Chapter 2 - The Private SuiteThe air in the private executive elevator felt thinner, charged with an invisible static that made the hairs on my arms stand up. I smoothed down the fabric of my modest navy pencil skirt for the fourth time, checking my reflection in the polished brass doors. I looked like an analyst. I looked professional, composed, and entirely out of my depth.
When the elevator chimed and slid open, I stepped out onto the executive floor, where the plush charcoal carpeting swallowed the sound of my heels.
Lucas Grant, Nathan’s notorious right-hand man and chief of security, was waiting by the double doors of the private dining suite. He didn't smile, but his severe expression softened just a fraction as I approached.
"Maya," Lucas said, his voice deep and measured. "Mr. Cole is expecting you. Right through here."
He pushed the heavy mahogany door open, revealing a breathtaking private dining space overlooking the sweeping Chicago skyline under a bruised, overcast sky. A minimalist marble table was set for two near the floor-to-ceiling windows, flanked by modern art and fresh white calla lilies.
Nathan stood by the window, his back to me. He wore a bespoke charcoal suit that hugged his broad shoulders and tall, commanding frame with terrifying elegance. As I stepped inside, he turned slowly, his sharp gray eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch in my chest.
"Maya," he said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that seemed to vibrate straight through the floorboards. "Thank you for coming."
"Thank you for having me, Mr. Cole," I replied, cursing the slight tremor in my voice.
"Nathan," he corrected softly, walking toward me with measured, predatory grace. "When we are outside the open office floor, my name is Nathan."
"Nathan," I repeated, the syllable feeling foreign and heavy on my tongue.
He pulled out a chair for me at the table—a gesture of old-school chivalry that felt wildly out of place coming from a man rumored to settle underworld disputes with a single word. I seated myself, keeping my hands neatly folded in my lap to hide their shaking.
A silent waiter appeared as if by magic, serving delicate plates of seared salmon and wild greens before disappearing just as quickly, leaving us entirely alone behind the soundproof glass.
For the first few minutes, we ate in a heavy, palpable silence. Every time I glanced up, I caught Nathan watching me—not with the predatory hunger I had learned to fear from men at bars or corporate mixers, but with a terrifying, absolute focus. It was the look of a man studying a complex puzzle, trying to memorize every single piece before making his move.
"You're quiet today," Nathan finally broke the silence, setting his fork down with a soft click against the porcelain. "Did the logistics report keep you up late?"
"No," I admitted, looking down at my plate. "I was... surprised by your email."
"Were you?" A faint, ghost of a smile touched the corner of his lips. "Why? Because I invited an analyst to lunch?"
"Because you don't do casual lunches, Mr.—Nathan," I corrected myself quickly. "People in your position don't spend an hour talking about childhood memories in Milwaukee and then follow up with private suite invitations unless there's an agenda."
Nathan leaned back in his chair, resting his forearms on the table. The afternoon light caught the sharp angles of his jawline, throwing deep shadows across his face.
"You're right," he said quietly, his gray eyes holding mine with unblinking gravity. "I rarely do anything without purpose, Maya. And I don't waste my time."
My heart hammered against my ribs. Here it is, I thought, a bitter sting of disappointment mixing with the adrenaline. The shoe is dropping. He brought me up here to test me, to buy me out, or to remind me of my place.
"Then what is the agenda?" I asked, lifting my chin, refusing to shrink under his gaze. "Am I being reassigned? Is there a compliance issue?"
Nathan held my gaze for a long, agonizing beat. Then, very slowly, he shook his head.
"No compliance issues," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, wrapping around me like silk and smoke. "My agenda is simple, Maya. I wanted to see if the woman I can't stop thinking about is just as captivating in daylight as she was when she thought nobody was listening."
The room seemed to vanish. The Chicago skyline, the soundproof glass, the plate of food—everything dissolved into nothingness.
My breath caught in my throat.
He heard me.
The horrifying, exhilarating realization hit me like a physical blow. He hadn't just been behind that conference-room door. He had heard every trembling, vulnerable word I whispered to Harper about waiting for a heart before a body.
Before I could find my voice, before I could run or hide or pretend I didn't understand what he was saying, Nathan stood up from his side of the table, walked slowly around the marble surface, and stopped right beside my chair.
"You're terrified," he said, his tone shockingly gentle for a man whose name was whispered in fear across the city. He didn't touch me; he kept his hands resting on the back of my chair, caging me in with his presence without trapping me. "You think I'm a monster, Maya. You think I'm a predator who collects whatever catches his eye."
"You run Chicago's underworld," I managed to choke out, my voice trembling. "Everyone knows what you are."
"Yes," Nathan agreed, his gaze burning into mine with terrifying sincerity. "I am ruthless. I am unforgiving to my enemies. But listen to me very carefully, Maya."
May you like
He leaned down slightly, his breath warm against my ear, his voice a low, devastating vow.
"For you... I am willing to be whatever kind of man you've been waiting for."
