Blackwood Tower
Blackwood Tower rises from the city like a declaration.
Glass and steel, sharp angles catching the morning light, reflecting back a version of the skyline that feels colder—cleaner—more controlled. I stand across the street, clutching my bag, staring up at it like it might bite.
This is his world.
And I'm walking straight into it.
The lobby is silent in the way only expensive places are. Marble floors. Security that doesn't smile. A receptionist who already knows my name before I say it.
"Ms. Carter," she says pleasantly. "Mr. Blackwood is expecting you."
Of course he is.
The elevator ride feels longer than it should. My reflection in the mirrored walls looks calm, composed—an outright lie. When the doors open, I step into a private floor.
No cubicles. No noise. Just space.
And Elliot.
He's standing by the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, city spread beneath him like a map he already owns. He turns when he hears me, expression unreadable.
"You're on time," he says.
"You told me ten," I reply. "It's ten."
Something flickers in his eyes. Approval, maybe.
"Come in."
The door closes behind me with a soft click.
I hate how final that sound feels.
He gestures to a seating area instead of his desk. Leather chairs. Low table. Intentional. Less formal.
"This is a check-in," he says. "Not an interrogation."
"Good," I say. "Because I'm done being evaluated."
He studies me for a moment. "You're more comfortable pushing back than most people."
"I don't have much left to lose."
"That," he says quietly, "is rarely true."
I cross my legs, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "You said the rules need redefining."
"Yes."
He sits across from me, close enough that I can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. Close enough that I'm acutely aware of how his presence fills the space.
"The current arrangement lacks clarity," he continues. "That creates risk."
"For who?" I ask.
"For both of us."
I raise a brow. "You don't seem like the type who worries about risk."
"I manage it," he corrects. "I don't ignore it."
He slides a slim folder across the table.
"No," I say immediately. "I'm not signing anything else."
He doesn't push it closer. "You don't have to. This isn't a contract."
I hesitate, then open it.
Inside isn't paperwork.
It's a schedule.
Dinners. Events. Travel blocks. And—my breath catches—time marked simply as Personal.
"What is this?" I ask.
"Transparency," he replies. "If you're going to be seen with me, you deserve to know what that entails."
I look up. "Seen as what, exactly?"
He doesn't answer right away.
"People assume things," he says finally. "They already have."
"And you're letting them?"
"Yes."
My pulse spikes. "Why?"
"Because it simplifies matters."
"For you."
"For us," he corrects.
I shake my head. "This is spiraling."
"Is it?" he asks calmly. "Or is it becoming honest?"
I stand abruptly. "You want to blur lines and call it clarity."
He rises too, the movement smooth, controlled. "I want boundaries that reflect reality."
"And what reality is that?"
He steps closer—not crowding me, but near enough that the air shifts.
"That there is chemistry," he says quietly. "And pretending otherwise is inefficient."
My breath catches despite myself. "You talk about attraction like it's a spreadsheet."
"Because emotion without structure is chaos."
"And yet," I whisper, "you're the one breaking your own rules."
Something dark and intent settles in his gaze.
"Not yet," he says. "But I will—if we don't define them now."
Silence stretches between us, thick and electric.
Finally, I say, "What do you want, Elliot?"
The use of his name changes something. I feel it immediately.
He exhales slowly. "I want control," he admits. "And I want you to choose to be here."
I swallow. "And if I don't?"
"Then this ends," he says without hesitation. "Cleanly."
I search his face for manipulation, for deceit—and find neither.
Only restraint.
"I need time," I say.
He nods once. "Take it."
As I turn to leave, his voice stops me.
"Whatever you decide," he says, "it won't be because you were cornered."
I pause, hand on the door.
That might be the most dangerous promise he's made yet.