Page 94 of Claimed By The Other Brother

"Respond to legitimate concerns, ignore trolls, and push out positive content about Blackwell's track record and values. Show the company is more than one scandal."

The discussion continues for another thirty minutes. Strategy, timelines, responsibilities. I participate when appropriate, offering input and answering questions. Professional. Focused. But I can feel Dax watching me. Every time I speak, his eyes are on me. Every time I glance in his direction, he's staring. My hands fidget with my pen under the table. Finally, Karen wraps up.

"Alright, we have our marching orders. Let's execute. Scarlett, can you put together a detailed crisis communication plan by end of week?"

"Absolutely."

"Great. Meeting adjourned."

Everyone stands, gathering their things. I move quickly, grabbing my notebook and heading for the door before Dax can intercept me. I make it into the hallway and walk fast toward my office, not looking back.

I'm back at my desk, pulling up files on my laptop and trying to calm my racing heart, when my phone rings. Emma's extension.

I pick up. "Scarlett Bradford."

"Ms. Bradford, Mr. Blackwell would like to see you in his office for an urgent debrief."

My stomach drops. "Now?"

"Yes, please."

"I'll be right there."

I hang up and press my palms flat against the desk, taking a breath. This is fine. It's work. A debrief. Professional. I stand, smooth my skirt, and walk down the corridor to Dax's office at the far end. His door is closed. I knock.

"Come in."

I open the door and step inside.

Dax's office is enormous. Corner space, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a massive mahogany desk, leather furniture, modern art on the walls. It's the office of a man who built an empire. He's standing by the windows when I enter, hands in his pockets, looking out at Manhattan.

"Close the door," he sayswithout turning around.

I do, then walk toward his desk, stopping a few feet away.

"You wanted to see me?"

He turns. Our eyes meet, and everything I've been trying to suppress floods back. The hotel suite. The bathroom. His hands on me. His mouth. The way he made me feel.

"Scarlett Bradford." He moves toward me, extending his hand.

"Welcome to Blackwell Media. Thank you for joining us on such short notice."

I take his hand, intending a professional shake. But the moment our skin touches, electricity shoots through me. His grip tightens, just slightly, and I see the mask crack.

"How are you doing?" His voice drops, intimate.

I pull my hand back.

"Fine. Settling in well."

"Why didn't you respond to my messages?"

"I've been busy."

"Busy." He steps closer.

"For two weeks?"