SIX

EVE

I learn two things right off the bat on my first day.

One, people in this industry have absolutely no patience.

Two, nobody’s going to hold my hand while I figure things out.

Most of my advance goes into upgrading my wardrobe. I pick up a reliable pair of black flats—just in case I’m running around all day. A couple of black blouses that aren’t too stiff but still feel professional enough. And a few pairs of black leggings that are comfortable yet sleek.

Huh. Maybe I really do dress like a nun.

“You’re late,” Ryder announces the moment I step into his office.

I swipe the sweat from my forehead with my arm. It’s eighty degrees today, and suddenly my all-black outfit feels like a bad decision. “Sorry,” I mutter. “This building’s impossible to navigate. I tried asking for directions, but—”

“This is your work phone,” he says, cutting me off and handing me a brand-new iPhone, still sealed in the box.

“You’ll be dealing with private information moving forward. No personal calls or texts on this device, understood?”

I nod quickly, barely getting a good look at him. He’s more put together today—navy suit, white shirt, polished black shoes.

And unfortunately, the black tie is back, perfectly knotted at the neck, hiding the tattoo I remember so vividly. He stands tall and still, every inch the commanding professional.

So different from the man I used to know.

“Your desk is over there,” he says, still rifling through a pile of documents.

“My desk?” I blink.

“Did you think you’d be standing all day?”

I let out a dry laugh. “Good one.”

“You’ll be coming with me to every meeting,” he goes on without pause. “You’re responsible for taking minutes, which I’ll review afterward. You’ll also be connected to my calendar and work email. And I want you to manage my messages. Only notify me about the ones that actually matter.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And how exactly am I supposed to tell which ones are important?”

“Use your judgment.”

“That’s a lot of pressure. What if I mess up and toss something valuable into the junk folder?”

Finally, Ryder looks up at me. His eyes narrow, focused and intense. My heart skips for a second. I wonder if I’ve already let him down. I just want a fair shot to prove I can handle this.

“I’ll give you some wiggle room for the first couple of days,” he says. “You’ll be fine. Most important messages are automatically flagged anyway.”

The way he says my name makes my skin prickle. His voice is low and deep, resonating right through me. I try to stay composed, but something about him always throws me off balance.

“Alright,” I say as evenly as I can. “While I get the phone set up, is there anything you need me to do?”

“Yes. Help me find my watch.”

“Your watch?” I repeat, stepping in closer.

“My Rolex. I could’ve sworn I had it when I left home this morning, but now it’s just... gone.”

My first instinct is to joke—Memory already slipping?—but I stop myself. Not the time or place.

I move closer to his desk, ready to be useful now that I’m officially on staff. The glass surface is a mess. Papers everywhere. Scattered pens. His laptop is open with what must be thirty tabs. And the trash bin is overflowing with empty coffee cups.

“You know,” I say as I glance around, “you could really use a reusable mug. Helps the environment.”

He doesn’t answer, which doesn’t bother me—at first. But when I turn to look at him, I realize I’ve accidentally wandered too close. He’s standing right there, staring. Watching me with a strange heat in his eyes.

Suddenly I can’t remember what I was doing. His gaze lingers on my lips, then trails down to my throat, my chest. I forget how to breathe. I’m frozen in place.

“When you’re at work,” he says quietly, “you’ll address me as Mr. Vane.”

He steps forward. I instinctively step back. My hip bumps into the desk behind me like we’re moving in sync.

A small laugh escapes me. It sounds more like a breathless reaction than actual amusement. Ryder’s presence overwhelms every part of the room, including me.

“Mr. Vane?” I repeat softly.

“The formality is for your protection.”

“Protection from what, exactly?”

“From rumors. From whispers of anything inappropriate between us.”

Right. Of course. I nod.

“Do I make myself clear, Eve?”

“Yes,” I whisper. My voice sounds too soft, like it doesn’t even belong to me.

Neither of us moves. I’m caught in his orbit and not entirely sure I want to break free. My thoughts are jumbled.

What is this tension? Why does it feel so heavy?

“Yes what?” he murmurs, his tone sending a jolt through my chest.

My mouth goes dry. “Yes, sir.”

He gives a slow nod. “Good.”

A chill runs down my spine. That one word—so simple—makes my skin feel like it’s burning.

Just then, there’s a knock at the door. The sharp click of heels follows.

In walks the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen.

She’s tall and elegant, her long blonde curls bouncing with each step. She walks like she owns the room.

And for a second, I forget how to think.

There’s a polished grace to her, like something carved out of marble. High cheekbones, a sharp chin, and brows so perfectly arched it’s almost intimidating. Her green eyes gleam, vivid and assessing.

Her lips are cherry red, matching the curve-hugging scarlet dress that clings to every inch of her hourglass figure. The sweetheart neckline draws attention without even trying, highlighting the swell of her chest and the tight cinch at her waist.

“Renee,” Ryder says sharply. “I didn’t say you could come in.”

She glides in anyway, not sparing him—or me—a glance. Like a cat who knows the room is already hers. Renee walks straight to him and hands over a stack of papers. “These need your signature.”

He grabs a pen, signing without a second thought. “Renee, this is Eve Halloway. Eve, meet Renee Thatch, our CFO at Star Rider Studios.”

Renee flicks her eyes in my direction, briefly scanning me from head to toe. No smile, no warmth. Not hostile either—just distant, as if I’m background noise.

She turns back to Ryder. “Shansen Group has sent their reply.”

He flips through the stack. “And?”

“They’re scrambling. Already talking to legal. They know they messed up. Expect a few goodwill gestures coming your way.”

“Typical. Send them back if they arrive. I don’t work with—”

He stops abruptly. His hand freezes over a bright red envelope tucked between the pages. His jaw tightens. The air changes.

“What is this doing here?” he asks, voice suddenly cold.

Renee furrows her brow. “I have no idea, sir.”

“You said you compiled these yourself.”

“I did, Mr. Vane. I don’t know how that got in there. Should I alert security?”

“What is it?” I ask cautiously.

Without answering, Ryder slips the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket. “It’s nothing. Renee, you’re dismissed.”

“Yes, Mr. Vane.”

“And Eve?”

I lift my head. “Y-yes? I mean, Mr. Vane?”

“I want you to pick up lunch. Call El Blanco.”

“That place in Rolling Hills? The one with valet service and crystal glasses?”

“Yes. Tell them it’s for me. The head chef knows what to make. Order something for yourself, too.”

“I’m good.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “It’s just... a meal from there could cover my groceries for an entire week.”

Ryder holds my gaze. “Use the company card. I won’t have any member of my team skipping meals.”

“But I—”

“I don’t repeat myself, Eve.”

My mouth shuts. I nod, grateful for the task, and head for the door, grabbing my purse on the way out.

Once I’m safely behind the wheel of Taylor’s car, parked and alone, I finally exhale. My fingers curl around the steering wheel as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to get control of myself.

There’s a warm pulse between my legs I pretend not to notice.

“Pull it together, Eve,” I mutter, pressing my lips into a firm line. “Stop letting him get to you.”