Page 112 of Claimed By The Other Brother

"Enjoy your marinating?" I ask.

"Very much."

She gets up, wrapping herself in a silk robe that barely covers anything. I cross the room and pull her against me, my hands sliding under the robe to grip her bare skin.

"Dax," she laughs, pushing lightly at my chest.

"I have to go. We have to go."

I kiss her anyway, slow and deep, tasting her mouth one more time before I let her pull away.

She heads toward the bathroom, pausing at the doorway to look back at me.

"Don't be late."

"I won't."

She disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the shower start.

I get dressed in yesterday's clothes—wrinkled shirt,suit that smells faintly of her perfume and sex. It'll have to do until I get to the office.

Before I leave, I walk back to the bathroom door. The shower is running, steam already escaping into the hallway.

"Scarlett."

The water stops briefly. "Yeah?"

"I'll see you at the office."

There's a pause. "Okay."

I stand there for a moment longer, something unspoken hanging in the air between us. Something I'm not ready to name yet.

Then I turn and leave her apartment.

The morning air is cool as I step onto the sidewalk. The city is waking up—early commuters, delivery trucks, the hum of traffic building. I hail a cab, and one pulls up within seconds.

The ride is quick. Manhattan is still quiet enough that we make good time. I check my phone—no urgent messages, nothing that can't wait another hour.

The building lobby is nearly empty when I arrive. Just security and a few early risers heading to their offices. I nod at the guard and take the elevator up.

The forty-second floor is silent. No Emma at her desk. No team members milling around the kitchen. Just the soft hum of the HVAC and the view of the city stretching out through the windows.

I head straight to my office and close the door behind me. My closet is built into the wall behind my desk—custom, stocked with exactly what I need for situationslike this. I pull out a fresh suit, charcoal gray, along with a crisp white shirt, navy tie, socks, briefs. I strip out of yesterday's clothes and get dressed methodically. Fresh everything. No evidence of where I spent the night or what I did this morning.

By the time I'm fully dressed, tie knotted perfectly, shoes polished, I look like the CEO who walked into the office yesterday. I check my reflection in the mirror one last time, adjusting my cuffs. Professional. Controlled. Exactly as it should be.

The day gets going in full swing; meetings, debriefs, calls. I'm reviewing a contract when my cell phone rings. Not my office line—my personal cell.

I glance at the screen.Mom.

I haven't talked to her in weeks. Between the MediaLink crisis and everything with Scarlett, I've been too consumed to make the usual check-in calls.

I answer. "Mom."

"Dax." Her voice is warm, familiar.

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."