### Chapter Five As I stride purposefully toward my desk, the weight of the decision ahead presses down on me. I pull my phone from my pocket, fingers trembling ever so slightly as I navigate to Lena's contact. The moment she picks up, her voice bursts through the line, warm and upbeat. “How’s my favorite ex-boss?” I take a deep breath, refusing to let her sunshiny demeanor cloud the storm brewing inside me. “What the hell did you do?” Her feigned innocence drips from every syllable. “Whatever are you talking about?” I've heard that tone a thousand times over the years; it’s a disguise that never fools me. “You hired the one person I explicitly told you not to.” The memory of our conversation after her meeting with Chloe floods my mind. I had specifically instructed her to seek someone seasoned and savvy—someone with years etched into their experience. I didn’t want someone who looked like they’d just graduated college; I sure as hell didn’t want someone like Chloe, with her silky pale blonde hair and full, inviting lips that radiate youthful innocence. Yet the moment I laid eyes on her, I was struck by an inappropriate thought I fought to suppress. It wasn’t just her undeniable beauty—although she was stunning enough to turn heads at every corner—it was the fact that Lena had blatantly disregarded my clear directives. I feel a fresh surge of annoyance twisting in my gut. “There’s no way a woman that young can effectively handle this role,” I snap, my voice low and intense. Lena counters coolly, “I told you that was ridiculous. Qualified is qualified. Who knows? Maybe having someone with a little sweetness in the office will soften you up some.” I blink, momentarily taken aback. “What?” “Oh, I think my daughter is calling me. The baby’s due any day now, so I’d better run," she says, as if it’s a convenient escape from the conversation. "Just give Chloe a chance, Roman. You’ll thank me later. Bye!” With that, the line goes dead, leaving me scowling at my phone as if it were a personal enemy. What the hell just transpired? Lena may no longer be my assistant, but I expected her to own her decisions. I take a seat at my desk, mashing the power button on my computer harder than necessary. Just then, my phone rings. Without checking the caller ID, I swipe to answer, knowing exactly who it will be. “Morning,” comes Cole’s voice, clipped yet warm. “I’m heading to the Genesis-1 site, so just a heads up, I don’t have much time.” “That’s fine,” I reply, tapping my fingers impatiently against my desk, my mind still spinning from the earlier debacle. “Once Tate gets connected, we can dive into it.” As if summoned by my thoughts, Tate’s voice breaks through. “Good morning, brothers of mine.” His overly cheerful tone rubs against my already frayed nerves. “How many coffees have you had to be this cheerful so early?” I shoot back, my irritation bubbling over. “If you think happiness comes from caffeine, you’ve clearly forgotten what it’s like to get lucky every day.” “Good for you,” I reply, stifling a sigh. I’m genuinely glad for both Cole and Tate, but I could do without the incessant reminders of their newfound joys—and especially their teasing about my disinterest in relationships. Been there, done that, and I have no desire to repeat it. “Who’s been messing with your morning cereal?” Cole asks, concern creeping into his tone. I squint at the door leading to my outer office, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of Chloe, out there plotting her way into my world. I should have stuck to my guns and had Sophie show her out when I had the chance. But her gaze—firm yet tinged with something soft—had given me pause. That blend of defiance and delicacy struck me in a way I couldn’t quite shake. Shaking off the distraction, I focus back on my brothers. “Sorry, Lena dropped the ball with her replacement, and now here I am, back at square one.” “Lena? Screw something up? That’s hard to believe. What did she do?” Cole’s disbelief is palpable over the phone. I can almost hear Tate's smirk when he chimes in. “Let me guess—you’re talking about that little blonde you were a real jerk to in the elevator, right?” “I wasn’t rude,” I grumble, though the indignation in my voice betrays me. “Yeah, you were,” Tate laughs. “Lena has a good sense of humor, I’ll give her that.” “Her humor isn’t the issue here,” I bark back. “It’s her ability to follow instructions that needs examination.” “So, what specific problem do you have with…?” Cole’s voice trails off as if he’s waiting for me to offer up the name he already knows. “Chloe,” I say reluctantly. “What’s troubling you about Chloe?” he probes further. “Have you seen her? She looks like she just walked off a graduation stage.” “And?” he continues, undeterred. Exhaling a slow breath, I rub the bridge of my nose. “And what?” “And that honestly doesn’t seem like a good reason not to hire her, assuming she’s competent,” he shoots back. “She hasn’t proven that yet,” I counter defensively. “It sounds like you’re not willing to give her that chance,” Tate feeds in, his teasing tone salt on my already open wound. I focus on the heavy door again—Chloe’s presence looms like a shadow even from afar. “We’ve strayed off course here—” “You know,” Tate interjects, his upbeat demeanor giving way to something more serious, “I think I like this girl. I haven’t seen you flustered like this in ages.” “Flustered?” My incredulous stare would have pierced the screen had it been a video call. “I don’t get flustered.” “Of course not,” Tate retorts, his tone suddenly serious enough to make my skin prickle. I take a steadying breath, lowering my voice to carry a gravity that matches my thoughts. “You know exactly how this looks.” Silence echoes back through the phone line, and I feel a sliver of relief—perhaps they finally get it. “Roman, you’re not Dad,” Cole states firmly. The mention of our father hangs heavily in the air, a familiar weight pressing down on my chest. Our father, who always ensured there was a pretty, pliant woman within arm's reach; from our nannies to the cleaning staff, his choice of company had always been telling. I shove the thought aside—I've long imprisoned those memories and the messy shadows they cast. “I’ve taken great care to maintain an image that reassures our investors and shareholders.” My reassurances sound hollow, even to me. “So let me get this straight,” Tate draws out each word, “you’re worried about hiring this woman because you assume everyone will think you’re like Dad?” “Yes,” I answer tersely, feeling my throat tighten at the mere thought. “And we cannot afford that level of scrutiny.” Cole’s laugh is incredulous. “We can afford plenty, Roman.” They don’t understand, and I don’t blame them. They are basking in the euphoria of love and newfound commitments while I remain chained to a future that demands my focus. “We spent years doing damage control. We have to solidify our position in the market. The last thing we need is for Dad’s shadow to loom over us, not when he’s rotting behind bars.” “What was it you told me about not being defined by Dad?” Tate’s voice cuts through, a well-aimed reminder that stings. “I’m not worried about my personal life,” I state firmly. “Everything I want is in place. This is about the company’s reputation. When people see me, they’ll remember him. We don’t need anything that draws more attention to his legacy, whether good or bad. This isn’t about my interests—it’s about preventing fodder for rumors that could tank us.” “Then prove them wrong,” Cole urges. “Dad’s dalliances were public knowledge because he flaunted them. Everybody knows he was supporting at least three mistresses when he went to prison. Don’t take it out on her. If she can’t perform, replace her. But if she can, keep her and uphold the same professional standards you set with your previous assistants. How you act around her will change their perspective, not her age or appearance.” I rake my fingers through my hair, frustrated. They weren’t getting it. “She’ll become a target for every lecherous jerk we do business with,” I respond, the image forming in my mind making my blood run cold. “Roman,” Cole chortles, “I’m sure she knows how to handle herself. If you let her go, what are the odds she’ll wind up working for one of those creeps?” An uncomfortable knot forms in my throat as I envision Chloe surrounded by the very types of men I want to protect her from. Those striking blue-green eyes and inviting lips would lead them to salivate at the thought of having her under their control. The tension coils within me again, and I have to force my shoulders to relax. Maybe Tate is right. But can I step up and take her on without crossing boundaries? I’d have to be impeccably professional, maintaining a distance that keeps those slippery assumptions at bay. “She'll still need to prove herself,” I murmur, already knowing I sound begrudging. “Of course, she does,” Cole adds, amusement creeping into his voice, though I still don’t ask him to explain. “Now that we’re done questioning my decisions on employment,” I assert, wanting to steer us back to what matters most, “can we turn our attention to future plans?” My attempt to box Chloe out of my mind is desperate, even if it’s futile. We dive into discussions surrounding the construction timeline for Genesis-1—our latest luxury project—and the preparations related to EcoTech in anticipation of my upcoming meeting with the executive team regarding a potential acquisition. Yet, even as I focus on the future, thoughts of Chloe sneak in, uninvited. I find myself oscillating between wanting her to fail spectacularly so I can rid myself of her presence, and hoping she exceeds expectations, making it impossible to dismiss her from my life.