Michael's POV
The boardroom encounter with the Next Generation team left me completely blindsided. That woman from the club, the one whose memory had been tormenting me since dawn, turned out to be one of my own employees. The irony was almost laughable if it weren't so damn catastrophic.
My personal code was ironclad: business and pleasure never mixed, especially not with anyone on my payroll. Yet here I was, having nearly crossed that line with someone who reported to me. The whole situation reeked of professional suicide.
Last night replayed in my mind like a broken record. The moment she appeared in that club, there was something magnetic about her presence. She had worked hard to get my attention, slipping past security into the VIP section and orchestrating that perfectly timed drink accident. Most women who tried such obvious tactics annoyed me, but with her, it was different. It worked because she made it work.
Every detail of our encounter burned in my memory. Those warm brown eyes that seemed to see straight through me, the way she practically begged me to take her home with me. The heat radiating from her skin when I held her close. But she had been far too intoxicated, collapsing in my arms before anything serious could happen. I had no choice but to call her friend and make sure they both got home safely. The entire night felt like a disaster wrapped in temptation.
I needed intel on her immediately.
Natasha, the team manager, answered my page within seconds.
"Mr. Jade, how can I help you?"
"I want complete personnel files on every member of the Next Generation team. Have them on my desk within minutes." My voice carried an edge that brooked no argument.
"Absolutely, sir. Right away."
I drummed my fingers against my desk, restless energy coursing through me until the email notification chimed. My cursor moved through the employee roster with purpose until her face appeared on screen.
Allyson. Even her name sounded like poetry when I whispered it. The professional headshot showed none of the sultry confidence she had displayed at the club. Here she looked innocent, almost naive, but I knew better now.
Allyson Morris, twenty-three years old. At least she had been honest about her age, though she looked even younger in person. That youthful appearance had made me hesitate initially, but when she confirmed her age, all my restraint crumbled. I had given her multiple opportunities to walk away, but she pursued me relentlessly. That kind of determination was rare.
My relationships followed a simple pattern: experienced women who understood the arrangement. No emotions, no complications, no future promises. I maintained complete control of every situation.
But last night, she had turned the tables on me entirely.
The most frustrating part was how desperately I wanted her again, knowing she was now completely forbidden territory. Too young, too inexperienced, and definitely too much of a professional liability. She had to remain untouchable, and I prayed she understood the gravity of our situation.
My phone's sharp ring interrupted my brooding thoughts. Reagan's name flashed on the screen.
"What's happening?" I answered, immediately shifting into father mode.
"Dad, I really need to see you tonight." His voice carried a weight that set off alarm bells in my head.
"Something wrong?" Concern sharpened my tone.
"I can't get into it over the phone. Can we do dinner at the restaurant?"
"How serious are we talking here?" I pressed, needing to gauge the crisis level.
"Just dinner, Dad. Seven o'clock work for you?"
"I'll be there," I confirmed, and he hung up without another word.
I sank back into my chair, already dreading whatever mess Reagan had created this time. His welfare always took precedence over everything else in my life. We had been a team since Snow destroyed our family with her betrayal, sleeping with someone I considered a brother. The double betrayal had nearly broken me, watching two people I trusted completely rip my world apart.
After our divorce, Snow surrendered custody completely, claiming she couldn't bear the shame of facing us daily. She simply vanished from our lives, leaving me to raise Reagan alone.
Perhaps I had overcompensated during those early years, giving him too much freedom and too many privileges. He grew up entitled and reckless, treating my money like an endless resource. Lately, I had been tightening the reins, forcing him to earn his keep rather than simply taking handouts. The restaurant represented his final opportunity to prove himself capable of responsibility.
"Mr. Jade, your eleven o'clock appointment is ready in the boardroom," Rosalind announced through the intercom.
"On my way," I replied, adjusting my tie and forcing myself back into CEO mode.
The restaurant buzzed with Monday evening energy when I arrived. Tables filled with satisfied customers, efficient service, clean presentation. Reagan had exceeded my expectations with this venture, which made his urgent request even more puzzling.
Usually, these emergency meetings meant he needed either money or advice to fix some mistake he had made.
"Dad," he called out, approaching with visible tension in his shoulders.
"Son," I replied, embracing him while noting the exhaustion etched across his features.
"Let's talk in my office," he suggested, gesturing toward the back.
His office space impressed me with its organization and professional setup. Maybe my concerns were premature.
"What's the problem, Reagan?" I asked directly once we were seated.
"Dad, I really messed up this time," he admitted, his voice cracking slightly.
"How badly?" My patience was already wearing thin, preparing for another costly cleanup operation.
"The worst kind of bad, Dad. I destroyed the best thing that ever happened to me."
"Explain," I demanded, needing full context before deciding how to respond.
"It's about my girlfriend. I completely ruined everything with her."