First Rule: Don't Fall For The Enemy

CHAPTER 18

ADRIAN'S POV

The call came at nearly midnight, just as I was reviewing quarterly projections in my home office. When I saw Elise's name on the screen, my pulse immediately spiked. She never called this late.

"Elise?" I answered on the first ring. "Are you alright?"

"No." Her voice was barely above a whisper, and I could hear the tears she was trying to hold back. "I'm not alright at all."

I was already reaching for my keys. "Where are you?"

"Outside my apartment. I... I had a fight with my roommate."

Roommate. She'd never mentioned having a roommate before, but the pain in her voice made questions irrelevant. "I'm coming to get you."

"Adrian, you don't have to—"

I was already in the elevator, heading for the garage. "Now."

Twenty minutes later, I pulled up to the modest apartment building in Queens, scanning the sidewalk until I spotted her. She was pacing back and forth, her arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold herself together. When she looked up and saw my car, the relief on her face made something twist in my chest.

"Get in," I said, getting out to open her door.

She slid into the passenger seat without a word, and I could see she'd been crying. Her makeup was smeared, her usually perfect composure completely shattered. Every protective instinct I had roared to life.

"Where are we going?" she asked as I pulled away from the curb.

"My place." I glanced at her, taking in the way she was holding herself so carefully, like she might break apart at any moment. "You look like you need somewhere safe to think."

The drive to my penthouse was quiet, but I could feel the tension radiating from her. Whatever had happened with her roommate, it had shaken her badly. By the time we reached my building, I'd made a mental note to have someone look into whoever had upset her this much.

"This is beautiful," she said when we entered my penthouse, moving immediately to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Thank you." I came up behind her, close enough to offer comfort but not so close as to crowd her. She seemed fragile tonight, breakable in a way I'd never seen before. "Are you hungry? I could cook something."

She turned, surprise flickering across her tear-stained face. "You cook?"

"One of the few normal skills my father never managed to beat out of me." I managed a small smile. "I find it... therapeutic."

In the kitchen, I found myself moving with more care than usual, hyperaware of her watching me from the island. There was something intimate about cooking for her, about providing this basic comfort. I'd never cooked for a woman before, had always preferred restaurants or catered meals for any entertaining I did.

"Pasta arrabiata," I said, setting the plate in front of her. "My mother's recipe. One of the few things I remember about her."

She took a bite, and I felt ridiculously pleased when her eyes widened with appreciation. "This is incredible."

"She taught me when I was eight, before..." The memory hit me unexpectedly, my mother's hands guiding mine as we stirred the sauce, her laugh when I got more flour on myself than in the bowl. "Before everything went to hell."

We ate in comfortable silence, but I couldn't help noticing how she pushed the food around more than she ate it. Whatever had happened tonight had really rattled her.

"Talk to me," I said finally. "What happened tonight?"

"Roommate drama." She didn't meet my eyes when she said it, and I filed that away. Elise was a terrible liar, which I found oddly comforting.

"Must have been some drama to send you out into the night looking like you'd been through a war."

Color flooded her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called—"

"Don't." The word came out sharper than I'd intended. "Don't apologize for needing someone. Don't apologize for calling me."

The fact that she'd called me, that I was the person she'd turned to in her moment of crisis, meant more to me than I could articulate.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked, and there was genuine confusion in her voice.

"Because I care about you." I reached across the counter to take her hand, needing that physical connection. "Because seeing you upset makes me want to fix whatever's wrong."

"You can't fix this."

"Can't I?" I threaded our fingers together, feeling some of the tension leave her body at the contact. "Try me."

She looked at me for a long moment, and I could see her weighing something, deciding how much to tell me. "It's complicated."

"Everything worthwhile is complicated." I squeezed her hand gently. "Besides, I'm good with complicated. I've built my entire career on navigating complicated situations."

"This is different."

"How?"

"Because this involves feelings. Real feelings."

My pulse quickened. "What kind of feelings?"

She met my gaze directly, and I saw vulnerability there that she usually kept hidden. "The kind that terrify me."

"Good." I couldn't help but smile. "The best things in life are terrifying."

We moved to the living room afterward, and I watched her curl into the corner of my sofa like she was trying to make herself smaller. The wine seemed to help her relax, but I could still see the tension in her shoulders.

"Can I ask you something?" she said suddenly.

"Anything."

"In business, how do you know who to trust?"

The question surprised me. "Interesting question. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. You must deal with a lot of people who have hidden agendas."

"Every day." I swirled my wine, thinking about how to answer honestly. "Trust is a luxury I can't afford in business. Everyone wants something—money, power, access, revenge."

"So how do you operate without trust?"

"Carefully. With contingency plans for every scenario." I studied her face, wondering what had prompted this line of questioning. "But trust and vulnerability aren't the same thing. Sometimes you have to be vulnerable to get what you really want."

"Have you ever been betrayed by someone you trusted?"

The question hit closer to home than she could know. "Yes. My first real business partner. David Hong. We'd been friends since college, started the company together after my father died."

"What happened?"

"He was feeding information to our competitors. Every deal, every strategy, every weakness—he sold it all." The memory still stung, even after all these years. "By the time I found out, he'd nearly destroyed everything my father had built."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It taught me an important lesson about the difference between professional relationships and personal ones."

"Which is?"

"Professional relationships are about mutual benefit. Personal relationships are about choosing to be vulnerable with someone and trusting them not to use it against you." I set down my wine and moved closer, drawn by the way she was looking at me. "The question is, which category do we fall into?"

Her breath caught audibly. "What do you think?"

"I think I've told you things I've never told another living soul. I think I've been vulnerable with you in ways that should terrify me."

"Should terrify you?"

"But don't." I reached up to cup her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin. "Because when I look at you, I don't see someone who would hurt me. I see someone who understands what it's like to carry secrets."

Something flickered in her eyes, pain, maybe, or guilt. "Adrian—"

"I see someone who's been hurt before, who knows what betrayal feels like." I traced my thumb along her cheekbone, feeling her lean into the touch. "Someone who would never willingly cause that kind of pain."

She stared at me, something unreadable in her expression. Then she said, "You don't act like my boss right now."

"I'm not." I traced my thumb across her lower lip, feeling her shiver at the contact. "I'm your lover."

The word hung between us, heavy with promise and possibility. Then I was kissing her, pouring everything I felt into the contact. She tasted like wine and hope and something uniquely her that I was already addicted to.

When we broke apart, both breathing hard, I rested my forehead against hers.

"Stay with me tonight," I whispered.

"Adrian—"

"Not because you're upset or because you have nowhere else to go." I needed her to understand this wasn't about taking advantage of her vulnerability. "Stay because you want to be here. With me."

She looked into my eyes for what felt like forever, and I held my breath waiting for her answer.

"Okay," she whispered.

The relief that flooded through me was almost overwhelming. "Okay."

I kissed her again, deeper this time, and felt her melt into me completely. For the first time in fifteen years, I was letting someone past every defense I had. And it should have terrified me.

Instead, it felt like coming home.