Chapter 2 A Dangerous Game

# Chapter 2: A Dangerous Game

Three days had passed since that mortifying moment in the conference room, and I'd managed to avoid Kane through a carefully orchestrated system of schedule-checking and strategic exits. My coworkers had noticed my odd behavior, but I'd blamed it on a nonexistent stomach bug.

"You can't hide forever," Lisa said, dropping into the chair opposite my desk. "The whole marketing team's been summoned to the executive floor. Including you."

I stopped typing mid-sentence. "When?"

"Twenty minutes." She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "What's going on with you? Ever since Richardson took over, you've been acting like you've seen a ghost."

More like I'd seen him naked. "Nothing. Just... adjusting to new management."

Lisa looked unconvinced but mercifully dropped the subject. "Well, adjust quickly. Rumor has it he's restructuring departments, and marketing's first on the list."

The executive floor was a world away from our cramped marketing department—all glass walls, plush carpeting, and views of the city skyline. Our team of eight huddled in the hallway outside the conference room, trading nervous glances.

"Do you think they're firing us?" whispered Tom, our newest team member.

"Don't be dramatic," our director Marcus replied, though his pallor suggested he wasn't entirely confident.

The conference room door opened, and Kane's assistant—a severe-looking woman named Helen—gestured us in. "Mr. Richardson will be with you shortly."

We filed in, taking seats around the massive table. I chose a spot at the far end, hoping to blend into the background. No such luck.

"Ms. Mitchell," Helen said crisply, "Mr. Richardson requested you sit here." She indicated the chair directly to the right of the head of the table.

Every eye in the room turned to me. Feeling my cheeks burn, I moved to the designated seat, keeping my gaze fixed on the table.

Kane entered moments later, and the room immediately tensed. He wore a charcoal suit today, his presence commanding attention without effort. His eyes found mine briefly before addressing the group.

"Thank you for coming. I've been reviewing all departments, and I see tremendous untapped potential in marketing." His voice was all business, no hint of the man who had whispered heated words in my ear. "I have some specific ideas I'd like to implement immediately."

For the next thirty minutes, he outlined a bold new direction for our department—more digital focus, aggressive campaigns, increased budget. It was actually brilliant, addressing issues we'd complained about for years.

"Questions?" he asked finally.

Several hands went up, and he fielded each query with impressive knowledge of our operations. Throughout the meeting, I felt his awareness of me like a physical touch, though he maintained perfect professionalism.

As the meeting concluded, people began gathering their notes. "Ms. Mitchell," Kane said, his tone casual, "could you stay behind? I'd like to discuss the Henderson account."

Marcus shot me a curious look—the Henderson account was his project, not mine—but nodded encouragingly.

The room emptied until only Kane and I remained. He walked to the door, closed it, then turned the small lock with a soft click that seemed to echo in the silent room.

"You've been avoiding me." He leaned against the door, arms crossed.

I stood my ground on the opposite side of the table. "This is inappropriate."

"Which part? The meeting I just conducted, or the fact that I've seen you come undone beneath my hands?"

Heat rushed to my face. "You know exactly what I mean. You're my boss now."

"I am." He moved toward me with that predatory grace I remembered too well. "Does that change what happened between us?"

"Of course it does! There are rules, professional boundaries—"

"Rules." He smiled, stopping directly in front of me. "You didn't strike me as someone so concerned with rules that night."

My back hit the edge of the conference table. "That was before I knew who you were."

"And now that you know?" His voice dropped lower, his body close enough that I could feel his warmth. "Has it changed how your body responds to me?"

I swallowed hard, hating that he was right—despite everything, my traitorous body remembered his touch, craved it even now.

"This needs to stop," I said, proud that my voice remained steady. "What happened was a one-time thing. We should both be professional and forget it."

Kane studied me for a long moment, then did something unexpected—he stepped back, giving me space.

"You're right about one thing," he said. "We should be professional. During working hours."

The emphasis wasn't lost on me. "And outside of work?"

His smile returned, slow and confident. "That's where we have options, Ava. You see, I've been thinking about our... unique situation."

"Have you now?"

"I have." He perched on the edge of the table. "I want to propose an arrangement."

I crossed my arms defensively. "What kind of arrangement?"

"A compartmentalized relationship. During office hours, you're my employee and I'm your CEO—completely professional. But after hours..." His eyes darkened. "We continue what we started at the club."

The audacity of his proposal left me speechless. "You can't be serious."

"I'm always serious about what I want, Ava. And I want you."

His directness sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with fear. "That's—that's insane. It would never work."

"Why not? The anonymity of the club allowed you to be someone different—someone free from constraints. I saw the real you that night, Ava. The woman beneath the professional exterior."

"You don't know anything about the real me," I countered.

"I know you respond to my touch like you were made for it." His words were matter-of-fact, not arrogant. "I know you're capable of passion you keep carefully hidden. And I know you're tempted by what I'm offering, even as you tell yourself you shouldn't be."

I moved toward the door, needing escape. "I need to get back to work."

"Of course." He stepped aside, but as I reached for the door handle, his hand closed over mine. "One more thing. I've renewed my membership at Eros. Private room seven will be reserved every Friday night. Whether you come or not is entirely your choice."

He released my hand and stepped back. "That's all, Ms. Mitchell. Thank you for your input on the Henderson account."

The sudden return to professionalism was jarring. I fled the conference room, my mind racing and my body humming with unwanted awareness.

For the rest of the week, Kane was the model of professional behavior. In meetings, he treated me exactly like everyone else—respectful, focused on business, no hint of personal interest. Yet occasionally I'd catch his gaze, see that knowing look in his eyes, and feel my resolve weakening.

Friday arrived with agonizing inevitability. I told myself repeatedly I wouldn't go to the club. Told myself as I left work, as I went home, as I showered. Told myself even as I put on the black dress again, applied makeup with trembling hands.

"Just to tell him no in person," I whispered to my reflection. "To end this properly."

The club was just as I remembered—dim lights, masked figures, air heavy with anticipation. I made my way upstairs without stopping at the bar, needing to get this over with before I lost my nerve.

Room seven's door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open to find Kane standing by the window, still in his work suit minus the jacket, sleeve rolled up to reveal strong forearms. He turned at my entrance, his expression unreadable behind his mask.

"You came."

I stayed by the door. "To tell you this can't happen. It's wrong on every level."

"Is it?" He moved toward me slowly. "Or are you just afraid?"

"Of course I'm afraid!" The admission burst out before I could stop it. "My career, my reputation—"

"That's not what I meant." He was directly in front of me now. "You're afraid of how I make you feel. Afraid of wanting something—someone—you think you shouldn't."

His perception cut too close to the truth. I looked away. "This isn't just about desire. There are power dynamics, ethical considerations—"

"Look at me, Ava." His finger tilted my chin up. "In this room, I'm not your CEO. I'm just a man who wants you. Who thinks about you constantly. Who can't forget how you taste, how you sound when you surrender."

My breath caught. "Kane, we can't—"

He stepped closer, his body now just inches from mine. "Tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me you don't want this—want me—and I'll walk away right now."

The challenge hung between us, his blue eyes burning into mine. I should say it. Should end this dangerous game before it truly began.

Instead, I reached for him, my fingers curling into his shirt as I pulled him toward me.

His kiss was immediate, consuming, breaking through every barrier I'd tried to erect. His hands tangled in my hair as he backed me against the door, his body pressed hard against mine.

"Say it," he demanded against my lips. "Say you want this."

"I want this," I gasped as his mouth moved to my neck. "I want you."

He pulled back just enough to search my face. "Remember, Ava—you're mine in here. Outside these walls, nothing changes. Can you handle that?"

I knew I was making a terrible decision, crossing a line I could never uncross. But with his hands on me, his scent surrounding me, I couldn't find the will to refuse.

"Yes," I whispered, sealing my fate.

His smile was pure predator as he lifted me into his arms. "Then let the game begin."