{Noah}
I knew the second Thea woke up. I'd been awake long before, lying still, waiting. Pretending to sleep gave me the luxury of seeing what she'd do, but when I heard the door shut behind her, and her footsteps faded down the corridor, I finally sat up, and a sigh slipped out, heavier than I wanted it to be.
I should have walked away the moment the bartender shoved that margarita into her hand. If only I had kept my distance the second I saw her, then I wouldn't be in this mess. Being a tyrant in the business world meant having your own set of rules that you abided by.
I had always been a stickler for rules, especially mine. Rules kept empires from crumbling. Rules kept people like me from turning into the very thing I despised: soft, sentimental, messy. And yet here I was, breaking my number one rule.
Last night should never have happened. It wasn't my intention, not in the slightest. Control was my language, the thing that set me apart from every other weak man who drowned in temptation. Yet somehow, I'd lost my grip. Women had always come easily. They chased, they begged, they did everything and even more, but none of them had ever made me forget myself. Until her…
Thoughts of her skin, the curve of her body, the scent of her so close to me, the way she fit against me perfectly, invaded my head. I clenched my fists, scolding myself. She was married. Worse, she was her… Off-limits didn't even begin to cover it.
"Control yourself, Noah." I found myself muttering under my breath. I told myself, as I always did, that it would pass. Desire, once understood, could be controlled. I just had to not put myself in such a position ever again.
I pushed my feet into slippers and walked toward the bathroom, keeping my face deliberately impassive in the mirror as steam from the shower I'd run earlier fogged the glass.
My phone vibrated on the nightstand, and I picked it up, needing the distraction. "Yes, Iris?"
Iris, my assistant, spoke with her usual clipped voice, "Good morning, Sir. Larkspur Media's representatives have agreed to the meeting. I've secured a brunch at Aurelia tomorrow—Marlowe Salon, eleven-thirty.
I allowed myself the smallest of smiles. "Anything else?"
"Yes, sir. I arranged a Bespoke tailleur to your suite."
"Perfect," I said. "Make it the navy Caden suit, and tell Aurelia I want an Armagnac waiting at my table. The older, the better."
"Understood, Mr Claire. I'll have it ready for your arrival."
I ended the call, showered quickly, and made my way down to the hotel's private gym. Normally, I wouldn't bother while traveling, but I needed something brutal and mindless to scrape Thea from my thoughts. Seemed even the news of the new acquisition couldn't keep my mind off her.
****
The next morning, I woke seconds before my alarm, killed it with one hand, and got up. I didn't need a clock to tell me when to move; my body had been trained for years to obey. The routine never changed—gym, black coffee, and a few habits I'd carried from the life I grew up in.
Military precision. Mafia patience. Business ruthlessness. Call it whatever you like—it kept me sharp, it kept me cold, and it kept me on top in the business world.
My empire had grown vast across Europe. I rarely entertained American acquisitions, mostly because I refused to be lumped with their hollow brands and bloated egos. But I was here on family business, and since San Francisco had something worth acquiring, I wasn't about to ignore it. Larkspur had potential; all I would have to do is strip it clean and mold it into something actually useful.
By late morning, I walked into Aurelia. The doorman greeted me as Mr. Claire and informed me that my guests had arrived. A server guided me into the Marlowe Salon, a private room reserved for the top one percent.
Three men in suits sat on the far side of an oval table. I recognized two of them; Gideon Hale, overeager and desperate to prove his worth, and Victor Ames, too smooth for his own good. But the third man, I didn't know.
"Mr Claire." Gideon stood with the enthusiasm of a man hoping to be rewarded. "Thank you for coming—"
I gave him the economy version of a smile, hoping he would get the message that I wasn't interested in encouraging sentiment.
"Who is your counsel?" I asked, taking the seat opposite them as the server poured me a glass of Armagnac.
"That is Malcolm Reed," Victor supplied. "Our legal counsel."
"I see." I laughed under my breath. They really thought that numbers would intimidate me? It seemed I had to remind these men why I was called the Ice King of Europe.
I took a sip of my drink and savored its stong and rich taste. It seemed Iris had gotten to the management of Aurelia like I asked. "Shall we begin?"
They tried to be clever, as I expected. Gideon leaned forward, his voice a little too bright. "We've had multiple parties show interest, Mr. Claire. If you want Larkspur, you'll need to make it worth our while."
Victor chuckled before adding. "The numbers speak for themselves; the projected growth is off the charts. You'd be lucky to get in now before the valuation climbs higher."
Their lawyer scribbled something in his notes, pretending to anchor their stupid little performance. And I just let them keep talking, watching their mouths move while I studied the fear under their mock confidence.
When it seemed like they were done, I leaned back in my chair, swirling the drink in my glass.
"Projected growth?" I said finally, glancing up at them. "You're bleeding customers faster than you're onboarding them. Retention is a joke. And if you think you'll last another quarter on your current burn rate without someone like me…" I tilted my head. "You won't."
Gideon shifted in his seat, clearly already uncomfortable and Victor tried to keep the smile, but it looked more like a grimace if I was being honest.
"My offer," I said, sliding the figure across the table, "it's generous, considering everything I've just said."
Their faces dropped when they read it. Gideon stammered, "This… this is far below our valuation."
"Your valuation was a fantasy," I cut in. "This is reality. So it's either you take it, or you watch Larkspur drown."
By the end, the contracts bore my signature and theirs, though their hands shook as they signed it. To celebrate, I ordered a bottle of Château Montaigne, raised a glass, took just a sip, then let the glass drop back onto the table with a deliberate clink.
"Keep the bottle," I told them, standing. They scrambled to thank me, but I was already walking out.
The second I was outside and felt the cool air against my skin, my phone rang. "Congratulations," Iris's voice said.
"I didn't tell you the deal was done," I replied.
"You didn't need to. You never walk into a negotiation you don't win."
Her faith in me was always welcomed, and I let myself enjoy it for half a second. "Find me a table for dinner. Something quiet. I'll celebrate properly."
There was a pause. "Sir, it seems you've forgotten," she said softly. "You already have an engagement scheduled for later this evening."
My eyes narrowed as I remembered the actual reason I came to this goddamn city in the first place. "Fuuucck."