Page 7 of Suddenly Desired (APEX Billionaires’ Club #2)

BLAKE

The drive back to his apartment felt like it took for ever, even though it was just three miles from the Heartbook campus.

Every car seemed to crawl in front of him, every traffic light turned red at the worst moment, and it felt as though every pedestrian on the pavement was throwing silent accusations his way.

Even the doorman at the exclusive luxury apartment block he called home seemed annoyed, offering Blake the briefest of nods as he walked past the desk.

Only when the lift doors slid shut did he allow himself a long, deep breath.

The soft hum of the lift and the solitude calmed him, but only slightly.

He leaned back against the mirrored wall and closed his eyes.

For a moment he debated keeping them closed.

At least with his eyes shut he wouldn’t notice how empty it was there, how quiet.

The penthouse had been his idea — a way to shield himself from the chaos that came with being Blake Fielding .

He had never cared for the celebrity status that his wealth had brought him, but avoiding it had been near impossible.

The press, the speculation, the endless scrutiny — it followed him everywhere.

Here, though, in this sleek, high-rise sanctuary, he had been untouchable.

The building’s security was airtight, the lifts private and locked with codes.

No cameras, no unwanted visitors. Just silence.

At least, that’s how it used to be.

Now, even within these walls, he couldn’t escape what was happening. The headlines had seeped through. The accusations clung to him like smoke.

Blake stepped out of the lift and into his lair, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering city below. The penthouse had once felt like a retreat. Now it felt like a cage.

He composed himself and headed straight for the walk-in wardrobe inside his master-bedroom suite, pulling the tie from his neck with a frustrated tug.

He shrugged off the jacket and slid off the trousers, tossing them on to the bed.

The shirt was next, and he balled it up and lobbed it into the laundry basket on the other side of the room.

He put on a pair of jeans, complementing them with a plain grey T-shirt that clung to his athletic frame. For the first time all day he felt like he could breathe. Recovering the bright pink notebook from his jacket, he walked through to the living area and sat on the sofa.

The penthouse stretched out before him, vast and hollow.

It hadn’t always been this empty, though.

Michelle had moved in quickly, and with her came the slow, insidious takeover.

The sleek, designer furniture. The strategically placed abstract art.

The state-of-the-art tech built into every surface.

At first, he’d told himself it didn’t matter — he didn’t care much about aesthetics, and Michelle had an eye for these things — but it had never felt like his home.

Everything had been sharp edges and curated perfection, a reflection of her.

David had always disapproved of Michelle. Even before they got together, he’d made offhand comments — warnings Blake had ignored. “She’s all ambition, Blake. And you? You’re the prize.” Back then, he’d written it off as jealousy or cynicism. Now, he wished he’d listened.

His gaze flicked to the bright pink notebook, an absurd splash of colour in the monochrome surroundings.

He smiled to himself. She was all mismatched hues and creative chaos.

She was notebooks spilling out of bags, doodles in margins, ideas scrawled in ink-smudged pages.

Nothing about her was carefully curated, and that was precisely why she had got under his skin so quickly.

He ran a finger over the cover, frowning at the idea that he’d kept it. It wasn’t his, and returning it was going to relive the awkward moment when he’d met the woman it belonged to. Blake had staff to deal with lost property, so why was this notebook resting on his palm, willing him to open it?

Her handwriting was small but full of loops, straying from the line.

His mum had a knack of reading people from their handwriting.

She’d have taken a look at it and given Blake an instant report on the owner’s personality.

The small letters indicated that she was shy, introverted maybe.

But the loops showed that she was creative and expressive, not afraid to do her own thing.

The fact that she’d missed out the first two fields for name and address, then added a cute message into the space for the reward, gave the impression that she didn’t always follow the rules.

And the three exclamation marks matched her smile perfectly, her contagious energy.

Blake leaned his head against the back of the sofa, letting the notebook lie in his lap as his thoughts wandered back to the woman with the wide-eyed expression.

A slow heat uncurled in his chest. It had been a long time since he’d felt this kind of unfiltered, raw pull, and it wasn’t an awful feeling.

Her messy hair, her freckled nose, the soft curve of her lips — the memory of her made him stir.

Blake adjusted his jeans where they were growing tighter and snapped the book closed.

“Focus!” he ordered himself. There were more important things he needed to do.

He got up from the sofa, leaving the notebook behind.

He walked across the living area into the small extra bedroom he used as a home office and opened up one of the three laptops he kept there, logging into the Heartbook mainframe.

On another he opened Google, searching for his name.

He instantly regretted it, the landing page lighting up with articles about the things that had been posted on his account.

He scrolled through the first few entries, his anger and frustration growing with each one.

The posts weren’t just controversial, they were hateful.

Whoever had posted them had a serious problem with women.

Nobody sane would say the things that they were saying, even if they were just doing it to frame him. It made him feel physically sick.

The comments were worse. It seemed as if the world had already judged him to be guilty.

On all the social media networks, including his own, people were calling on him to resign, to leave the country, to leave the planet , and a whole lot worse as well.

He wanted to respond to them all, to protest his innocence, but he knew that would be a mistake.

He needed evidence first, then he could clear his name.

He snapped the second laptop shut and focused on the first, using his Heartbook passwords to access the site databases. Pressing ‘enter’, he was greeted by a pop-up message denying him access.

Weird , he thought. He tried again, but it wasn’t letting him in.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, calling David.

“Hey, Blake,” his friend said, answering after a single ring. “Hope you’re staying away from the news, buddy. They’re not taking any prisoners.”

Blake got straight to the point. “I’m trying to log in. What’s going on?”

He heard David sigh, and instantly knew the answer.

“They’ve locked me out,” Blake said. “Who gave the order?”

“Blake,” said David. “It’s protocol. The whole network is in lockdown. We’ve lost a quarter of a million users already. It’s for—”

“Who, David?” he interrupted, getting out of his seat so that the full authority of his voice made it across the airwaves. “Tell me, now.”

“Michelle,” David said, telling Blake what he already knew. “She ordered it the moment the meeting ended. I only just found out myself.”

“She doesn’t have the power to do that.” Blake’s whole body was shaking with rage. “It’s my company.”

“Not since it floated,” David said. “She had Maurice’s backing. Agnes’s too.”

Blake bit his tongue. David was right. Even though he and David had built Heartbook together, they didn’t control it anymore. If the board had a majority, then any decision they passed was law.

“I’m doing what I can,” said David, his voice crackling over the line. “But the posts are still appearing, going back further. They’re getting worse, too. There’s nothing you can do from there. Let me handle it.”

Blake nodded. “Handle it,” he said. “Please.”

He ended the call and dropped his phone on to his desk, gripping the edges to steady himself.

His pulse pounded in his ears, rage simmering just beneath the surface.

He wanted to fight back, to wrest control of his company from Michelle, from Maurice, from Agnes — from whoever thought they could manipulate the empire he’d built from scratch.

But right now, all he had was anger and no direction to channel it.

He stared at his phone, hesitating for a moment before picking it back up and scrolling through his contacts.

If anyone could give him clarity in this context, it was his old friend and fellow APEX Billionaire Club member Devlin Storm.

Devlin had once been the target of a lot of negative press — he’d know what to do.

The line barely rang before Devlin’s voice came through, steady and grounded. “Blake, I didn’t expect to hear from you. What’s happened?”

“Have you not seen the news?”

“I’ve been out on the mountains,” Devlin replied, and in the background Blake could hear the thrum of the blades on Devlin’s rescue chopper. “Give me the bullet points.”

“I need advice,” Blake said, his voice tight.

“I’m in a mess. Someone has hacked my Heartbook account and made misogynistic comments in my name.

My company is in lockdown, my access blocked, the board’s made a move against me, and the whole of the internet is convinced I’m a prejudiced arsehole. It’s bad, Devlin.”

There was a pause, the sound of muffled voices and the faint whir of helicopter blades.

“Damn,” Devlin said, eventually. “I’m online and I can see why you’re calling.”

Blake let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair, afraid of what Devlin was reading.

“I didn’t say those things.”

“Of course you didn’t. Did you think I’d even think it, let alone believe this crap?”

“So, what should I do? What would you do?”

“Have you talked to Nate? If anyone can help, it’s him,” Devlin said, his tone calm. “But I’d start by deciding what matters most. Is it the company? Your reputation? Or something else entirely? You can’t fight everything at once, Blake. Pick your priority and hit it hard.”

Blake swallowed, his throat tightening. “The company. Heartbook. It’s everything I’ve built.”

“Then focus on that,” Devlin hit back. “You don’t need to defend yourself to the mob. Let the noise die down while you dig for the truth. Find out who’s really behind this, and don’t stop until you have answers. But Blake . . .”

“What?” Blake’s grip was tightening on his phone.

“Don’t lose yourself in the process. Your company might be hugely successful, but you’re more than that.”

Blake nodded, even though Devlin couldn’t see him. “Thanks, Dev. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Devlin said as the whir of the blades increased. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’m about to lift off. But remember, stay clear-headed, focus on your priority, and don’t let them pull you under.”

“Love you, man,” Blake said.

“You too.” The line went dead.

Blake laid the phone gently on the desk and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as Devlin’s sage words echoed in his mind. Pick your priority. Hit it hard.

He knew what he had to do. It was time to stop reacting and start taking control.

But first . . .

He made his way back to his bedroom, grabbed a grey sports hoodie from his wardrobe and zipped it up.

He put up his hood and donned a pair of aviator sunglasses from the table by the door.

Glancing in the mirror, he decided he could be anyone, just an average guy out for a walk.

He picked up the pink book again, reading the note:

No money to give you, but come down to The Bookworm Café and I’ll make you a coffee!!!

It might all end in nothing. She might not even be there. But it felt like the right thing to do.

Heaven knew he needed a coffee. And maybe, just maybe, he needed to see her too.

Smiling, he stepped into the lift.