Page 7 of The Rival’s Obsession (The Black Ledger Billionaires #3)

T he executive lounge is quiet—too quiet for midafternoon and empty.

Glass walls, leather chairs, some overpriced art on loan from a gallery in Tribeca. The whole place looks like money, but not comfort. Designed for efficiency, not reflection. The kind of space where no one lingers longer than they need to.

“Coffee?” I ask, already moving to the machine by the liquor cabinet.

“Espresso,” she answers without hesitation.

Hm, not a drip-kind-of-girl. Not sweetened. Just—espresso. Direct. No room to hide.

The answer hits with a quiet precision, like everything else about her.

Sharp. Uncompromising. Unexpectedly attractive.

I slot the capsule and press the button, watching it hiss into the small porcelain cup. I always pay attention to how people take their coffee. It tells me what I need to know.

Whether they want to be soothed or jolted. Whether they’re used to waiting—or used to getting what they want immediately.

I hand it to her. She nods with a polite smile.

Her fingers graze mine.

It shouldn’t register. But it does.

Warm. Steady. Not flirtation. Just presence. And somehow, that’s worse.

I take the seat across from her, posture straight. Not stiff, but not casual either. Calculated.

She crosses one leg over the other and asks, “Tell me how we got here.”

There’s nothing overt in the motion—no seduction, no signal. But my eyes catch anyway.

Noticing the way she fits this space like she owns it.

How smooth her legs look. How soft they must be.

I’ve always been attracted to women—that part’s never been hard to admit. It’s just been a while.

And this woman bargains sex like a commodity and according to Wolfe, she’s one of the best the Ledger has to offer. That must be why I’m cataloging each small move and subtle expression.

I lean back slightly, arms resting on the chair’s edges, and swallow. “You’ll have to be more specific. ‘Here’ could mean a dozen things.”

“You know what I mean.”

Yes. I do.

But I’m not about to hand her the match and point her toward the fuse.

I glance toward the skyline instead, give a low exhale. “You run a company long enough, you accumulate cracks. Some visible. Some… structural.”

“Which kind are you?”

The corner of my mouth lifts. “I suppose that’s what you’re here to figure out.”

She doesn’t blink. Just watches me like she’s already peeling back the layers.

I hate that I’m wondering who’s calling the shots here. Technically, she’s contracted. But it was Dante who brought her in.

And Dante…

Dante thrives on chaos. Always has. If he thinks breaking something will expose the rot underneath, he’ll strike the match himself just to watch it burn.

Maybe Eve’s here to push me into the flames.

Corrine just left, floating a plan to cut Dante out—for good. I didn’t say yes. But I didn’t say no, either.

So now I’m wondering…

What if this isn’t a coup?

What if it’s a trap?

What if they’re working together—and I’m the one being cornered?

I give Eve an answer that looks honest on the surface. But underneath it says nothing and reveals less. Because until I know who’s playing whom, I’m not putting my cards on the table.

“People change. Priorities shift. Eventually, even partners start pulling in different directions.” I meet her gaze head-on. “This is nothing more than that.”

A lie. Polished. Practiced. Delivered with enough distance to keep her from getting closer.

But I know her type.

She won’t stop until she finds a crack.

And if she keeps looking too long…

She’s going to find the truth.

The kind you can’t bury—no matter how deep you dig.

Eve leans forward slightly, fingertips grazing the rim of her demitasse. Her espresso sits untouched. She’s letting it cool. Watching me instead.

“Tell me about you and Dante.”

I give a soft huff through my nose. “You’ll need to narrow that down. We’ve got decades of dysfunction to unpack.”

She smiles faintly, like she’s heard that before from other clients—but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Start wherever the silence is loudest.”

I pause, fingers flexing along my own coffee cup.

Clever.

But I can’t give her silence.

The silence I feel is a small tug in my chest. A pull toward something I haven’t looked at in years.

Something heavy. Still festering.

And then it’s there—uninvited.

The silence of a gasp. A door slamming. The deep thud.

Blood on white porcelain. The way it had pooled with such impossible calm.

I blink.

The room rights itself and Eve is still watching me.

I bury the memory beneath concrete. Reinforce the vault.

Not now. Not with her sitting right in front of me.

She shifts gears like it’s nothing. “How long have you known Corrine?”

I blink, not expecting Corrine to surface as a focus. “Our families go back a long time.”

She hums. “So… not since prep school, then?”

I narrow my eyes. “Why the interest in Corrine?”

“She’s the CFO,” Eve says casually, though her gaze is anything but. “But something in her bio made me think your history goes back farther. More personal.”

I study her a beat longer. She’s sharper than I gave her credit for.

Eve leans back, crossing one leg over the other. And yes, I look. “Men and women aren’t often just friends. Not without an attraction somewhere in the mix.”

The shift in tone is deliberate. She’s circling something.

“Did you two date?”

“No.”

“Ever want to?”

I keep my face still. “No.”

“Fuck?”

“No.”

“Never?” Her head tilts. “Not once?”

She’s relentless. And not just for the sake of curiosity. She’s testing me.

“I don’t sleep with coworkers,” I say coolly.

“Do you fuck women?”

“Yes.”

“Men?”

I say nothing.

The corner of her mouth quirks, like that’s an answer all its own.

“Has Dante ever fucked her?”

The question is thrown so plainly I nearly miss the land mine beneath it.

And yet—my chest tightens. Blood spikes.

The idea of it… something vicious coils in my gut.

I don’t understand why it bothers me. Not really. But it does.

“They’ve despised each other for years,” I answer. Clipped. Controlled. “Since we were kids.”

She doesn’t look convinced. But she doesn’t press, either.

Just glances at the clock on the wall, then downs the last sip of her espresso and places the cup carefully between us on the table.

Then she levels her gaze on me—sharp, calm, and cutting. “Hour’s up.”

My mouth curves, but there’s no humor in it. “And just like that, you think you’ve got it?”

“Yup.” She stands. “See, I’d bet this entire contract—whatever happened between you and Dante, whatever you’re lying about… Corrine was there. Right in the middle of it.”

We stare at each other. Long enough for the silence to grow teeth.

“If I’m wrong, let Dante know he can cancel the contract.”

She starts to walk off, heels clicking on the polished tile, but just before the door, she glances back.

“But I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”

And then she’s gone.

Leaving me alone with a cold cup, a dozen dead memories twitching beneath the surface?—

and the echo of her knowing smile.

And beneath it all… that silence again. The one that started everything.