Chapter 2 Two Days

Emery stood in the middle of her kitchen that night, arms crossed, staring at the untouched pasta on her plate like it had personally offended her.

Across the counter, Nina sipped wine and stared at her like she had lost her mind.

"Tell me again why you didn't immediately say yes," Nina said. "Was it the money? The mansion? The fact that he's probably on some secret 'World's Sexiest Billionaires' list?"

"It's not about the money," Emery muttered.

"It's always about the money."

"It's about Leo. He didn't just need a cookie. That kid looked haunted. Like he hadn't felt safe in years."

Nina's eyes softened. "Which is exactly why you should say yes. You're the first person he's connected with in God knows how long."

"And his father scares the hell out of me."

Nina grinned into her glass. "Yeah. He's hot."

"He's cold, Nina. Like, emotionally cryogenically frozen. You should've seen the way he looked at me. Like I was some contamination."

"Mm-hmm. And yet, he offered you ten grand a week to breathe the same air as his kid."

"I bake cookies, Nina. I don't know the first thing about raising a child, especially one with trauma."

"You don't have to know. You just have to care. Which you clearly do."

Emery sighed, rubbing her forehead.

"You've got two days," Nina added gently. "But I already know what you're gonna choose."

The next morning, she almost didn't show up to the address Jaxon's assistant texted her. Almost.

But she couldn't stop thinking about Leo. About the way his small shoulders had slumped in relief when he sat down in her bakery. The way his hand had trembled slightly as he reached for the cookie.

So she found herself in front of a pair of black iron gates taller than most buildings in her neighborhood, heart pounding.

The intercom buzzed when she pressed it.

"Name," a voice demanded.

"Emery Vale. I'm here to meet with Mr. Thorne."

Silence. Then the gate creaked open like something out of a Gothic novel.

The drive was long, winding, lined with manicured hedges and security cameras. The mansion itself looked like it had been dragged out of a billionaire's Pinterest board-sleek stone and glass, three stories tall, perched on a hillside like it owned the damn skyline.

She barely stepped out of her car before the front doors opened.

Jaxon Thorne stood in the threshold in a charcoal vest, shirt sleeves rolled up, and the kind of expression that made her want to hide behind a plant.

"You came."

"I haven't said yes," Emery replied.

His gaze swept over her, assessing, unreadable. "Still. You came."

He stepped aside, and she followed him into a foyer big enough to host a small wedding. The air smelled like leather and cedar and power.

"Where's Leo?"

"In his room. With his therapist."

"Oh. Good." She paused. "Is he okay?"

Jaxon glanced back, sharp. "Do you always ask about children you don't know?"

"Only the ones who run away to my bakery."

A faint twitch of his lip. Not a smile. Just. movement. "Come."

He led her through a hall that looked like it belonged in an art museum-black-and-white portraits, sharp lines, everything polished to gleam. No warmth. No personality.

They reached a study lined with glass walls. Books. Whiskey decanters. A single leather chair. He motioned for her to sit across from him.

"Tell me your price," he said.

"I didn't agree to anything yet."

"Everyone has a price."

"I'm not for sale, Jaxon."

Something flickered in his eyes. "Everyone is. Eventually."

She crossed her legs, met his gaze. "What happened to Leo's mother?"

That stopped him.

He looked away. Jaw tight. "Irrelevant."

"Not if I'm going to be living here."

"It's not your concern."

"It is if I'm supposed to protect him."

Jaxon stood, poured himself a glass of something amber, and stared out the window. "She died. Two years ago. Car crash."

"I'm sorry."

"She left me a son who won't speak. A business empire at war with itself. And vultures circling us from every side. I don't have time for sorry."

Emery didn't flinch. "Maybe Leo doesn't need another guard. Maybe he needs someone who doesn't see him as a threat or a liability."

He turned, eyes like ice. "He needs someone who can be trusted not to hurt him."

"Then maybe you should ask him if he trusts me."

Another pause.

Then, almost reluctantly: "He asked if you could come back."

Emery's heart caught in her throat.

"I'll give you a week," Jaxon said. "Live-in. You'll have your own quarters. If it works, we'll talk about extending."

"And if it doesn't?"

"You'll leave. Paid in full."

Emery stood. "I want to meet him. Alone."

Jaxon studied her, then nodded.

Leo's room was on the second floor, tucked behind a set of thick oak doors. A guard opened it and stepped aside. Inside, the air was quieter. Softer.

Emery found Leo sitting on the floor with a picture book, his therapist politely standing up and slipping out without a word.

Leo didn't look up.

Emery sat cross-legged across from him, not too close.

"Hey, kiddo," she said softly. "Remember me?"

He nodded. Barely.

"I wanted to check on you. Make sure you were okay after yesterday."

Another nod.

"I'm thinking about staying here. Your dad said you asked if I could come back."

He looked up at her. Still no words. But his eyes said more than enough.

"I won't stay if you don't want me to. You get to decide."

He hesitated, then crawled forward just enough to place his book in her lap.

Emery blinked.

It was a book about baking cookies.

Her chest ached.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll stay."

That night, Emery stood on the balcony outside her new bedroom, staring at the city lights and wondering how her life had spun off its axis in less than forty-eight hours.

The room was bigger than her entire apartment. The sheets were silk. The floors heated. There was even a walk-in closet that echoed when she stepped inside.

It felt like another planet.

Behind her, the door opened.

She turned, startled. Jaxon stood in the doorway, sleeves rolled up again, the top buttons of his shirt undone. No tie. No scowl , Just. shadows.

"Too much?" he asked, nodding toward the room.

"It's fine."

"You hate it."

"It's beautiful. Just not mine."

He stepped inside, walked toward the window, eyes scanning the city. "You could've said no."

"I almost did."

"Why didn't you?"

She looked at him. Really looked. There were bruises under his eyes. Tension in his shoulders. A man haunted by failure, holding up the weight of a world he couldn't control.

"Because your son looked at me like I was the first breath of air he'd had in months," she said.

Jaxon exhaled. "You know I don't trust you."

"I know."

"But he does. And I trust him."

It was the closest thing to a compliment she suspected she'd ever get from him.

Emery stepped closer. "Do you always walk into your employees' rooms uninvited?"

"Only the ones who stare out windows like they're planning their escape."

She smirked. "I wouldn't get far. Your house is built like a Bond villain's lair."

"Good. That's the point."

He turned to her then. The space between them suddenly felt smaller. Electric. His gaze drifted-just briefly-to her mouth.

She felt it like a wire pulling tight between them.

Then he stepped back.

"Good night, Miss Vale."

And he was gone.