First Rule: Don't Fall For The Enemy

CHAPTER 5

MIRA’S POV

"Good morning, Mr. Roth." I kept my voice crisp and professional as I placed his coffee on the desk at exactly eight o'clock. Black, no sugar, just the way he liked it. "Your nine-thirty with the board has been confirmed, and the Patterson contracts are ready for your signature."

Adrian looked up from his computer, and for a split second, something flickered in those dark eyes; recognition, maybe, or regret. But his expression smoothed into polite indifference so quickly I might have imagined it.

"Thank you, Ms. Hart," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "Is there anything else requiring my immediate attention?"

"The quarterly projections you requested are in your inbox, and I've rescheduled your lunch with Senator McKinley to accommodate the venue change." I consulted my tablet with practiced efficiency, proud of how steady my voice remained. "Will that be all?"

"Yes. That will be all."

I turned to leave, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. That was professional, distant, and controlled. This was how it had to be if I was going to survive whatever madness had taken hold of me last night.

"Ms. Hart?"

I paused at the door, not turning around. "Yes, sir?"

A beat of silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words. "Never mind. Close the door behind you."

Back at my desk, I threw myself into work with single-minded determination. Phone calls, scheduling, correspondence, anything to keep my mind occupied and my body from remembering the heat of his fingers on my hip, the whisper of his breath against my lips.

The morning crawled by in a parade of meetings and conference calls. Adrian emerged from his office periodically for various appointments, but our interactions were strictly business. He was perfectly polite, completely professional, and absolutely maddening.

Because despite the cold distance we both maintained, I could feel his eyes on me, burning glances when he thought I wasn't looking, heated stares that made my skin tingle with unwanted awareness.

"Could you bring me the Henderson file?" His voice through the intercom was carefully controlled.

"Of course, Mr. Roth."

I found the file and knocked on his door, entering when he called out. He was standing by the window, hands clasped behind his back in a pose that should have looked relaxed but somehow conveyed barely leashed tension.

"Just leave it on the desk," he said without turning around.

I placed the file down, hyperaware of the silence stretching between us. The air felt charged, electric, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

"Will there be anything else?" I asked.

He turned then, and the intensity in his gaze made my breath catch. "You're very good at this."

"Sir?"

"Compartmentalizing." He moved closer, and I fought the urge to back away. "Very professional. Most people would find it difficult to maintain such composure after..."

He didn't finish the sentence, but we both knew what he meant. After last night. After that moment when we'd almost crossed a line that would have changed everything.

"I don't know what you mean," I said evenly.

"Don't you?" His voice dropped to that dangerous whisper that made my pulse race. "Most people would be uncomfortable. Awkward. But you're handling it beautifully."

"There's nothing to handle. We're both professionals."

"Yes," he agreed, but the way his eyes lingered on my mouth suggested he was remembering exactly how unprofessional we'd almost been. "We are."

"If that's all—"

"It is." He stepped back, the spell broken. "Thank you, Ms. Hart."

I escaped to my desk, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was torture. Every interaction felt loaded with meaning, every glance charged with electricity. How was I supposed to maintain professional distance when he could unravel me with a single look?

By eleven-thirty, I was ready to climb the walls. My phone buzzed with a text from Jesse: “Can we grab lunch? Need to talk. Café Luna at 12:30?”

I stared at the message, relief flooding through me. Yes. Lunch with Jesse would help restore my equilibrium, remind me of why I was here and what was at stake. I started typing a response, trying to think of how to approach Adrian about taking an extended lunch break, when footsteps approached my desk.

I looked up to find Adrian standing beside my cubicle, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he placed something on my desk, a sleek black credit card with the Roth Corporation logo embossed in gold.

I raised an eyebrow, confused. "What is this for? Do you want me to get you something?"

"Get yourself a dress," he said simply.

I blinked, certain I'd misheard. "I'm sorry?"

"A dress. Something elegant. Professional but..." He paused, his eyes traveling over me in a way that made my skin burn. "Striking."

"I don't understand. Why would I need—"

"There's a dinner tonight," he continued, his voice taking on that commanding tone I'd learned to recognize. "High-profile business dinner with some very important clients. I need someone I trust to accompany me."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "Accompany you?"

"As my date."

My mouth went dry. "Your date?"

"Think of it as an extension of your duties." His smile was sharp, dangerous. "The clients are old-fashioned. They expect to see stability, tradition. A successful man with an intelligent, beautiful woman at his side."

"Mr. Roth, I don't think—"

"The Meridian deal hinges on this dinner, Elise." His use of my first name sent shivers down my spine. "These men need to see that I'm not just a ruthless businessman. They need to see that I understand the value of... partnership."

I stared at the credit card, my mind racing. This was dangerous territory, more dangerous than anything I'd faced since starting this assignment.

The challenge in his voice was unmistakable. He was testing me, pushing boundaries, seeing how far I'd go. And the worst part was that despite every rational thought screaming at me to say no, part of me wanted to say yes.

"When is this dinner?" I heard myself ask.

"Eight o'clock. I'll send a car to pick you up at seven-thirty." His smile turned predatory. "Wear something that will make every man in that room wish they were me."

The possessive edge in his tone made my stomach flutter in ways that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with a treacherous attraction I couldn't seem to control.

As he walked back to his office, I stared at the credit card on my desk, my phone still open to Jesse's text message.

My hands were shaking slightly as I typed back: “Can't do lunch. Something came up at work. Rain check?”

I hit send before I could change my mind, knowing I was making a choice that would change everything. But as I picked up the credit card, feeling its weight in my palm, I couldn't bring myself to care about the consequences.

Adrian Roth wanted me as his date. And God help me, I wanted to say yes.