CHAPTER 18: WHO IS SHE?

"Hello." Her reply was cool.

"Uhm...how long have you been here?" His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously.

"Long enough...Who is she?"

He shifted from one foot to the other, running a hand over the back of his neck. "Ivy, it’s not really like that. I mean...you know I love you."

"That’s not what I asked....Who is she?"

"She... she’s the friend I told you about. The one helping me with the Trinity job."

"Interesting. So this is payment for her help?"

"Ivy, no—"

"Steve!!! Where’s the water?" The woman’s voice sang out from the bedroom, sultry and irritated at once. Her footsteps padded closer.

Steve panicked, stepping forward as if to block Ivy’s line of sight. "I thought you’d be with your mum," he blurted.

"Is that why you scheduled a booty call then?"

His face paled. "It’s not..."

"Not what?" Ivy cut in. She rose from the sofa slowly. "Not cheating? Not lying? Not you fucking someone else, Steve?"

"Steve?" the woman came into view, her hair tousled in that smug, just-fucked way, Steve’s T-shirt hanging off her. "Who is this?"

Steve stammered, choking on air. "I...uh...this is... she’s—"

Ivy stood, picked up her bag with trembling hands that refused to show weakness, then placed his spare key squarely on the coffee table. Without sparing the woman a glance, she turned and walked out.

"Water... Steve."

"Yeah, right. Water," Steve muttered, his throat dry as sand. He cast one last look at the door Ivy had just closed. He had screwed up—big time.

*****

Despite her broken heart clawing at her ribs, Ivy dragged herself to work the next morning. Her body moved on autopilot: shower, dress, leave. The mirror reflected a face swollen from tears, lips pressed together in a line so thin it almost vanished.

Steve had called her phone until the battery nearly died, each vibration another reminder of betrayal. She’d switched it to silent, tossed it in her bag, and pretended it didn’t exist.

He had even shown up at her apartment last night, knocking, begging through the door. She had pressed her back against the wood, biting her fist to stop herself from answering.

Now, at House of Kane, Ivy sat at her desk, her fingers clumsy on the keyboard, her chest hollow.

Around noon, Winn’s door opened with his usual quiet authority. He stepped out, crisp in his dress shirt and pants. He glanced at her.

"Get ready," he said. "Just got a call from the Dutch investors. We’re going to their hotel now."

"Yes, sir," Ivy replied automatically. She quickly began to pack up the laptop, neatly sliding the machine into its case, then sweeping pens, notepads, and a flash drive into the side pocket.

The desk phone rang. The shrill sound cut through her concentration, pulling a groan from her lips. Distractedly, she grabbed the receiver. "Hello?" She barely listened at first, then her whole body went rigid. "What? No. Okay—no, tell him I am busy at the moment."

She slammed the phone down harder than she intended, pressing her lips together to stop the curse words bubbling up. Steve. Of course. Who else? What was he trying to pull? Did he want her fired on top of breaking her heart?

The door to Winn’s office slid open again, and he stepped out with his jacket already on. He looked immaculate, as always. "Let’s go."

Ivy gave a thin smile, forcing brightness into her voice. "I’ll catch up with you. Just need to pack a few more things." Winn’s gaze lingered a second longer, as though he suspected she was lying.

"Hurry up," he said. Then he strode toward the stairs.

Ivy stayed behind, exhaling slowly. She was buying time.

Two minutes. That should be enough time for Steve to slink away. She counted the seconds in her head, pretending she was calm, then grabbed her bag and headed down.

The glass doors hissed open, and she stepped out. Her relief lasted all of three seconds.

Steve was leaning against the side of the building.

"Steve! Not now. You cannot do this. Coming to my job?"

Steve stepped forward, desperation etched into every line of his face. "Ivy, please. Just hear me out—"

"If you would just listen to me," Steve begged. He reached out as if touching her might undo everything.

"My boss is right there, Steve. Go away!" Ivy snapped, her eyes darting to Winn’s Maybach idling nearby.

"Just promise me we will talk tonight," Steve pressed, blocking her path, his hand brushing her wrist.

"Fine! Just go." She yanked free, biting her lip against the burn in her throat. With her heart hammering, she darted into the front seat of Winn’s car.

"Do you take your job seriously?"

"I’m sorry, Mr. Kane. It was an urgent matter." She kept her voice even.

"I don’t care about your personal life," Winn said, as Reese started the engine. "You do not keep me waiting. Ever."

"Sorry, Mr. Kane," she murmured, eyes fixed on the passing cityscape beyond the window.

Reese drove smoothly down the street, weaving past impatient taxis and glittering storefronts until they reached the stretch near the airport. The hotel loomed into view. Ivy straightened her skirt, swallowing the last of her nerves.

Winn could tell that man had been her boyfriend. And he could also tell something had broken between them. Still, he didn’t give a damn. Employees were meant to serve, not bleed their hearts all over his time.

She should put her boyfriend on a leash.

A few minutes later, Reese pulled up under the hotel’s polished awning. Bellboys rushed to open doors. Winn stepped out first, unfolding his tall frame.

That was when another car slid into the drive, gleaming silver under the sunlight. Winn’s shoulders stiffened, his jaw tightening as recognition hit. Evans. His nemesis.

He dragged in a breath and forced himself to remain professional.

"Winn!"

"What are you doing here, Evans?" Winn asked. He slid both hands into his trouser pockets, mostly because there was something about Evans’s face—so smug, so punchable—that made his fists itch for violence.

"What, you thought you were the only CEO in Manhattan with ideas to dazzle investors?" Evans’s grin widened, flashing perfect teeth, his designer suit hugging a body just lean enough to look good without ever having lifted a weight in his life.

"I invited them here," Winn pointed out flatly.

"And thank you very much for that," Evans said, spreading his arms as if Winn had laid out a feast for him personally. "The sky is big enough for us to fly in, Winn. Come on, lighten up."

"If it’s so big, why do you always end up stealing from my table? Lapping at my leftovers?" Winn shot back, his lip curling ever so slightly.

Ivy almost flinched on Evans’s behalf. The sheer dominance in Winn’s stance—the sharpness of his words, the slow, deliberate way he refused to raise his voice—was enough to make anyone else back down. But not Evans. Evans thrived on this.

"You cannot still be sore about Irene, Winn," Evans mocked. "If you loved her so much, why didn’t you put a ring on it?"

His gut twisted with a memory he didn’t want to revisit. I was going to, you jackass. He swallowed the words.

Instead, he let his silence draw out a beat too long before answering. "Stay out of my way, Evans."

From behind Winn’s broad shoulders, Ivy watched in silence.

"Same goes for you too," Evans tossed over his shoulder before disappearing into the lobby.

Winn strolled into the hotel with long, measured strides, his presence commanding as ever, forcing Ivy to hurry to keep up. She was one step behind.

"What was that about?" she asked carefully, unsure if she was poking a bear.

Winn stopped so abruptly that she almost collided with his back. He turned, his eyes sharp, cold enough to freeze her mid-step. "Is that your job description? To interrogate me? I am not your friend, Ivy. I am your boss. That I brought a couple of wine bottles to your house doesn’t change that fact. Stick to your job."

The sting of his words bit into her, and Ivy promptly kept quiet. She pressed her lips together. She reminded herself that men like Winn Kane weren’t used to being questioned, weren’t used to anyone daring to pry into their carefully walled-off lives. Still, the contradiction of him showing up at her doorstep the night before and now throwing up walls again made confused.

She followed him in silence into the hotel’s gleaming elevator, doors sliding shut behind them. Evans, smug bastard that he was, had already stepped into the second lift, leaving Winn and Ivy alone.

Just as the elevator was about to reach the designated VIP floor, the lights flickered once, twice, then died completely. The humming stopped. The floor beneath them jolted, then stilled.

"Great. Just fucking great!" Winn snapped. He reached for the panel, slammed the emergency button twice, then cursed under his breath. His shoulders stiffened, and to Ivy’s surprise, he looked... rattled.

(Kaketak, fentagro, jreilley, violam: Mwaaah)