Page 21 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

“I saw you,” I cut in. “Not only did I see you, but every single motion sensor on the east side of the property logged your proximity. Maybe you think I don’t check those reports, but you’d be wrong.”

His nostrils flared. “I was giving her a tour.”

I made a show of looking through him; past the curly hair, the too-long eyelashes, the smirk he thought I envied. “Ms. Blake does not require a chaperone. And she especially doesn’t require one who’s already had two prior warnings for ‘excessive familiarity’ with staff.”

Now the smile faltered for real. “I’m not fraternizing with anyone.”

“That’s funny. Because to me it looks like you’re not fraternizing with anyone, you’re fraternizing with everyone.” My tone was still ice, but my pulse was a hammer in my wrist. I pictured Eden’s face. The wariness in her eyes when she’d mentioned Leo, the way her shoulders tensed every time heentered a room. Was it just nerves, or something worse? The idea that she might not tell me if she felt threatened, if she needed help, sent a white-hot spike through my chest.

I pushed it down. Focus.

“Friendly advice,” I said, “most rooms in this house have cameras. Not just the public ones. If you’re as innocent as you say, you shouldn’t mind. But if I get even a whiff of a problem-”

Leo’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “There’s nothing to see.”

I stepped forward, closing the gap to a foot and a half. “Better stay that way,” I said quietly. “Or you’ll be job-hunting by noon.”

His mouth opened, then closed. He made a tiny, strangled sound that I recognized instantly as defeat. I almost pitied him, but not enough to let up.

“Get to breakfast,” I said, already turning away. “You’ll need the energy today.”

He watched me go, but he didn’t follow.

The kitchen was a box of sunlight and sound. Maribel’s crew moved like a pit crew at Monaco; one plating, one whisking, two more setting out bowls of fruit and toast for a staff meeting that, even on a good day, was like herding cats. The smells were weaponized; cinnamon, coffee, the tang of fresh orange rind. My stomach rumbled but I ignored it. I’d lost my appetite somewhere in the hallway.

I slipped through the kitchen and out the side exit, not looking back. I could still feel Leo’s eyes on my back, burning with something that might have been hatred or might have been relief. Maybe both.

The air outside was crisp and sharp, a slap to the face. I inhaled and let the frost numb everything from throat to chest. I was calm, or as close to calm as I ever got.

But there was a question gnawing at me now. One I’d have to answer before it started costing me.

Was I doing this for discipline, or for her?

The difference, I suspected, was about to matter.

After needing to check in with her, I stood outside her door with my fist raised, but for a solid minute I didn’t move. Just stood there, one knuckle poised against the wood, like I was about to break into a bank instead of speak to the woman who was rapidly becoming the single biggest problem in my entire adult life.

I’d been over the script a hundred times in my head, and every version ended in disaster. I could still see her face from last night; hurt, as if she’d hated that I walked away. I know I made the right decision, but I hated it. Hated that I’d made her feel rejected, even if that’s exactly what I should have done.

Finally, I rapped the door, two quick and one slow. The universal code for “I come in peace, but I also have a badge.”

The handle turned, and Eden opened the door just wide enough to fit her body. She wore a gray T-shirt, soft with too many washes, and a pair of black yoga pants that made her look like she could run at any moment. Her arms were folded high across her chest, and her gaze was somewhere in the vicinity of my feet. Then she stepped back as if she had no other choice, opening the door wider for me.

I didn’t move. “May I come in?” I asked.

She hesitated, then gave a small, downward tilt of her head. Not a nod, more like an admission of defeat.

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Her suite was more comfortable than my own; warm carpet, light white drapes framing the french doors, the faintest trace of lilac and lavender in the air. The doors were open a crack, letting in a drift of cold and the damp green of the garden beyond. I made my way to the sofa overlooking the doors and I sat.

She stayed by the door, arms still locked tight. I tried not to take it personally, but it hit harder than I expected.

“I need you to be very honest with me,” I said. “Has Leo Martin been harassing you?”

Her eyes shot up for the first time. “No.” The word was immediate, automatic, but she was nodding her head, telling me everything I needed to know. “No,” she repeated, softer. “He’s just, friendly. Maybe too friendly. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

She looked like she meant it, but then she opened her mouth as if to say something, then decided against it and closed her mouth.

“What were you going to say?” I asked.