Page 8 of The Final Contract (The Black Ledger Billionaires #5)

T his isn’t the worst date I’ve ever been on.

But Elijah Carter? He’s easily in the top three for douchiest men I’ve had to endure. And that’s saying something.

In my line of work, I’m paid to cater to men—to fluff their egos, make them feel big, brilliant, powerful. But Elijah is doing all of that for himself, puffing his own chest without any help from me. Of all the rich and elite men I’ve crossed paths with, he may be the most self-centered.

Nine o’clock can’t come soon enough.

The last ten minutes, he hasn’t shut up about some rival tech entrepreneur he’s about to surpass with a new development. I know from Eve he’s referring to Jaxon Kane, and hearing Elijah talk so confidently is almost comical.

Jaxon isn’t just another tech entrepreneur.

He’s it. He sits leagues above the world, shaping it with every idea.

If he hasn’t produced something, it’s probably because he already handed the concept off to someone else, bored of its simplicity.

After Jaxon, all the other tech leaders fight among themselves for scraps.

And Elijah? Elijah isn’t even near the top of that list.

So I sit there, nodding in polite agreement while my mind drifts.

I daydream about being home, scrubbing off this makeup, curling into my pajamas with my fireplace on.

I’m starving, and the thought of food from Hearth—the sleeker, residents-only version of Ember & Ash—makes my stomach clench.

One of Manhattan’s best steakhouses, worth every outrageous dollar Damien Wolfe charges to live in one of his buildings.

A soft throat clearing behind me snaps me back. Killian.

I feel the warmth of him at my back as he takes hold of my chair. “I’m afraid it’s time for Miss Wilde to go.”

He pulls it out gently, and I rise, folding my linen napkin onto the table. Killian steps back but keeps his eyes locked on the two of us, giving Elijah the chance to play gentleman and say goodbye.

Instead, Elijah catches my hand and lifts it, pressing his mouth to my knuckles. “You are even more lovely in person, Seraphina.”

Then he leans in, voice dropping low, breath too close. “I thought we could ditch your big, scary bodyguard and perhaps get to know each other more privately at my place with a nightcap.”

My stomach twists. He’s close enough now that I can see a faint ring around his irises—colored contacts.

And suddenly, a thought drops like ice water through my veins.

What if he’s wearing colored contacts to hide it? The ice-blue eye that makes my stalker stand out above everyone else.

I stumble back, tripping on the leg of the chair. Elijah lets go instantly, unconcerned, but Killian isn’t. His arms catch under mine, pulling me tight against him, solid and sure, keeping me from hitting the floor.

“Whoa,” Elijah says with a grin, clearly thinking himself clever. “Didn’t mean to sweep you off your feet on the first date.”

He’s not clever. He’s desperate. Pathetic.

I can feel Killian vibrating behind me, his fury restrained but barely. If I don’t end this now, he might.

I ease out of his arms, smooth down my dress, and extend my hand. “Thank you for the lovely evening, Mr. Carter.”

His mouth tightens, and I can see it in his stare—the offense, the realization that the night is over and nothing else is coming. But with Killian standing a few feet away, looking like a caged beast waiting for someone to unlatch the door, Elijah swallows it down.

“Likewise,” he says stiffly.

I try to walk normally to the waiting limo, my heels clicking across the pavement, Felix sitting tall and steady behind the wheel. Killian keeps pace at my side, a silent shadow, his presence heavier than the night air.

He reaches for the door handle, opening it in one smooth motion, then extends his hand.

Instinct takes over. Muscle memory. My fingers slip into his before I think better of it.

His hand feels warmer than usual—not the kind of heat from an overheated body, but something else. A steady, grounding warmth that sinks through my skin and steadies the tremor Elijah left behind.

Maybe it’s just the shit show of the evening. Maybe his familiar touch feels like a tether because I’ve spent the last two hours enduring Elijah Carter’s endless bragging. Or maybe it’s because when we arrived, Killian didn’t offer me his hand at all. He always does.

And I’d bitten back the sting of it. Because I can’t let myself forget why I’m here. I’m here to find a husband. A future. When I do, Killian will be reassigned. I won’t need him anymore.

But for now, I cling to that moment of contact.

His hand is firm, his palm calloused, so much larger than mine that it swallows my fingers whole.

I can feel the tension in him, like he’s on the cusp of saying something—about Elijah, about my ridiculous date, about the way I tripped on a chair leg like a nervous schoolgirl.

So I slide into the limo without looking at him and cut him off at the pass. “Don’t even say it.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

But the faint curve of his mouth, the ghost of a smirk, betrays him completely.

Killian shrugs out of his suit jacket before sliding into the back seat with me. Another deviation. On the way here, he’d sat in the front with Felix, a deliberate wall between us. Now he’s back in his usual spot, close enough that I can feel the air shift with him.

And I hate to admit it, but I feel better for it. If something happened, at least I’d see him, know he’d face it with me.

The car eases forward, headlights cutting through Manhattan’s night. Killian’s fingers tap against his knee in a steady rhythm before he stops, tugging at his cuffs, rolling one sleeve with deliberate precision.

By the time he starts on the second, I catch myself watching—the flex of his forearms, the hard line of muscle that no fabric could disguise, the curve of his biceps shifting under his shirt.

“You want to tell me what that was about back there?” His voice is quiet, but it cuts.

My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“When you tripped over the chair. You weren’t clumsy. You were startled. Like you were about to bolt straight through the wall.”

I glance out the window. “It was silly, really.”

“Nothing is silly when it could help us figure out who’s harassing you.”

The intensity in his gray eyes catches me when I finally look back at him. It holds me there until I let out a breath.

“I thought…” My voice lowers, almost embarrassed. “What if he’s wearing colored contacts? What if Elijah’s the stalker? It was just the thought, and then I—reacted. It was dumb.”

Killian doesn’t blink. “That’s not dumb. You’ve been pretending this doesn’t exist because that’s how you survive it. But tonight made it real. And now it can’t be ignored.”

His words settle heavy in my chest.

“Why him?” he presses. “Why’d you think he could be the stalker?”

“Because…” My throat tightens, but I force it out. “He’s a similar height. A similar build.”

Killian nods once, then pulls out his phone, thumbs already moving across the screen.

I frown. “What are you doing?”

“Building a profile. Everything we know goes in. Every detail. It’ll go into Ledger files—and Jaxon’s system.”

I nod slowly, leaning back against the leather seat. “Right.”

The car hums on, city lights sliding past, but I don’t speak again. The rest of the ride, I just stare out the window and try to piece together how quickly this all spun out of control. How a few flowers, a few notes, became this.

And how crazy it feels to know that, for once, I can’t just walk away.

The elevator ride up to my penthouse is quiet, only the low hum of the cables filling the space. Finn will be posted at my door tonight, and Killian—well, for all intents and purposes, he’s moving in.

Guest room, most nights. Rotating guards at the door. And one day a week, Killian will be off duty, and someone else will be my shadow.

That’s the plan, anyway.

When the doors slide open, we walk the short stretch of hallway to my door. Finn straightens from his post, sharp suit fitting his tall frame perfectly.

“Finn,” I nod in greeting.

“Ma’am,” he replies, his Irish accent wrapping around the single word. Stronger than Killian’s, unmistakable. Killian’s is faint, slipping out here and there in certain words—but Finn’s? Full and rich.

And it makes me think… if Killian’s accent ever bled through like that, paired with his already dangerous good looks and that lethal body?

Deadly.

As it is, Manhattan’s women are already in trouble.

I’m about to suggest food, already halfway to saying it aloud. “I was thinking of ordering some?—”

The thought dies in my throat.

The moment the door swings open, a scent greets me. Rich, decadent, mouthwatering. And the warmth of flames flickering from the fireplace, casting the room in soft amber glow.

My steps slow as I take it in—the low lights, the fire, and a lavish spread of dishes arranged carefully in my living room.

My living room.

The place where I always end up. Not the table, not the stools at the bar. The couch. The deep, overstuffed couch that swallows me whole while I eat and read, while I let the world fade away.

It’s exactly what I wanted after tonight. Exactly what I daydreamed of during Elijah Carter’s never-ending monologue. And it’s already here.

Already waiting for me.

I glance over my shoulder. Killian is standing a few feet back, speaking low to Finn, pretending like none of this has anything to do with him.

I can’t help myself.

“Finn,” I say sweetly, “did you do this?”

The look on Killian’s face is priceless—staring straight ahead at the blank wall, like he wasn’t expecting me to throw the bait.

Finn’s mouth twitches. He cuts his eyes toward Killian, already catching on, and smiles. “Aye, well, I might take the credit for it, but I reckon he’d sack me straight away. Kill took care of ye, ma’am.”

Killian’s glare could burn a hole straight through him. “That’ll be it for the night, Callahan.”

Finn chuckles, shaking his head as he steps past. “Night, Shaw. Night, ma’am.”

“Night, Finn,” I reply with a smile, watching him go.

The door shuts behind him, leaving me alone with Killian.

And the spread he pretends he didn’t arrange for me.

“Surely you didn’t plan for me to eat all this by myself.” I glance at the lavish spread again, arching a brow at him. “Will you be joining me?”

Killian looks at me, and for one dizzying second my stomach nearly drops to the floor.

I’ve been in this penthouse alone with him before, plenty of times. But tonight feels different. Heavier.

Like if I blinked, he’d already be crossing the room, wrapping those strong arms around me, pulling me into a kiss that would tear down every wall I’ve built. One that would change everything.

But then he blinks instead. And the moment—the gravity of it—vanishes in an instant.

“Sure,” he says easily. “I wouldn’t mind a bite.”

He strides into my living room like he belongs there, like this is our place and this is what we do—coming home from a night out together, sharing food, slipping into a routine that’s never existed but feels dangerously natural.

“Why don’t you freshen up?” he suggests, already moving toward the wine fridge. “I’ll open a bottle.”

My lips curve into a small smile. “That would be great. The Sancerre? There’s an aged one in the wine fridge.”

“I got it.” He glances at me over his shoulder—and winks.

A wink.

He’s never winked at me before. My mouth goes dry, my pulse quickening, and I have to force myself to turn away before he sees the flush creeping up my neck.

In my room, another surprise waits.

Laid out neatly on the bed are my favorite pajamas—silky, the shade of deep wine, with flowing pants and a thin cami, paired with the matching robe. Beside them, my ridiculous pink fuzzy slippers.

My smile beams, wide and unguarded, knowing no one’s around to see it.

I wash away the night at the sink, scrubbing off makeup, letting the tension drip down the drain. My hair slips into a side braid. I slide into the pajamas, loving the way the fabric whispers against my skin.

But just before I leave, I pause.

I untie the robe, letting it hang loose, and unclasp my bra. Tossing it into the hamper, I take a deep breath and let the robe fall open around me, thin silk draped lightly over my shoulders.

And then, with my heart knocking a little harder than it should, I step back toward the glow of the fire.