Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“I bury myself in work as often as I can so I don’t have to feel anything after what I’ve been through,” he snapped suddenly, the edge in his voice cutting through the air. “So I don’t have to get caught up in emotions I can’t control. It would be nice if you could accept that and respect my—”
“Boundaries?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not the only person who’s ever lived through hell,” I continued. “You just refuse to see anyone else’s.”
Silence thickened between us.
“So you know what?” I swallowed hard. “Screw you. Screw your boundaries. And screw the time I’ve wasted believing you’d ever become human.”
I stormed off the balcony before he could respond.
Pulling on a bathrobe, I grabbed my dress and stilettos from the night before and left his suite.
By the time I reached the elevator, my hands were shaking.
“Hurry up,” I muttered as the numbers ticked down.
Footsteps echoed behind me.
“Andrea…” His voice was rough now, less controlled.
The doors opened, and I stepped inside.
He followed, hitting the “door open” button before they could close.
“I’m trying to talk to you.”
“Send it in an email,” I said. “I have to go do some work.”
“No.”
Still dripping wet, he stepped fully into the elevator and tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him.
“I’m sorry.” His words stunned me into silence.
They didn’t sound natural coming from him…
“I truly am,” he said more quietly. “And the answer is ‘yes,’ I do have feelings for you, but I don’t process emotions well. Especially not on days like today.”
“That’s not an excuse…”
“I know.” He sighed. “I know…”
I struggled to find the next words to say.
“Today marks a decade since my best friend since childhood passed away,” he said. “The man was practically my brother—and I’ve never learned how to grieve him without destroying something else in the process — a company, a relationship… myself.”
The elevator beeped its warning.
He stepped onto his floor and extended his hand.
“Are you staying or leaving?”
The elevator doors started to close.
I took his hand.
Back inside the suite, he cupped my face gently.
“I’ve been living with guilt for years,” he admitted. “And I don’t know how to let someone new matter to me.”
“Guilt?” I whispered. “You think his death was your fault?”
“If I promise to tell you everything,” he said softly, “can I answer that later?”
I nodded.
He kissed me then—not with urgency, not with dominance, but with something that felt dangerously close to surrender.
When he lifted me against the bay window, the glass cool against my back, he didn’t rush this time. His hands traced the curve of my thighs before lifting them around his waist, and when he entered me, it wasn’t with force—it was deliberate, slow, as if he needed to feel every inch of me and make sure I felt him just as clearly.
“Keep your eyes open for me,” he murmured, and I obliged as he took me again and again.
The next time I awoke, I was lying against him in an oversized tub, my muscles trembling and my throat raw.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this quiet,” he said softly, brushing his lips along my shoulder.
I couldn’t find words.
He washed me slowly, thoughtfully, as though he was memorizing the shape of me.
“I haven’t forgotten what I promised to tell you,” he said.
He turned me to face him in the water.
“My best friend’s name was Austin,” he said. “We started out building apps for companies and selling them back right after college. Over time, that became his specialty, while buying companies and making billions became mine…”
“One night he came up with a brilliant idea since he loved coffee but also hated waiting in line. He pitched Starbucks on a mobile-ordering platform, long before they ever had one.”
I went still.
“He and Ciara spent months perfecting it, and Starbucks promised they would buy it when it was finished.”
His voice shifted.
“Two weeks before the deal could be finalized, they demanded that he fly to Seattle for a last-minute meeting,” he said. “He asked if it could wait until morning or afternoon, but they refused. They needed him now.”
“All the flights were booked, so I arranged for him to take a private plane,” he said. “I reminded him not to back down from any parts of the deal, and I told him goodbye…”
The water felt colder.
“It crashed.” He swallowed. “Two minutes after takeoff.”
My chest tightened.
“Ciara’s last words to him were goodbye, too,” he said. “It’s…”
He didn’t finish that sentence.
“Before we buried him, Starbucks sent their condolences via a fucking email. Then they launched his app—the exact version that he made without any changes—without paying Ciara a dime or honoring the contract.”
“I…” I wrapped my arms around him. “I’m so sorry.”
“I took his death out on all the companies I owned here.” He paused. “That’s technically where the Cross Effect came from. Employees were just numbers, businesses became leverage, and the press was just an annoying means that never even gave him a proper public obituary.”