Page 133 of The Contract

By the time I step into the towering glass lobby of Wolfe Industries and the elevator doors open on the seventieth floor, my head is clearer.

But the second I approach the receptionist’s desk, something shifts.

The woman behind it—tall, stunning, and immaculately put together—barely glances up from her screen.

The cliché attractive assistant who wears too-short skirts and too-high heels for her CEO boss—it makes me roll my eyes.

“He’s not available.” Her tone is clipped, dismissive, like I’m some random visitor who doesn’t belong.

She still doesn’t check. “And he won’t be for quite some time.”

Something in her tone isn’t just dismissive. It’s personal.

My grip tightens around the flowers, the delicate paper wrapping crinkling loudly in the vast space.

“You make it sound like you’re referring to more than just today’s calendar,” I muse, my voice light, amused.

The receptionist—Vanessa, according to her nameplate—finally looks up, eyes scanning me in a slow, deliberate sweep.

“Leave the flowers. I’ll see he gets them.” She goes back to her keyboard, clacking away loudly as if that settles it.

“Thank you, but I’ll deliver them personally.”

I’m about to tell her my name when she stands, placing both hands on her desk and leveling me with a look that says she’s had enough.

My eyebrows shoot upward, and I fight back the grin threatening to push the last of her thin patience over the edge.

“I’m sure you have high hopes that Damien will put you on his rotation, but unfortunately”—she sighs dramatically—“he claims to have a surprise fiancée. One that makes him forget his assistant of two years’ birthday.”

That last part was more for herself than for me. The scoff and roll of her eyes nearly make me laugh.

Oh.

Poor thing.

I school my features, letting my lips curve into something sharp and knowing. “Damien, huh? Not Mr. Wolfe? You seem quite friendly with your boss… on a first-name basis.”

Vanessa doesn’t waver, her smirk deepening.

“Mr. Wolfe and I have an understanding.” She leans in slightly, lowering her voice like we’re old friends sharing secrets. “I fully intend for him to remember that I’m the only stablewoman in his life. And I suspect I won’t be working here very long once he does.”

My blood heats, but I don’t react.

“But I’ll be sure to personally deliver these flowers to him on your behalf, Ms.…?”

She holds her arms out as if to take them from me.

With deliberate ease, I move the flowers to my other arm, holding them like a baby, careful not to squish them.

“That won’t be necessary.”

Then, without breaking eye contact, I pull out my phone.

I’ve never called Damien before. But I know he’ll answer.

It barely rings twice before his voice comes through—smooth, low, instant.

“Elena?”

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