Page 11 of High Stakes (The Morrison Brothers #2)

"Not a single one," Elena says, her eyes clear and certain.

She's flushed and slightly disheveled, her hair tangled from my hands, her lips swollen from my kisses. She's never looked more beautiful.

What just happened between us was unlike anything I've experienced before. Sex has always been a physical release for me, a biological necessity managed efficiently like everything else in my life.

But this… This was transcendent. Not just the physical pleasure, which was admittedly mind-blowing, but the connection. The feeling of being truly seen, truly known.

For the first time in years—perhaps ever—I'm completely distracted from my usual preoccupations.

No thoughts of stock prices or market fluctuations or competitive strategy intrude.

The constant mental calculations that usually occupy my brain have fallen silent.

In this moment, I don't care about business empires or billion-dollar deals or my reputation.

All I care about is Elena, the way sunlight plays on her skin, the curve of her smile, the soft sound of her breathing. All I want is to seize this moment, to burn it into my memory forever.

"What are you thinking?" she asks, reaching out to trace my jawline with her fingertips.

"That I'm happy," I say simply. The words feel foreign on my tongue. When was the last time I acknowledged feeling happy? I've felt satisfied, accomplished, vindicated, but simple happiness has been elusive for so long I'd almost forgotten what it feels like.

Her smile widens. "Good. Me too."

We help each other clean up as best we can with the limited supplies we have, sharing teasing smiles and stealing kisses like teenagers.

By the time our boat returns to collect us, we've managed to look somewhat presentable, though I'm certain the knowing grin on our captain's face means he isn't fooled.

On the journey back to the villa, Elena sits close beside me, our shoulders touching, her hand occasionally brushing mine. I find myself already planning our next two days—what we'll do, where we'll go, how I can maximize every moment with her before we return to reality.

Reality. New York, the company, our professional relationship. All complications we'll need to address. But not yet. Not today. Today is just for us.

As if reading my thoughts, Elena squeezes my hand. "One day at a time," she murmurs.

I turn to her, struck anew by how perfectly she understands me. "One day at a time," I agree, and for once in my planned life, that feels like enough.

Whatever comes next, we'll face it together.

One Month Later

New York City

I straighten my tie, checking my reflection one last time before heading out to the main office. My morning routine hasn't changed. Same suit, same coffee, same attention to appearance, but everything else has.

Elena moved in three weeks ago, filling my empty penthouse with warmth and light.

My kitchen now contains actual food instead of just coffee and protein bars.

There are fresh flowers on the dining table, novels on the nightstand, a ridiculous fuzzy throw blanket on the couch that I pretend to find excessive but secretly love.

My space is no longer just mine, and somehow that feels like an expansion rather than an invasion.

The transition wasn't seamless. The first week back in New York was awkward, both of us unsure how to navigate our new relationship in the familiar professional setting.

Elena insisted on maintaining separate residences initially, concerned about appearances and the company's anti-fraternization policies.

That lasted exactly five days before I presented her with a formal document outlining why her concerns, while valid, were logistically solvable. She'd laughed and called me the only man who would create a PowerPoint presentation to convince a woman to move in with him.

But she'd said yes.

The HR situation resolved itself more easily than expected.

As CEO, I'm technically exempt from the fraternization policy, which primarily exists to prevent supervisors from coercing subordinates.

Still, to avoid any appearance of impropriety, Elena now reports directly to my COO, Vanessa.

The arrangement works surprisingly well; Vanessa appreciates Elena's competence, and Elena enjoys the slightly different challenges of her adjusted role.

As for the company gossip... well, that was inevitable. But rather than the scandal I'd half-expected, the news of our relationship was met primarily with knowing smiles and muttered comments about "It's about time." Apparently, our attraction wasn't as subtle as we'd thought.

My brothers, predictably, were merciless in their teasing.

David called it a "miracle of biblical proportions" that I'd actually developed human emotions.

Jack demanded to meet the "saint who can tolerate living with me.

" Even Ethan emerged from his mountain solitude long enough to text a simple "She must be extraordinary. Don't screw it up."

They're not wrong. She is extraordinary.

I check my watch—8:15 a.m. Time for the morning executive briefing. I exit my office, nodding to my new assistant, Thomas, who hands me a tablet with the day's agenda.

Elena is already in the conference room, deep in conversation with Vanessa. She looks up as I enter, and the smile that crosses her face makes my heart skip in a way that would probably concern my doctor if he could measure it now.

"Good morning, Mr. Morrison," she says, her professional tone belied by the warmth in her eyes.

"Ms. Carter," I reply with equal formality, though I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. "Is everyone here?"

"Just waiting on Legal," Vanessa says, glancing between us with barely concealed amusement.

The rest of the executive team filters in, and the meeting begins.

It's standard business—quarterly projections, market analysis, upcoming initiatives.

I lead the discussion as always, but I find myself soliciting more input, listening more actively.

Elena catches my eye at one point and gives me an approving nod.

This is another unexpected change in the past month.

Seeing my company through Elena's eyes has made me more aware of how I interact with my team.

I'm still demanding, still expect excellence, but I'm trying to be more conscious of the human element.

The results have been positive—increased engagement, more innovative suggestions, a lighter atmosphere despite our always intense workload.

After the meeting, I find myself alone with Vanessa as the others file out.

"The Anderson deal is looking promising," she says, gathering her materials. "Their CEO called me directly yesterday. I think we've got them."

"Excellent work," I tell her sincerely.

"You know, when you first told me about you and Elena, I had concerns."

I raise an eyebrow. "Concerns?"

"Office relationships are complicated. Power dynamics, potential favoritism, the fallout if things go south." She shrugs. "But I have to admit, you've handled it well. And you seem... different."

"Different how?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Happier," she says simply. "More present. Less likely to make junior analysts cry."

I laugh. "I've never made anyone cry."

"Keep telling yourself that," she replies dryly. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is... I'm happy for you both. And speaking as your longest-serving executive, it's about damn time you found someone who can match you."

"Thank you," I say, surprised by her candor. "That means a lot."

She waves off my gratitude. "Just don't mess it up. Good assistants are hard to find, and good partners even more so."

With that parting wisdom, she leaves me alone in the conference room.

I stand at the window, looking out at the Manhattan skyline.

This view used to be my favorite thing about this office.

The visual representation of the world I've conquered, the empire I've built.

Now it's just a nice backdrop to the life I'm building with Elena.

My phone buzzes with a text. It's from Elena: "Lunch at that Italian place you pretend not to love? I have news."

I smile and text back: "Meet you in the lobby at 12:30. What news?"

The three dots appear, then: "Patient, Mr. Morrison. All will be revealed over pasta."

I slip my phone back into my pocket, intrigued. Elena's "news" could be anything from securing reservations at an impossible-to-book restaurant to solving the housing crisis. Her range of interests and capabilities never ceases to amaze me.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of meetings and decisions. By 12:25, I'm in the elevator heading down to the lobby.

Elena is already waiting, chatting with the security guard.

She's wearing a blue dress that matches her eyes, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail.

Every time I see her, I'm struck anew by how beautiful she is, not just physically but in the way she lights up a room, the way she connects with people.

"Right on time," she says as I approach. "I was just telling George about that little café we found in Saint Lucia."

"The one with the dancing?" I ask, smiling at the memory.

"You danced, sir?" George asks, his eyes widening.

"Absolutely not," I reply firmly. "I have standards to maintain."

Elena laughs. "He watched me dance while maintaining a safe distance and his dignity."

We say goodbye to George and head outside, where Thomas has arranged for a car to take us to the restaurant. Once inside the privacy of the backseat, I take Elena's hand in mine.

"So, what's this mysterious news?" I ask.

"All in good time," she teases. "How was your morning?"

"Productive. The Anderson deal is looking good. And apparently, I'm making fewer junior analysts cry these days."

She laughs. "Vanessa?"

"Who else? She's surprisingly supportive of our relationship, by the way."