Page 21 of Fated By Fire

“Or maybe he wants to finish what you started,” she says, her voice dripping with mischief. “I mean, you kissed him. In front of people. That’s bold, girl.”

“It was stupid,” I correct her, sitting up and setting the coffee mug on the table. “And now I have to come up with a plausible reason for why I was in that office. Any ideas?”

“Oh, I’ve got ideas,” she says. “You could tell him you were looking for the secret lair where they keep the lizard people. Or maybe you were trying to find evidence that Craven Industries is actually a front for the Illuminati. Ooh! Or you could say you were investigating whether they’re hoarding all the world’s chocolate to create a monopoly.”

I groan again. “Mara, I need something believable.”

“Fine,” she huffs. “Tell him you were lost. Or that you were delivering files. Or that you were following a trail of breadcrumbs left by a secret society of corporate spies. That last one’s semi-believable.”

“Sure,” I say dryly. “Because that won’t make me sound like a raving lunatic.”

“Look, Lennie, you’re a PI. You’re good at lying. Just… wing it. And if he brings up the kiss, own it. Tell him you were swept away by his brooding good looks. That’ll throw him off.”

“Or it’ll make things worse,” I grumble, glancing at the clock. It’s already 7 am, and I need to get ready. “I’ll figure it out. Thanks, Mara.”

“Good luck, babe. And hey—if things go south, just remember: there’s always witness protection.”

I hang up, shaking my head. Mara’s advice is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine, but at least she’s trying. I drag myself to the shower, the scalding water doing little to calm my nerves. By the time I’m dressed—back in my corporate spywear of a pencil skirt and blouse—I’ve half-convinced myself that I can handle this.

Yeah, right.

The commute to Craven Towers feels longer than usual, every step weighed down by dread and anticipation. The elevator ride to Caleb’s office is even worse, the hum of machinery doing nothing to drown out the pounding of my heart.

When the doors open, his PA is waiting for me; impeccably dressed, hair twisted into a sleek knot, her expression is unreadable. “Mr. Craven is expecting you,” she says, gesturing to the double doors behind her.

I nod, swallowing hard, and step inside. Caleb’s office is just as imposing as I imagined—glass walls, sleek furniture, and the faint scent of something smoky and masculine. He’s standing by the window, his back to me, and for a moment, I’m frozen in place.

The sight of him, even from behind, stirs something deep within me—something I can’t quite figure out. His broad shoulders and the confident set of his stance give off a magnetic energy that makes my chest constrict. It’s more than just his physicality; there’s an unspoken power in the way he carries himself, and it unnerves me in a way I didn’t expect. I feel oddly off-balance, as though just being near him has shifted something inside me, and I can’t tear my eyes away.

“Jessica,” he says, turning to face me. His jawline is sharp, etched with a severity that commands attention, and his eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. The faint shadow of stubble along his jaw adds to the raw masculinity that radiates from him, making the air around himfeel heavier, more charged. His broad frame fills the space, the fabric of his shirt pulling taut across his chest as he takes a deliberate step closer. I fight the instinctive urge to step back, a mix of awe and unease knotting in my stomach.

Out of your league, girl…

I don’t know where the thought comes from, but it makes my cheeks flame.

“Mr. Craven,” I half croak.

His voice is low, a hint of danger woven into every syllable. “Close the door.”

I do as I’m told, the click of the latch sounding unnaturally loud in the silence. Caleb doesn’t move, his eyes locked on mine, and I feel like a mouse caught in the gaze of a swooping hawk.

I clear my throat. “You wanted to see me?” I ask, my voice a little steadier.

He steps closer still, his movements deliberate, and my heart leaps into my throat. “I did. We need to talk about last night.”

“The kiss,” I blurt, then immediately regret it. “I’m so sorry! I never meant—”

His lips twitch, almost a smile, but it’s gone so fast I might have imagined it. “No. The basement.”

Oh.

Shit.

I swallow hard, my mind racing. “Right. The basement. Like I said, I was just delivering files. Greg asked me to drop them off.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “That office is unoccupied.”

“I thought someone would be there,” I say, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I must’ve gotten the wrong room. I’m still new here, and I’m trying to find my way around… sir.” I tack on the last with a sheepish smile.

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