Chapter 9 - The Price of Being SeenI did not answer Adrian’s note.
Not immediately.
Some sentences need to exist without being rewarded.
Tuesday morning, I went to the construction site.
He did not contact me.
Tuesday afternoon, I attended a design review.
He stayed on 48.
Wednesday passed the same way.
By Thursday, silence had become its own conversation.
I missed him.
That annoyed me.
I had known him 10 days.
Ten.
Human beings should not be able to disrupt another person’s morning habits within 10 days.
Yet I found myself looking at the 48th-floor elevator indicator.
Checking my phone after lunch.
Noticing cedar scents in rooms where he had never been.
At 4:20 Thursday, Mina appeared unexpectedly at the construction site.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
She handed me coffee.
“You’re welcome.”
We sat on temporary scaffolding.
“So?”
“So what?”
“The billionaire.”
“There is no billionaire.”
“Did he lose his money?”
“Mina.”
She drank coffee.
“You like him.”
I stared at the harbor.
“Yes.”
Saying it aloud made it heavier.
“I like him.”
“Good.”
“No. Not good.”
“Why?”
“Because 2 weeks ago I thought I was going to marry Preston.”
“No. Two weeks ago you thought you wanted Preston to want to marry you.”
I looked at her.
“That is offensive.”
“And accurate.”
Unfortunately.
I sighed.
“Adrian has issues.”
“People with $18 billion are allowed premium issues.”
“His mother died in an elevator.”
Mina’s humor vanished.
“Oh.”
“His father blamed him.”
“Oh.”
“And he thinks caring about people creates vulnerabilities.”
“That part sounds expensive.”
I smiled weakly.
“He let go of my hand when a photographer showed up.”
“Did he apologize?”
“In tiramisu.”
Mina blinked.
“That is the billionaire version of emotional literacy.”
I laughed.
My phone rang.
Gregory.
I answered.
His voice sounded strange.
“Eve, come back to the hotel.”
“What happened?”
“Now.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“There’s been a complaint.”
“Against me?”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“What complaint?”
He exhaled.
“Conflict of interest. Improper client relationship. Someone submitted documents claiming Blackwood requested your assignment before evaluating the design.”
My body went cold.
“That’s not true.”
“I know.”
“Who submitted it?”
“Anonymous.”
I already knew.
Preston.
Not logically.
Instinctively.
I reached the hotel 35 minutes later.
Gregory sat in the lobby with a company attorney.
A folder lay between them.
The complaint included screenshots of Adrian’s messages.
My messages.
Dinner photographs.
And, somehow, internal Blackwood communications showing Adrian had asked my name after JFK.
I stared.
“He did ask about me.”
Gregory looked uncomfortable.
“Apparently.”
My heart tightened.
Miles had told me they had not run me.
Maybe technically they had not.
But Adrian had asked.
The complaint argued that our firm’s continued selection was influenced by Adrian’s personal interest.
“Am I suspended?”
“Temporarily removed from the account.”
The words hit like a slap.
“For how long?”
“Until review is complete.”
I stood.
“Who sent this?”
“We’re investigating.”
“I know who.”
I called Preston.
He answered.
“Eve.”
“You filed the complaint.”
Silence.
“That isn’t a question.”
“You needed protection.”
My vision blurred.
“From what?”
“Him.”
“You tried to destroy my job.”
“I exposed a conflict.”
“There is no conflict.”
“He requested you personally.”
“After I presented the project.”
“He was interested before that.”
I closed my eyes.
“Preston.”
“You don’t understand men like him.”
“And you do?”
“I understand power.”
“No. You understand possession.”
He inhaled.
“I’m trying to keep you from becoming a story he gets bored with.”
“You didn’t protect me when you loved me. You are not allowed to protect me now that I don’t.”
I ended the call.
Gregory looked at me.
“That sounded conclusive.”
I sat.
My hands shook.
My career.
Everything I had built.
Suddenly attached to a man.
Again.
I hated it.
An hour later, Adrian arrived.
Not called.
Arrived.
The lobby changed around him.
Gregory stood.
The attorney stood.
I remained seated.
Adrian looked only at me.
“I heard.”
“Of course you did.”
His face tightened.
“Eve.”
“Did you ask about me after JFK?”
“Yes.”
At least he did not lie.
“Why?”
“I wanted to know who you were.”
“Miles said you didn’t run me.”
“I told him not to perform a background investigation.”
“But you asked my name.”
“Yes.”
“Before the project meeting.”
“Yes.”
“And then you attended a meeting you normally would have delegated.”
Silence.
My heart dropped.
“Adrian.”
“Yes.”
“Did you attend because of me?”
His jaw hardened.
“Partly.”
Gregory looked away.
I stood.
“That is exactly what the complaint says.”
“The design was approved on merit.”
“But you created the appearance.”
“Yes.”
“You could have told me.”
“I should have.”
Anger filled every empty space.
“Do you understand what this does to me?”
“Yes.”
“No, you don’t.”
I stepped closer.
“You are Adrian Blackwood. If people think you mixed business with attraction, they call you eccentric. If they think I did it, they call me opportunistic.”
He went still.
“I know.”
“They say I slept my way into the project.”
His eyes turned lethal.
“Who said that?”
“Everyone, Adrian. They don’t need names.”
His voice dropped.
“I can correct it.”
“How?”
“I will issue a statement.”
“That makes it worse.”
“I can remove myself from oversight.”
“That helps you look honorable. I still become the woman the billionaire rearranged his company for.”
His face changed.
Pain.
Good.
I wanted him to understand.
“I spent years being good,” I whispered. “Do you know what that is like? Being the person who arrives early, does extra revisions, checks every measurement twice because you know one mistake will be remembered longer than 20 perfect jobs?”
“Yes.”
“No, you were born Blackwood.”
The sentence hit.
I regretted it instantly.
His expression closed.
But he nodded.
“You’re right.”
I hated that too.
“I need space.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Eve.”
“Don’t send food. Don’t send cars. Don’t send tiramisu.”
He almost smiled.
I didn’t.
“Please.”
The smile vanished.
“All right.”
I left.
For 6 days, Adrian kept his word.
Nothing.
No message.
No food.
No car.
Blackwood Holdings formally removed Adrian from all decision-making related to the harbor project and appointed an independent review committee.
The committee examined every design submission.
Every score.
Every email.
On Wednesday afternoon, Gregory called.
“You’re cleared.”
I sat down hard.
“What?”
“Completely.”
My design score was highest before Blackwood joined the review. The phase-2 recommendation was documented by 4 executives. Independent compliance found no improper influence.”
I closed my eyes.
“Can I go back?”
“Monday.”
I almost cried.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Blackwood testified voluntarily.”
My chest tightened.
“What did he say?”
“That he attended the first meeting partly because he recognized you from JFK.”
I winced.
“But he also submitted all his private messages and recused himself permanently from your account.”
I stared at the wall.
“He submitted our messages?”
“Only those relevant to timing. Compliance sealed the rest.”
Of course he had protected the boundary even while proving his mistake.
Gregory continued.
“He also insisted the report include a statement that any reputational damage to you resulted from his failure to disclose prior contact.”
My throat tightened.
“He took responsibility.”
“Very publicly.”
After the call, I sat for a long time.
Then I put on my coat.
Blackwood Tower lobby was nearly empty at 7:30.
Miles saw me.
His eyes widened.
“Is he here?”
“He’s always here.”
“Can I see him?”
Miles studied me.
Then smiled slightly.
“He’s been unbearable for 6 days.”
The elevator opened.
Forty-eight.
Adrian stood at the windows.
He turned when I entered.
For once, surprise broke through completely.
“Eve.”
I walked toward him.
He did not move.
“I was cleared.”
“I know.”
“Thank you.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“You still helped make that official.”
“I caused part of the problem.”
“Yes.”
He accepted it.
I stopped several feet away.
“I’m still angry.”
“You should be.”
“I don’t trust your instincts when you’re trying to protect me.”
“Reasonable.”
“You make decisions for people.”
“Yes.”
“I hate that.”
“I’m beginning to understand.”
I breathed out.
“And I missed you.”
Everything in him stopped.
The silence stretched.
“Adrian.”
“Yes?”
“You’re supposed to say something.”
“I’m deciding whether I heard you correctly.”
I smiled despite myself.
“I missed you.”
He crossed the space between us.
Stopped inches away.
Still did not touch.
“Can I hug you?”
I looked at him.
All that power.
Waiting.
I nodded.
“Yes.”
His arms wrapped around me.
No hesitation.
I pressed my face into his chest.
His cheek rested against my hair.
May you like
“I missed you too,” he whispered.
And for the first time, I understood that a man could be powerful enough to own half the skyline and still need permission for the one thing he wanted most.
