**Chapter Ten** The sound of clattering keys fills the quiet of my workspace as I type up my meeting notes, when suddenly, Roman’s office door bursts open. Standing there, he leans against the doorframe, his presence formidable, and his deep gaze directly meets mine. “Can you join me, Miss Callahan?” In the three short days I’ve been under his employ, I’ve already gleaned a significant amount about Roman. His preferences have become clear: coffee is best consumed piping hot, with just a whisper of cream; daily newspapers must be meticulously folded and waiting on his desk at dawn; and time-wasters are met with brisk impatience. For reasons known only to him, he rarely relies on the intercom, opting instead to summon me in person. I gather my notebook and pen, standing at once. “Coming.” As I step into his office, I can’t help but notice that he’s without his suit jacket today. This leaves me to admire the way his broad shoulders taper down to a lean waist as he strides towards his desk. He must dedicate hours at the gym, yet with the workload he carries, it baffles me when he finds the time. Last night—and the one before—I witnessed him still glued to his desk when he finally ordered me to leave for the evening. This was a revelation, especially considering what Lena recounted about his relentless work schedule. While I’ve been clocking in later than I ever did for Geoff, my previous employer strictly adhered to a five o’clock exodus. Nevertheless, I’ve managed to return home in time to prepare dinner for Dad both nights. I can’t shake the nagging curiosity about how late Roman works each night after I’ve departed. On my first day, the sight of him with sleeves rolled up—muscles shifting as he checks the time—left me utterly flustered. It was absurd really; I’ve encountered plenty of forearms in my years, yet none had ever caused my stomach to somersault quite like that. And now, for the first time in ages, every memory of my past encounters with men pales in comparison to the effect he has on me. What’s even more perplexing is the reality that he has remained cold and detached during my brief tenure. To be honest, I prefer it that way; I don’t require a boss who’s all warmth and fuzziness, even if a smile or an occasional word of praise wouldn’t go amiss. A rapport seems impossible when those icy eyes penetrate me as if I’m transparent. Yet, there are fleeting moments—so imperceptible that I question my sanity—where an unreadable flicker passes through his gaze. For a heartbeat, I sense it might be approval. I hope he appreciates my contributions, even if he keeps that acknowledgment tightly battened down. Settled in one of the chairs before his desk, I cross my legs. Looking up, I catch Roman’s eyes momentarily drifting to where my skirt has hiked up ever so slightly. Before I can fully comprehend the implication, his attention snaps back to the computer screen with unnerving speed, leaving me questioning whether I imagined his gaze lingering. His voice cuts through the silence, smooth and unaffected. “I need you to attend the meeting at Haverscombe Industries with me this morning.” “Of course.” I’m ready, pen poised above my notebook. "Do you want me strictly for note-taking, or do you require something more?" “I need detailed notes, but I also want you to cross-reference his proposal with our internal agreements. Roger Haverscombe is a sly one; I’d be surprised if he doesn’t try to pull a fast one on us.” “Haverscombe.” I bite my pen, rifling through everything I’ve discussed with Sophie concerning ongoing projects. “They’re slated to collaborate with us on the construction of the InnovaCore Energy headquarters at Hudson Yards, right?” A barely-there smile tugs at the corners of his mouth—a sight I realize I’ve grown starved for since starting this job. “That’s right.” I blink, momentarily taken aback. He’s stunningly handsome, and the softening of his usually stern demeanor makes him appear strikingly beautiful. My heart skips at the unexpected moment. I clear my throat, forcing my thoughts back on task. Developing even a minor crush on my boss is the last thing I need. “What time do we leave for the meeting?” “Eleven. We’ll take my car. Make sure you’re not only up to speed with the project details but also aware of potential issues we might need to discuss.” Before I can stop myself, I let a small snort slip out, immediately regretting it. His dark brows arch, curiosity piqued. “Did I say something amusing, Miss Callahan?” I swallow, heart fluttering. “Not amusing, no. It’s just… at my previous job, I wasn’t particularly encouraged to have a deeper understanding of project specifics prior to meetings.” At Talon, Geoff Sr. never fully utilized my eagerness to vault the surface—often relegating me to glorified secretary duties, no matter how much I tried to absorb. Something sharp flickers in his eyes for an instant before it vanishes. But he merely responds, “That’s a shame.” The way he says it—tinged with a protective irritation on my behalf—warms me from the inside out. But just as this warmth begins to blossom into something more, I gather my things and rise. “Is there anything else, Mr. King?” His focus rests heavily on me as I stand, and for reasons unbeknownst to me, the intensity of his gaze sends a rush of heat coursing through my body. I’m acutely aware of my attire, and I can’t look down to check if my reaction is apparent; crossing my arms would only draw more scrutiny. Roman’s eyes narrow slightly, fixing on me, and my body betrays me yet again—reacting as if to ensure he notices the flurry of emotion shooting through me. He swallows hard, then abruptly shakes his head. “Nothing else. Just be ready to leave at eleven.” With a whirlwind of emotions surging, I turn on my heel, letting out a shuddering breath as I leave. As the door closes behind me, I swear I can still feel the heat of his gaze trailing after me, leaving a plume of warmth coursing through my veins. An hour later, bolstered with my tote bag containing my tablet, I find myself standing next to Roman in the elevator. During our descent to the lobby, I fight the impulse to inhale the intoxicating scent of his soap mingling with citrus. Even in my heels, I barely reach his shoulder; his imposing stature is impossible to ignore. As more people crowd into the elevator, we’re pushed back against the rear wall, my left side pressed against the firm line of his body. Stealing a glance upward, I catch a slight twitch in his jaw—his discomfort evident in the brief flicker of irritation that crosses his face. I can't blame him; with the growing crowd, I’m beginning to feel claustrophobic myself. Fortunately, as the elevator doors slide open in a matter of minutes, the crowd disperses. Roman’s palm briefly meets the small of my back—an unexpected touch that warms me from within, igniting my pulse. He retracts it as soon as we exit, striding ahead with a sense of purpose that makes me quicken my pace to keep up. “Thank you,” I manage, smiling up at him. A brief, terse nod is his only acknowledgment before his attention shifts ahead again. I swallow a retort—his charm is decidedly absent today. Outside, a sleek black town car awaits at the curb. The driver, spotting us, opens the door with a smile. “Good morning, Mr. King. Miss.” “Phillip, this is my new assistant, Miss Callahan,” Roman introduces curtly. “Chloe,” I reply, extending my hand. He shakes it warmly. “Nice to meet you, Chloe.” His amicable tone is cut short by Roman's low growl of disapproval. “Okay, that’s enough chit-chat.” Phillip winks at me, a mischievous grin brightening his expression as I slide into the back seat. Roman joins me, his imposing frame immediately filling the space, making the air inside the car feel thick and constricted. Keeping my focus on the task at hand, I prompt, “What’s your main goal for the meeting?” He glances up, returning to his phone only to respond, “This initial meeting is to discuss the proposed terms for contracting Haverscombe Industries for the InnovaCore project.” Remembering his earlier concerns, I venture, “But you’re not sure?” His nod is slow, deliberate. “My father had extensive dealings with Haverscombe. I want to meet the man before signing anything.” His gaze snaps back to me, sending a shiver through my stomach. I wet my lips, trying to regain composure as his eyes flare momentarily before shutting down again. “It’s a fifteen-minute drive. Read up on our past contracts with Haverscombe before we arrive.” With a nod, I retrieve my tablet, but the drive is a struggle against distraction. Each shift in his posture, every brush of skin against mine sends electric shocks coursing through me. Breathing deeply, I attempt to ground myself, but my senses betray me—his crisp, masculine scent enveloping me like a seductive spell. By the time we arrive at Haverscombe Industries, I force myself back on track. Roman stays close as we navigate the corridors, his protective angle behind me is puzzling but oddly comforting. After what feels like an eternity, we reach the glass-walled meeting room, its sleek interior filled with middle-aged men eyeing us with varying degrees of interest. Roman gestures for me to enter first, and I slide into one of the two empty chairs, feeling the weight of attention on my back as Roman takes his seat beside me. As I place my tablet on the table, I do my best to ignore the looks directed my way—the same kind Geoff used to give me, predatory and knowing. Fidgeting in my seat, I tuck my hair behind my ears, trying to shake off the discomfort. Beside me, Roman emits a low growl deep in his throat. I glance up and find his jaw clenched; his penetrating gaze bounces from one man to the next, exuding an unspoken warning to back off. Despite my brief experience with him, I’ve never felt anything close to intimidation while in his presence. But the glare he’s giving them now could shake stones. “Are you going to introduce us to the lovely lady, Roman?” the man opposite asks, smirking as he leans back in his chair. If I recall correctly, he’s Roger Haverscombe—owner of this particular empire. “My assistant, Miss Callahan.” Roman’s tone is clipped, dismissing further inquiries. “Nice to meet you… Miss Callahan.” Haverscombe’s oily smile glides down to my chest, sending an unwelcome chill crawling up my spine. Pulling my shoulders back, I counter, “You too, Mr. Haverscombe.” I refuse to look away, steeling myself as I remember my resolve to remain professional, especially around men like him. “Now that introductions are over,” Roman interjects sharply, “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” For the next hour, the room is consumed with a furious debate regarding terms and conditions surrounding the potential partnership. I scribble furiously, attempting to absorb the rapid-fire exchanges, noting areas where Roman may wish to scrutinize further. This is a world away from the monotonous meetings I experienced at Talon, with numbers being thrown around that boggle the mind. Yet, I suppress notions of exorbitant sums and cling to what rudimentary sense I possess, focusing on the critical points. As Roman clears his throat, he effortlessly commands the room’s attention. “I think we have enough to make a decision.” He looks pointedly at the group. “I’ll consult with my COO and get back to you by early next week.” Haverscombe’s demeanor shifts to displeasure. “Your father would have made a decision on the spot.” “My father and I operate very differently. You should have gathered that by now.” Rising, Roman’s eyes connect with mine, illuminating a channel of reassurance. “Ready, Miss Callahan?” I leap to my feet, tucking the tablet into my bag. As I pass him, our shoulders brush, a fleeting reminder of the underlying tension simmering in the air. “Thought we’d reach an agreement today. You don’t strike me as the nervous sort,” Haverscombe retorts, eyes glinting with provocation. Unflinching, Roman stands tall. “This isn’t the old boys’ club anymore. We will engage in a partnership only if it serves the interests of the King Group. If that doesn’t sit well with you, speak now and save us all the wasted time.” The sharp flash of anger igniting in Haverscombe’s eyes belies the forced smile he quickly dons. “Of course.” He steps closer, hand stretched out. Roman meets his handshake, eyes boring into the man. From my position slightly behind, I catch Haverscombe’s whispered words—“Looks like you’re not so different from your father after all”—followed by a wink aimed at me. “Young and sweet. You’ll let me know where I can find an assistant like that.” A surge of icy anger courses through me, cheeks flushing with indignation. Roman remains outwardly composed, but the atmosphere shifts, dense with tension. My instincts scream a warning; Haverscombe is treading on dangerous ground. Looming over the shorter man, Roman’s grip on his hand tightens—a silent but potent warning. “Nothing about me mirrors my father,” he growls in a voice colder than ice. “If you believe otherwise, it makes me question this partnership.” The air is thick with unsaid words, silence stretching until the moment becomes a palpable force pinning us all. Frustration wells within me; I should do something, yet the urge to comfort him clashes with the reality of our professional boundaries. Instead, I steady my breath, calmly suggesting, “Mr. King, if we want to keep your next meeting on schedule, we need to leave now.” My words shatter the deadlock. Haverscombe seizes the chance to divert his gaze. Roman releases his grip, stepping back to regard me with a quick nod. “We’ll be in touch.” Rage still simmering in Haverscombe’s posture, he replies tightly, “Of course. We look forward to hearing from you. I apologize if I’ve offended anyone. Haverscombe Industries remains eager to work with the King Group.” The insincerity drips from his lips like poison. Without acknowledging Haverscombe further, Roman motions for me to take the lead as we exit. The silence envelops us on the way back to the car. Once inside, the tension finally breaks when I speak, “Should I schedule a session with Cole to discuss the meeting? I’ll have my notes typed up by this afternoon.” He pivots his gaze from the window back to me. “No need. We won’t be moving forward with the deal. Arrange a meeting with Wright Construction for next week; I believe they’ll suit this project better.” Surprise floods through me. “You’re not even discussing it with your brother?” “I’m the CEO, Miss Callahan. I’ve determined Haverscombe Industries isn’t the right partner. Do you have an issue with that?” Despite the undercurrents of authority, his tone lacks sharpness. “Of course not, sir.” Despite my calm words, worry seeps through. Would he really dismiss a deal based solely on a man’s reprehensible comments? It wouldn’t be the first time I’d observed such predatory behavior among corporate men—especially after Geoff Jr. took charge at Talon. While Roman sports more integrity, I cannot shake the foreboding sense that my presence could cost the King Group an opportunity. “What’s wrong?” His inquiry cuts through my thoughts. A tilt of his head brings his cool gaze into sharp focus on my face. I shake my head, brushing off my thoughts. “Nothing.” He raises a brow, skepticism written all over his face. “The way you’re biting your lip suggests otherwise.” Suddenly self-conscious, I release my bottom lip and instinctively lick it to soothe the tension. Roman’s eyes fixate on the movement, darkening to solid steel. “What’s bothering you, Miss Callahan?” he presses again. A pulse races through me at his deep tone. Why must he be this damn attractive? It’s infuriating—not to mention inappropriate—that my body reacts so intensely to the way he says my name. Reluctantly, I drop the pretense. “I worry that my presence caused a problem during the meeting today.” His expression is inscrutable. “Why would you think that?” “I noticed your reaction to what Mr. Haverscombe said at the end. And I fear that’s why you’ve decided against working with him.” “You’re not the problem.” Roman’s voice remains steady, exuding confidence. “Roger Haverscombe is one of my father’s old associates. I had hoped he would realize that the King Group operates differently now. But he just showcased that his behavior doesn’t align with our standards.” “Of course,” I say softly, realization dawning. He operates on principles far apart from my own understanding. A flicker of that almost smile crosses his lips. “Do you think I’m the type to jeopardize a good deal just to defend a woman’s honor?” The spark in his tone ignites a response within me. “Do you think I’m the kind of woman who needs defending?” “I think you’re the kind of woman who settles for less than you deserve.” The moment the words leave his lips, he seems to regret them, his expression closing off. Though I should dismiss this line of questioning, my curiosity gets the best of me. “What would lead you to that conclusion?” He studies me intensely, that enigmatic look falling back into place. “You were right in stating that you could handle this job. Why didn’t you move on from the mediocre position at Talon long before it expired?” I gasp slightly at the directness of his inquiry, stammering, “B-because it was decent—stable, at least… it was.” “Stability matters to you?” “Isn’t it to everyone?” He scoffs, “Do you think the King Group ascended to the pinnacle by playing it safe? Risks are essential to achieve what you truly want.” “Not everyone longs to be a billionaire,” I shoot back defensively. Raising an eyebrow, he bites back a smirk. “Maybe not. But I’m sure most would be satisfied being a millionaire.” His flippant comment triggers a fierce frustration within me. Am I tense because of the meeting? Or is it the electric proximity between us? Regardless, resisting an argument feels impossible. I know the significance of money all too well and, yes, I yearn for the means to afford Dad’s treatment. Yet, life’s bounty stretches beyond mere wealth. “Riches don’t guarantee happiness.” To my surprise, his expression remains unchanged—no hint of exasperation at my retort. “Money brings power and freedom. What more is essential?” Should I relent or challenge his beliefs? Part of me pushes back, unwilling to let such a dangerous notion slide. “And what about love, family, and health?” Roman lets out a short laugh, dismissing my words. “Only one of those is truly imperative for a successful life.” I shake my head, frustration mounting. “I refer to a happy life, not merely a successful one.” “Are you happy, Miss Callahan?” The sudden change in his question stokes panic in my chest. I wish I’d never ventured into this territory with him. “I have everything I need,” I respond stiffly, forcing a smile. Evaluating me with piercing eyes, he counters, “That’s not what I asked.” Just then, his phone interrupts us, puncturing the moment's intensity. He answers without a glance at me, launching into a work conversation that seems to involve one of his brothers. With a sigh, I lean back into the leather seat, internally chastising myself. What have I done? In my previous three years at Talon, I never criticized anyone like this, much less the Geoffs. It’s risky territory, especially with Roman—who’s already indicated that my job relies on meeting his expectations. Gazing out the window, I determine that going forward, I will remain professional and polite. And I certainly won’t allow my infuriatingly attractive boss to throw me off balance again.