Page 19 of For the Plot

Archer was fourteen. He needed someone who could show up and absorb the pain, make sense of the loss, remind him that the world could still be safe. But I didn’t know how to be that for him.

Instead, I buried myself in code, deadlines, and investment rounds. I became a machine out of necessity, and then I stayed that way because it was easier.

It took years to win my son back. Years to prove I could be more than a memory of absence. And now that we’re finally in a good place, now that we’ve found some kind of rhythm again… I hired his ex-girlfriend. A woman I can’t seem to stop fucking thinking about.

I can hear her laughing in my head.You didn’t think that through, did you?

No. I didn’t. But I will. I’ll keep it professional. I’ll keep my distance. I won’t let her smile mean more than it should. I won’t let her presence fill the spaces I’ve kept empty on purpose.

This is temporary. Sixteen weeks. Then it ends.

I take one last sip of the bourbon, finish it in a single, slow swallow, and set the glass down. Then I rise from the chair, roll my sleeves to the elbow, and walk back toward my desk. There are emails to send. Contracts to finalize. Rules to reinforce before she steps into my space.

Because if I don’t set the boundaries now… I won’t have any left to hold on to.

Chapter 5

Skye

There's nothing like anxiety and last-minute self-loathing to make a girl question all of her life choices before nine a.m. I stare at my reflection in the mirrored elevator, clutching my coffee like it might give me answers. Or courage. Or a tranquilizer.

The elevator dings softly as it climbs past the twenty-second floor. I catch my own eyes in the mirror and mutter under my breath, "You are smart. You are capable. You are not going to accidentally hit on your ex's incredibly fiiiiine dad."

The woman next to me gives me a startled look.

I smile politely. "Morning affirmations. Big day."

She nods like she gets it, confusion written all over her face, but I don’t have the energy to be embarrassed right now.

My heart is beating rapidly out of sync with the sleek jazz playing in the elevator. My outfit is professional in thatI'm definitely trying to look like I've got my shit togetherway—black tailored pants, silky mauve blouse tucked just enough, a structured blazer, and my favorite pair of kick-ass heels. I even wore lipstick… Like that's going to protect me.

At my old job, I didn’t work with the executives. Sure, we had a quarterly meeting with everyone in my department, but Iwas never working one-on-one with any of them, and I certainly wasn’t attracted to any of them.

The elevator doors slide open on the thirty-fifth floor, and I step into the headquarters of Blackwood Ventures.

It's… stunning.

The open-plan office with clean lines has glass walls that reflect the city like a painting. The kind of design that whispersmoneywithout screamingnew money.Modern but not cold. Expensive but tasteful. A little intimidating, which probably explains why I immediately start sweating.

A woman with a perfect chignon and a head-to-toe black ensemble greets me at the reception desk. She checks me in, hands me a sleek visitor badge with my name already printed, and smiles like she knows I'm nervous.

"This way, Miss Rhodes. Mr. Blackwood asked me to walk you up."

Of course he did.

She leads me past a row of offices, the sound of heels clicking softly against polished marble. I catch glimpses of glass conference rooms, people on video calls, the scent of espresso and whatever cologne the building is legally required to pump through the air to remind you that you’re in a man’s world.

Everything's precise, every little detail attended to like it belongs to someone who doesn't miss a thing. And I feel like a smudge on a Monet.

We stop in front of a corner office that has no business being that beautiful. The door is cracked slightly. The assistant gestures toward it and says in a gentle tone, "He's expecting you," then she disappears.

I don't move right away.

I stand there, holding my coffee, staring at the inch of open door like it might bite me.

This is fine. Totally fine. It's a job. A temp job. For a man who used to intimidate the hell out of me just by existing and now makes my stomach flip like a teen in a CW drama.

I'm not nervous because I like him. I'm nervous because he's powerful. And okay, fine, hot… Really hot.