Page 5 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless

"No." I shake my head. "I've always been Chanel Warren professionally. No one makes the connection."

"What did you do?"

"My job." I attempt nonchalance and miss spectacularly. "What else could I do?"

She examines me intently, her eyes pausing a beat too long on my face, as if searching for invisible fingerprints he might have left. Then she reaches across the counter to squeeze my hand.

"Are you okay?"

No. Not remotely.

"I'm fine." I manufacture a smile that threatens to fracture my composure. "It was just unexpected. But we're both adults. We can handle a few weeks of professional interaction."

"Right." Disbelief radiates from her.

I see it in her expression, the concern and protectiveness that’s made her my fiercest defender since Jakob's departure.

Her fingers tighten. "And if it becomes too much, you'll tell someone? Ask to be reassigned?"

The suggestion stiffens my spine. "Absolutely not. I've worked too hard for this account. I'm not letting him take another thing from me."

"That's my girl."

Dinner unfolds in a blend of routine. Jambalaya spicier than I would prepare, cornbread perfectly sweet, and Jaden's non-stop chatter about his day. I listen and laugh appropriately, but part of me remains in that conference room, ensnared in Jakob's aura.

After dinner, after Jaden's bath and bedtime story, after Latanya hugs me goodbye with a promise to check in tomorrow, I linger in the doorway of my son's room and watch him sleep.

In the soft glow of his space-themed night light, his resemblance to his father is unmistakable. The curve of his jaw, the sweep of his eyelashes against his cheeks, the slight furrow between his brows.

He's wrapped in the blue blanket with tiny elephants marching around the border—the one Jakob bought when he was born. The one I've repeatedly told Jaden belongs in his room, not mine.

I should relocate it. Should banish it to the linen closet, where I wouldn't encounter it.

Instead, I gently tuck it around him, my fingertips betraying me by lingering on the soft fabric that somehow still carries a ghost of the cologne Jakob once wore.

I close Jaden's door silently and move down the hallway to my bedroom. The one space in this house that's exclusively mine.

Except it isn't tonight.

Because on my nightstand lies Jaden's science fair outline with pages of careful notes in my son's meticulous handwriting.Ideas for a volcano he's been designing for weeks, with sketches annotated in two distinct styles. Mine. And Jakob's.

I lift the papers, recognizing Jakob's sharp, slanted penmanship, so similar to what Jaden's is becoming. Notes about chemical reactions and scale models. Encouragement in the margins:Great idea, buddy. This will work perfectly.

My grip tightens on the pages, creasing them before I catch myself. I smooth them flat again and replace them carefully.

Then I sink onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion collapsing into my bones. The precise control I've maintained dissolves at last.

My fingers vibrate against the sheets, tiny seismic warnings spreading upward until I press my palms flat against my thighs to quiet them. Four years of public distance, and he dismantles it with one glance across mahogany.

It was never meant to unfold like this. We were supposed to be different. The couple who endured. The love that refused to break.

Instead, we became statistics. A cautionary tale. Two people who couldn't articulate what mattered until the opportunity vanished.

I close my eyes, allowing myself to remember the moment our gazes connected across that conference table. The shock. The recognition. The dangerous current that still flows between us despite everything.

This audit won’t be clean.

And neither is what still lingers from the past.