Page 51 of Power

“Yeah.” I stood. “I’ll need it.”

26

SCARLETT

The elevator doors whispered open to the top floor, and I stepped out like I belonged there. Like I hadn’t spent the weekend with my legs wrapped around the neck of the man who now owned this building.

Professional. Confident. Pretending that inside me, my stomach wasn’t a bundle of nerves.

Around me, the floor hummed with activity: phones ringing, papers shuffling, the click of expensive shoes on floors. Lockwood Holdings employees had descended like a well-dressed plague, already settling into their new kingdom. But all that white noise faded as my eyes locked on to the mahogany door at the far end of the hall.

My heels struck a steady rhythm against the floor as I approached. Click. Click. Click. The sound of inevitability. With each step, I pushed down the urge to smooth my pencil skirt, check my lipstick, or run nervous fingers through my carefully styled hair. Not because I cared how I looked. (Liar, my brain whispered.) No, this was about walking into that office radiating the kind of confidence that came with knowing your worth.

Even if, right now, I felt about as substantial as a dust speck in a hurricane.

“Excuse me, can I help you?”

I nearly stumbled as a petite brunette materialized in front of me, all pristine suit and arctic-blue eyes.

“Mr. Lockwood requested to see me.”

She arched one perfect eyebrow. “You’re Scarlett West?”

So, he looked up my last name. Something twisted in my stomach.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Take a seat.” She gestured to a row of leather chairs.

“I’ll stand. Thank you.” My voice came out cool, measured.

Fake it till you make it, Scarlett.He’s just the boss,I told my thundering heart.So what?

So what?my anxiety screamed.

In the five minutes I’d spent frantically Googling him before Dakota had come to my office, I’d discovered that Jace Lockwood wasn’t just powerful; he was basically a god in the corporate world. The man owned a multibillion-dollar empire and had acquired more businesses than I had treats for Buttercup (and trust me, that was saying something). According to every gossip blog and business magazine out there, he was one of the most-sought-after bachelors in the world. Though weirdly, I couldn’t find a single reporter who’d ever uncovered an actual relationship. Not one.

So, either the guy didn’t do relationships at all or he was so good at keeping them quiet that everyone involved disappeared into a black hole of silence.

And now here I was, the girl who’d spent the weekend discovering exactly what that mouth could do, about to walk into his office.

“He’ll see you now,” the brunette said, swinging the mahogany door open.

Okay … looks like my throat has decided to go all dry.

Chin up. Shoulders back. I strode into the corner office—a space that could have swallowed my entire apartment whole. The massive glass conference table caught my eye, and suddenly, mybrain decided to replay the image of Jace sprawled across a similar table, blindfolded, his muscles tensing as I?—

Not. Helping.

I forced my gaze toward the desk at the far end of the room, just as Jace rose from his chair. The moment our eyes met, everything slowed to a crawl. Like someone had pressed slow motion on the universe, leaving only us, the air between us, and the dust dancing in the sunlight that stretched through the wall of windows. His emerald eyes sparkled, just a fraction, but enough to tell me he felt it, too, this crackling awareness that made it hard to breathe.

The sound of his steps echoed in the silence as he rounded the desk, and holy mother of God. Earlier, shock had short-circuited my ability to fully process what stood before me. Now? Now I could appreciate how that Italian suit hugged every hard plane of his body, how it barely contained those tattooed muscles I’d spent hours tracing with my tongue. And underneath all that expensive fabric? I knew exactly what kind of black boxer briefs?—

Focus, Scarlett. Professional.

He settled against the edge of his desk, all coiled power and casual dominance. Much like when he’d leaned against that other table, and I’d taken him into the back of my throat and?—

“Scarlett.” My name rolled off his tongue like dark honey, hitting me low in the belly. “Thank you for coming.” He gestured to one of the leather chairs. “Please. Take a seat.”