Chapter 1

"Do you have an appointment?"

The harsh voice of the new receptionist sliced through the low hum of the open-plan office.

Elodie McCarthy stepped out of the rusted freight elevator. Her fingers tightened around the thick paper handles of a pristine white Dean & DeLuca bag. The rich, heavy scent of truffle risotto and dark espresso wafted from the bag. It was a sharp contrast to the stale air of the Brooklyn startup space. The sky outside the grimy, smudged windows was a bruised, heavy gray, threatening a torrential downpour at any second.

She caught her reflection in the smudged glass door. Her perfectly tailored Chanel tweed jacket and matching skirt clung to her frame. The outfit screamed generational wealth. She looked entirely out of place against the backdrop of exposed brick, tangled cables, and peeling gray paint.

Elodie forced a polite smile. Her thumb instinctively brushed against the cold diamonds of her tennis bracelet. It was a nervous habit she couldn't break.

"I'm Fletcher's girlfriend," Elodie said. Her voice was soft but steady. "I brought him lunch."

The receptionist's eyes dropped to the Chanel jacket. Then to the Birkin on Elodie's arm. Her gaze was heavy with skepticism.

"He's in the middle of a sprint," the girl muttered.

Before Elodie could respond, a loud voice boomed from down the hall.

"Well, if it isn't the billionaire's girlfriend coming to feed the starving founders!"

Mitch, Fletcher's co-founder, jogged over. He wore a faded hoodie and a wide grin. He waved the receptionist off.

Elodie offered Mitch a tight smile. She hated that joke. She hated the constant reminder of the gap between her bank account and Fletcher's.

She walked past the reception desk. Her heels clicked against the scuffed concrete floor. She headed straight for the glass-walled conference room at the back.

Through the glass, she saw him.

Fletcher Beasley.

He was staring intently at a glowing monitor. His dark brows were pulled together in a deep frown. His jaw was clenched tight, a muscle ticking near his ear.

And he wasn't alone.

A young woman in a cheap, wrinkled Zara blouse stood right beside him. Dani. The new front-end developer.

Dani leaned over the desk. She pointed at the screen. Her shoulder brushed directly against Fletcher's bicep. The physical proximity was jarring.

Elodie stopped walking. A sharp, cold ache bloomed in the center of her chest. It felt like a physical needle piercing her ribs.

Fletcher shifted his gaze. He looked up and locked eyes with Elodie through the glass.

His expression didn't change. There was no spark of joy. No relief. His eyes were flat, cold, and entirely unreadable. He simply gave her a stiff, microscopic nod.

Elodie pushed the heavy glass door open. The smell of the espresso filled the small, suffocating room.

"Hey," Elodie said. She kept her voice light. She placed the Dean & DeLuca bag on the edge of the cluttered table. "I thought you might be hungry."

Fletcher immediately leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest. He put a solid foot of distance between himself and the desk.

"Why didn't you text me you were coming?" His voice was gravelly and ice-cold.

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Elodie's stomach twisted into a tight knot.

Dani seized the silence. She stood up straight and flashed a wide, innocent smile.

"Hi! I'm Dani," she said. She thrust her hand out.

Elodie took the girl's hand. Dani's grip was weak, but her eyes immediately dropped to the diamond bracelet on Elodie's wrist. They lingered there for three agonizing seconds.

"Wow," Dani said. She let out a breathy laugh. "That lunch smells amazing. It probably costs more than my rent for half the month."

Fletcher didn't look at Elodie. He stared at his keyboard.

"Dani, go back to your desk and run that test again," Fletcher ordered. His tone was strictly business.

Dani bit her lower lip. She nodded obediently.

"Okay, Fletcher. See you in a bit," Dani murmured. She shot him a lingering, soft look before slipping out of the glass room.

Elodie swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She stepped closer to Fletcher. His collar was slightly crooked. She reached out, her fingers aiming for the fabric of his shirt.

Fletcher turned his head sharply. He dodged her touch.

"I have a VC call in ten minutes," he said. His voice was flat.

Elodie's hand froze in mid-air. The rejection hit her like a physical blow to the stomach. Her lungs burned as she struggled to pull in a breath. She slowly lowered her arm. Her fingernails dug into her own palm.

"Right," Elodie whispered. She forced her spine straight. She maintained the perfect posture her mother had drilled into her. "Eat your lunch. I'll see you later."

She turned around and walked out.

Fletcher watched her thin back retreat. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. A surge of violent frustration flared in his chest.

Elodie walked down the hallway. The office was a blur. She reached the empty elevator bank and pressed the down button. Her vision blurred. A hot tear pricked the corner of her eye. She blinked it away quickly.

The rusted elevator doors groaned open.

Before she could step inside, heavy footsteps pounded against the concrete behind her.

A large hand grabbed her shoulder.

Fletcher spun her around. He shoved her backward. Her spine hit the cold wall next to the elevator doors.

Before she could gasp, his hands tangled in her hair. His mouth crashed down onto hers.