it unnecessary for me to have the lights on yet.

I sat at my desk near the fireplace, sleeves rolled to the elbow, a stack of merger documents fanned out across the surface. My suit jacket hung over the back of the chair where I hung it when I walked in and sat down here, and I hadn’t moved since.

It wasn’t late, but I had been working too long—and I was in no mood for any more drama or problems. I had gotten four more texts from David reminding me how upset he was, and they left no room for misinterpretation.

He’d seen the PR push, and I knew he was appalled by the images of me with his daughter.

Something he never had to say to make very clear to me.

I leaned back and rubbed a hand over my face, then scrolled back to the top of the file on my computer screen.

Something wasn’t right. The budget breakdown for the Milan campaign was clean on the surface.

Polished formatting, no typos, column totals aligned.

But when I cross-referenced the metadata against our secure export logs, the time stamp didn’t match.

This file had been opened externally—by someone outside Raven she was becoming more and more every day, and maybe I was a fool, but I hoped what we had could transition into something more permanent.

His jaw tightened. “No, but she’ll be the one they drag through the mud when this falls apart.

Not you. You’ll have PR firms and attorneys and spin campaigns and millions of dollars to back it.

She’ll have her name on gossip blogs and her face torn apart by headline vultures.

I’ve seen what happens to women in the fallout, Dominic.

And I won’t let her be collateral.” His finger pulled back, and I had to stifle a wince of my own.

He was right, and I knew it. The words hit me in the gut—hard. For a moment, I didn’t respond. Then I shook my head. “You’re underestimating her.” I had no ground to stand on so I argued on principle alone, weakly though.

David’s expression didn’t waver. He moved behind his desk and tapped the keyboard to wake his monitor. “No. I’m underestimating you.”

That was it for me.

I turned and walked out in a huff. I didn’t slam the door, but I didn’t close it gently either.

My footsteps echoed on the tile as I made my way toward the elevator.

But I didn’t wait for the carriage. I was too steamed up, so I took the stairs down five flights, needing the motion, needing the air.

The chill outside cut the heat still coiled beneath my skin.

I pulled my keys from my pocket as I crossed the lot toward my car.

My phone buzzed in my hand. Thinking it was already a new message from David riding me about the situation, I almost ignored it, but I had to get my mind off things, so I caved and swiped to read it. It was from Savannah.

Savannah: 3:17 PM: Thanks for making yesterday’s shoot bearable. That could’ve been ten times worse.

It was the first message she’d sent me that wasn’t about work. It was short and casual, but it felt sincere. I stood by the car door and reread it twice, thumbs hovering over the screen. I could respond. I wanted to. Something dry and light, maybe. Something that wouldn’t scare her off.

But before I could type a word, the screen lit up again with a call from Graham.

I answered with a clipped, “What now?”

His voice was tight and clipped with urgency. “We’ve got another problem. You need to hear this.”

I unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat, already dreading what he was going to tell me. “Talk.”

“There’s been another leak. It hit a wire service twenty minutes ago. We pulled the origin and…this time it’s not a financial sheet. It’s emails—from your account.”

I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles whitening against the leather.

For a second, I stayed like that—silent, locked up, staring through the windshield without seeing anything.

A part of me wanted to punch the dash, to scream, to tear out every root of this mess with my bare hands.

But I didn’t. I sat there, jaw clenched, pulse pounding. “What kind of emails?” I grumbled.

“Internal correspondence between you and the CEO of Raven & Rhodes. Merger projections, executive tone guidance, draft statements. Some of it is sensitive and some is already being misquoted.”

“How bad?” I closed my eyes to block out some of the mental stimulation. After being so angry at David, this was the last thing I needed. I’d have to go on hypertension meds if this didn’t let up.

“Bad enough. The board’s already calling. Press wants a statement. This isn’t just a breach—it’s a PR fire. And they’re dragging your name across every business feed like you leaked it yourself.” Graham sounded defeated, which made me feel defeated.

My jaw clenched. I forced my voice to stay calm. “Get me everything. Source traffic, publication time stamps, social escalation. I want to see who picked it up first.”

“Already in your inbox,” he said. “But Dominic—it looks personal this time.”

“Do we know who did it?” I asked him, but he didn’t really have to respond.

“I’ll give you one guess what floor it came from…”

I didn’t need to guess. I already knew.

I just didn’t know why.