"Probably not."
"My mother will destroy you if she finds out. Systematically. Creatively. She’ll make sure you never work again."
"Probably."
"Your contract has a morality clause that specifically prohibits inappropriate relationships with family mbers."
"I’m painfully aware of that particular detail."
"Then why—"
I kissed her again before she could finish the question. Softer this ti, slower, the kind of kiss that said I know this is monuntally stupid but I’m doing it anyway because so things are worth the risk.
When I pulled back, Vivienne looked dazed, her perfect composure completely shattered and replaced by sothing young and scared and desperately wanting.
"Because you asked what I wanted too," I said quietly. "In the car. Before you fell asleep on my shoulder."
"I don’t rember asking anything."
"Your face asked." I touched her cheek again, marveling at how sothing so simple could feel so significant. "You looked at like you were trying to solve a complex equation with too many variables."
"I was trying to figure out whether you were worth the risk."
"And?"
Her smile was slow, dangerous, the kind of expression that belonged on soone planning a hostile corporate takeover rather than a seventeen-year-old girl in a vampire costu.
"I’m still running the calculations."
Then she kissed again.
And this ti, there was nothing soft or hesitant about it.
Her mouth was demanding, claiming, like she’d made so kind of executive decision and was sealing the deal with her lips and tongue and the kind of focused intensity she usually reserved for quarterly reports. I responded in kind, backing her against the nearest rack of winter coats, my hands sliding down to her waist and then her hips, pulling her against hard enough that she gasped into my mouth.
The coats swayed behind her, cashre and wool worth more than my car, probably insured for amounts that would make my head spin. I didn’t care.
Vivienne’s legs wrapped around my waist with athletic grace, and when did that happen? I wasn’t complaining. Her costu rode up, exposing the tops of her stockings, the pale skin of her thighs that had never seen manual labor or financial stress. My brain perford a complete shutdown and reboot sequence.
"Isaiah." My na ca out breathless, wanting, like a prayer or a curse. "We should stop."
"We absolutely should."
Neither of us stopped.
Her fingers worked at my vest buttons with surprising dexterity, got three undone before I caught her wrists in my hands, stilling her movents before my last functional brain cell committed suicide.
"Wait."
"Why?" Her purple eyes were dark, dilated, fixed on mine with laser focus. "I thought you wanted this."
"I do. Too much. That’s the problem." My breathing was ragged, uncontrolled in a way that probably revealed more than I wanted it to. "But not like this. Not when you’re upset and crying and using as a distraction from whatever’s actually bothering you."
Vivienne went completely still, her expression cycling through surprise, hurt, and then sothing that looked suspiciously like respect mixed with disappointnt.
"You’re turning down."
"I’m saying later. When you’re not crying over your dad and I’m not freaking out about contracts and consequences. When we can actually think straight instead of making decisions with our hormones."
"What if I don’t want to think straight?" She unwrapped her legs from my waist, slid down until her feet touched the marble floor, but she didn’t step away completely. "What if thinking straight is what’s been making miserable for the past two years?"
"Then think crooked. Think sideways. Think in spirals if it makes you happy. Just not tonight when everything’s raw and complicated and liable to explode in our faces."
Vivienne stepped back, her hands moving automatically to fix her costu, smooth her hair, rebuild the facade that had been temporarily dismantled. Her mask was trying to reassemble itself in real ti, and I could see it happening brick by brick, wall by wall.
"You’re right," she said, her voice cooling to professional temperatures. "This was inappropriate. I apologize for overstepping boundaries and compromising your professional position."
"Don’t." I caught her hand before she could retreat completely into corporate speak. "Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for feeling things like emotions are so kind of personal failing."
"I’m not supposed to feel things. Not these kinds of things."
"Says who? Your mother? The board? So imaginary rule book for billionaire heiresses?"
"Everyone." The word was so small, so broken, it made my chest ache.
I pulled her back toward , not to kiss but just to hold, letting her rest her forehead against my chest while my arms ca around her shoulders. She didn’t resist, just lted into like she’d been waiting her entire life for soone to offer comfort without expecting anything in return.
"Your sisters love you," I said quietly, my voice vibrating through my chest where her head rested. "They’re terrified for you. Harlow said you never ask for help."
"Asking for help is admitting weakness, and weak people don’t run companies or protect family legacies."
"Asking for help is being human. And the last ti I checked, humans were the only species capable of building billion-dollar enterprises."
Vivienne’s laugh was muffled against my shirt, warm breath seeping through the fabric. "You sound like my dad when you say things like that."
"Good. He sounds like he was a smart man who actually understood what mattered."
"He was." Her arms went around my waist, holding on like I was the only stable thing in a world that had been earthquake-prone since she was fifteen. "He would’ve liked you, I think. Papa always preferred people who didn’t care about our money."
"I care about your money. That’s literally the only reason I took this job in the first place."
"But you’d still be here even if we were completely broke and living in a studio apartnt sowhere."
Would I?
The question rattled around in my skull like a pinball, bouncing off thoughts and mories and carefully constructed rationalizations. Three weeks ago, the answer would’ve been an automatic no. Hell no. I had my own problems, my own responsibilities, my own life to worry about without adding four identical rich girls to the mix.
But now...
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