Part 7:
Yes. How am I supposed to justify that? How do I tell myself I’m still a good person? James moved to stand beside me close enough that I could feel his warmth. You don’t. You accept that morality isn’t binary. You decide which compromises you can live with and which ones will destroy you.
His hand came up, gently turning my face toward his. I told you knowing the truth would make you complicit. This is what that means. I should have pulled away. Should have maintained professional distance. Instead, I leaned into his touch, letting my eyes close for just a moment. I’m scared, I admitted. Not of Sullivan or the danger.
I’m scared that I’m good at this, that I liked standing up to him at the gala. that I want to help you not because it’s right, but because it feels powerful. There’s nothing wrong with wanting power, Grace. It’s what you do with it that matters. His thumb traced my cheekbone. You could have used the CEX leverage to demand money from me.
Instead, you asked for legal support and protection for your grandmother. That tells me everything about your character. Or it tells you I’m naive about my own motivations. You’re the least naive person I’ve met in years. He smiled slightly, the expression transforming his usually severe features. You see clearly, you just don’t like what you’re seeing in yourself.
That self-awareness is rare in my world. I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze. What if I’m terrible at this spy thing? What if Sullivan sees right through me? Then I’ll handle it. You’re under my protection, remember? That’s not just words. His expression hardened. Anyone who threatens you threatens me. Sullivan understands that dynamic, even if he’s testing its boundaries.
Why does that make me feel safe instead of trapped? Because you’re finally tired of being alone in your fights. His hand slid into my hair, the gesture intimate despite the business discussion. You’ve spent years proving you don’t need anyone. Maybe it’s time to discover what you could accomplish with the right partner.
The word partner hit differently than fiance or asset or tool. It implied equality, collaboration, choice. Okay. I heard myself say, “I’ll go to the gallery opening. I’ll talk to Sullivan’s mistress. I’ll observe and report and help you stop whatever he’s planning.” I placed my hand over his, still cradling my face.
But James, if this crosses into something that hurts innocent people, I’m out. That’s my absolute line. Agreed. And if I ask you to cross it, you have permission to walk away with everything I’ve promised you. No retaliation, no consequences. You’d let me go that easily. His laugh was dark and honest. Nothing about letting you go would be easy, but I’d do it if it meant keeping you safe from becoming something you’d hate.
The confession hung between us, too raw to be part of the business arrangement. I turned in his arms. When had they wrapped around me, and looked up at the man who’d somehow become central to my world in less than 2 weeks. This isn’t fake anymore, is it? I whispered. “No,” he agreed, his forehead resting against mine.
“It stopped being fake the moment you challenged Sullivan at the gala. Maybe even earlier when you stood in that storage room and demanded I explain myself instead of cowering. The contract is a piece of paper that protects us both legally. It has nothing to do with this. His hands framed my face, tilting it up. I’m going to kiss you now, Grace.
Not for cameras, not for witnesses, just because I’ve been wanting to since you signed your name and smiled at me like you’d won something. I did win something. The codeex. You won considerably more than that. His mouth brushed mine, gentle at first, testing. When I gasped softly, his kiss deepened, becoming something claming and desperate and absolutely real.
I’d been kissed before, been in relationships, been engaged to someone who’d turned controlling and cruel. But I’d never felt this. The sense that I was finally meeting someone who matched me completely. Someone who saw my strength instead of feeling threatened by it. When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, James kept me close, his hands still tangled in my hair.
“The gallery opening is Friday,” he said, his voice rougher than before. “Which gives us 3 days to prepare your cover story and make sure you understand what to look for. We’ll have dinner every evening. My penthouse private, where we can talk freely. Your penthouse?” I tried to steady my racing heart. Not a restaurant. I want you comfortable.
I want you to see how I live when I’m not performing for the city. He kissed my forehead, the gesture surprisingly tender. And selfishly, I want you to myself without worrying about photographers or Sullivan’s spies. That’s not part of the contract. Nothing about us has been part of the contract since the beginning.
We’ve just been pretending it was. He released me slowly, stepping back with visible reluctance. William will drive you home. Tomorrow night, 7:00 p.m. My place. Wear something comfortable. We’re strategizing, not performing. I nodded, my lips still tingling from his kiss. James, earlier you said most people run when they see the truth about your world.
