CELESTE
The move from the forty-second floor to the executive penthouse on the fiftieth was less than a hundred feet vertically, but it felt like being transported to another planet.
Downstairs was the "hive"—loud, caffeinated, and frantic. Up here, it was a tomb of glass and hushed tones, smelling of expensive sandalwood and the ozone of high-end air purifiers.
I carried my meager belongings in a single cardboard box. It felt pathetic. A stapler, a half-used notebook, and a framed photo of Gabriel that I had turned face-down the moment I entered the elevator.
"You can't be serious," Anastasia Thorne's voice hissed behind me.
I stopped. I didn't want to turn around, but I had to. Anastasia was standing by the mahogany reception desk, her face a mask of carefully curated fury. Her skin was so tight across her cheekbones she looked like a porcelain doll that was about to shatter.
"I'm just following Mr. Cross's orders, Anastasia," I said, trying to keep my voice even.
"It's Ms. Thorne to you," she snapped, stepping into my personal space. She was wearing heels that made her six feet tall, looking down at me like I was something she'd found on the bottom of her Louboutins. "I've been at this company for five years. I've worked eighty-hour weeks to earn my spot. And you? You walk in here with a 'Lawson' name and a sob story, and suddenly you're the CEO's personal analyst? What did you do in that office, Celeste? Did you cry? Or did you offer him something more... traditional?"
The insult stung, but I'd been insulted by Margot Lawson—the gold medalist of emotional abuse. Anastasia was an amateur.
"I offered him a perspective he didn't have," I said, my voice dropping to a cold, calm register. "And if you have a problem with his staffing decisions, I suggest you take it up with him. Or are you afraid of what he'll say?"
Anastasia's hand flew to her throat. For a second, I thought she might actually slap me. But she caught herself, her eyes darting to the security cameras in the corners of the ceiling.
"Enjoy the view while it lasts," she whispered, her voice venomous. "Mr. Cross doesn't keep 'liabilities' for long. And I'm going to make it my personal mission to find out exactly what you're hiding."
She turned and stalked away, the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of her heels sounding like a death march.
I took a shaky breath and pushed open the heavy oak doors to my new workspace. It wasn't a cubicle. It was a glass-walled office directly adjacent to Allen's. We were separated by nothing but a sheet of soundproofed crystal.
I sat down at the desk, which was larger than the dining table in Maya's brownstone. Through the glass, I could see Allen. He was on the phone, his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that were lean and corded with muscle. He looked up, his blue eyes locking onto mine for a heartbeat before he looked back at his computer.
He didn't smile. He didn't acknowledge me. He just watched. Like a scientist observing a specimen.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Maya.
G is down for his nap. He asked if 'Mama is catching the bad guys.' Tell me you didn't get fired on day one.
I felt a lump form in my throat. No, Maya, I thought. I didn't get fired. I got captured.
ALLEN
I could see her through the glass.
She was small in that oversized office, a splash of soft grey against the cold, black-and-white aesthetic of my world. She looked overwhelmed, her shoulders slumped for a fleeting second before she squared them and started typing.
She was a Lawson, yet she was working like her life depended on every keystroke. Most women in her position—disowned or not—would have tried to use the child as a golden ticket. A lawsuit. A headline. A demand for a monthly check.
But Celeste hadn't asked for a dime. She'd asked for her paycheck.
"Mr. Cross?"
The door to my office opened. I didn't need to look up to know who it was. The scent of Chanel No. 5 preceded her like a warning.
Yona Vance.
She was the daughter of one of our biggest media partners and, briefly, a woman I had dated because our fathers thought it would be 'synergistic.' Yona was beautiful in a way that felt engineered—perfect teeth, perfect hair, and a mind that was constantly calculating social capital.
"Yona," I said, not looking up from my screen. "We don't have a meeting until Friday."
"I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd bring you lunch," she said, gliding across the room and placing a bag from an overpriced bistro on my desk. She leaned over, her silk blouse draping dangerously low. "You've been avoiding my calls, Allen. Is the 'Ice King' melting, or are you just busy?"
"Busy," I said.
Yona's gaze drifted to the glass wall. Her eyes narrowed as she saw Celeste. "Who is that? I thought Anastasia was your only gatekeeper."
"She's a new hire. A specialist," I said shortly.
"A specialist?" Yona laughed, a tinkle of glass that didn't sound happy. "She looks like a graduate student who lost her way. And isn't that... Celeste Lawson? I recognize her from the charity circuit years ago. Wasn't there some massive scandal? Something about her being kicked out of the family for... well, for being a 'wild child'?"
I finally looked up. My gaze was ice. "She is an employee of Apex, Yona. Her past is not your concern."
Yona's smile didn't waver, but her eyes sharpened. She was a predator, and she had just scented blood in the water. "Of course, darling. I just didn't realize you were in the business of 'charity cases' now. My father will be so interested to hear about Apex's new hiring initiatives."
"Your father should focus on his falling circulation numbers," I countered.
Yona leaned in, her voice dropping. "Don't be like that, Allen. We're still the 'Power Couple' of the year, remember? My family's media outlets can make or break a reputation. You shouldn't play with fire."
She blew me a kiss and walked out, her hips swaying. But as she passed Celeste's glass office, she slowed down. She didn't say a word, but she stared at Celeste with a cold, predatory curiosity that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I looked back at Celeste. She was staring at her screen, oblivious to the fact that she had just been marked by two of the most dangerous women in New York.
I picked up my desk phone. "Celeste. In here. Now."
She looked up, startled, and stood. A moment later, she was standing in front of my desk.
"Yes, Mr. Cross?"
"That woman who just left," I said, standing up and walking toward her. "Yona Vance. Stay away from her. If she speaks to you, you give her nothing. No details, no small talk, nothing."
Celeste frowned. "I know who Yona is, Allen. Her cousin, Maya, is my best friend. I've avoided her for years."
"Maya Vance is your friend?" I asked, surprised. The Vances were old money, but Maya was known as the 'rebel' of the clan.
"She's the only reason I'm not on the street," Celeste said quietly.
I processed this. The web was getting tighter. Maya Vance, the secret baby, the Lawson disownment, and now Yona looking for a story.
"Listen to me," I said, reaching out and grabbing her arm. I didn't mean to, but I needed her to understand the gravity of the situation. "You aren't in Brooklyn anymore. You are in the middle of a war zone.
Anastasia wants your job. Yona wants my name. And my parents... they want a legacy. If any of them find out about Gabriel before I have a plan to protect him, your life as you know it is over. Do you understand?"
Celeste looked down at my hand on her arm, then up at me. Her eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and something else—something that felt like a spark of the fire we'd shared three years ago.
"I've been protecting him for three years without you," she whispered. "I don't need a billionaire to tell me how to be a mother."
"You aren't just a mother anymore, Celeste," I said, my voice dropping to a low growl.
"You're a Cross. Whether you like it or not."
I let go of her arm, but the heat of the contact lingered in the air.
"Go back to work," I said.
She turned and left, but as I watched her through the glass, I realized I was lying to her. I wasn't just trying to protect Gabriel.
I was trying to protect her. And in my world, that was the most dangerous mistake I could ever make.