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I blink until the room settles back into focus and look down at my phone. The screen is packed with messages.

Bane: I wish you could see what you do to me.

Bane: I want to be inside you so bad my hands are shaking.

Bane: Are you okay?

I stare at the last one, still fighting to catch my breath. Am I okay? I think I might be better than okay.

I reach for my mug with clumsy fingers, swallow the tepid Earl Grey like it’s a chaser, and let its warmth spread through me as the last tremors ripple across my thighs.

Emma: I’m fucking amazing.

The words leave my phone before I can overthink them, and embarrassment creeps in almost as soon as I hit send. Then another message arrives.

Bane: That was the plan.

Bane: You’re absolutely devastating.

Part of me wants to curl into a ball and apologize for every reckless thing I’ve done tonight. Another part still aches for him, tangled up with a fresh flush of shame and a fierce, unexpected pride.

I’ve never done this with anyone before, and realizing that sends another rush through me, almost as intoxicating as everything that’s already happened.

My gaze drops to the streak of dew across my thigh, and a laugh slips out. This one comes easier, carrying the kind of understanding that arrives after you’ve crossed a line and realize you don’t want to go back.

I want more.

I want him.

Shit.

CHAPTER TEN

Bane

APRIL 4TH

Theo swipes a champagne flute from a passing waiter before anyone reaches the podium.

“I’d like the record to show,” he says, raising the glass as I step out of the lift onto the rooftop, “that I’m celebrating responsibly.”

My eyes drop to the glass already missing half its contents. “And physically.”

The rooftop buzzes around us. Employees gather beneath strings of lights stretched between polished steel columns, with waiters weaving through the crowd beneath trays balanced over their heads.

A jazz quartet fills the space near the glass railing overlooking Manhattan as dusk settles across the skyline.

Wolf Shield has spent months chasing this contract. Every department poured endless hours into it, and tonight belongs to the people who made it happen.

That’s why I insisted everyone leave work downstairs, bring a guest if they wanted, and wear whatever made them comfortable.

Judging by the laughter rolling across the rooftop, they took me at my word.

Theo nudges my shoulder. “I’ve discovered Finance has a dance culture.”

I follow his stare. Two accountants throw finger guns at each other with complete confidence and absolutely no coordination.

“I could’ve lived without seeing that.”