Chapter 1: Ghost in the Glass Tower

The elevator doors slid open on the executive floor, and Lourdes stepped into the cool hush of power. Her heels clicked against marble as she followed the HR woman's brisk pace down the hall. Five years since Vincent Carstairs had last seen her. Five years of rebuilding a life from the ashes he'd left behind.

Her fingers tightened on the briefcase handle until the leather creaked. She could still feel Maya's sticky morning kiss on her cheek, the way her daughter had clutched that worn stuffed fox and asked why Mama looked so serious today. The memory grounded her. It had to.

The boardroom doors stood open. Sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling glass, turning the long mahogany table into a gleaming surface. Six executives sat in various states of tailored indifference, but only one man commanded the space.

Vincent stood at the head with his back to her. Broad shoulders strained the charcoal suit. His fingers raked through thick dark hair in that familiar gesture of concentration. The sight hit her like a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs.

"Ms. Underwood," the HR woman announced. "Please take a seat."

He turned.

Their eyes locked across the polished wood. Vincent's face remained the perfect CEO mask at first. Then recognition flared in those deep brown eyes. The same eyes that stared back at Lourdes every morning from her daughter's face.

"Lourdes." His voice wrapped around her name like smoke. Low. Rough. Like he was tasting something long denied.

She lifted her chin, forcing her shoulders square. "Mr. Carstairs. Thank you for the opportunity."

He gestured to the chair directly across from him. Not the one HR had indicated. "Here. I want to see your face while you present."

The executives exchanged glances. Lourdes walked to the seat on legs that felt detached from her body. As she sat, his cologne reached her. That same subtle spice that once clung to her sheets, her skin, her dreams.

Her throat worked against the sudden dryness. She opened her briefcase with fingers that refused to cooperate fully, the clasp clicking too loudly in the quiet room.

The presentation unfolded in a haze of slides and figures. Her voice stayed steady enough, but her pulse thudded heavy in her ears. Each time she glanced up, Vincent's gaze pinned her. Unblinking. Intense. Like he could see through the severe updo and tailored suit to the woman who'd once moaned his name in his Hamptons bed.

She stumbled over the second quarter projections. The laser pointer slipped from her grip and clattered across the table. Heat flooded her cheeks as she retrieved it.

Vincent didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched with that predatory focus that made her skin prickle under her blouse.

When she finished, silence settled heavy over the room. One VP cleared his throat to comment, but Vincent raised a hand.

"Leave us."

Chairs scraped. The executives filed out without argument. The door clicked shut, sealing them inside the glass tower with only the distant city hum for company.

Vincent leaned back in his chair. His tie hung loosened at his collar, the top button of his shirt open to reveal a triangle of warm brown skin. She remembered pressing her lips there, feeling his heartbeat jump under her mouth.

"Five years," he said. His fingers drummed once on the armrest. "And you appear with a marketing plan that could actually save my ass. Coincidence?"

Lourdes met his stare even as her breath shallowed. "Not everything revolves around you, Vincent. I need the work. Your company needs someone who can fight off the vultures circling it. Simple transaction."

He rose slowly. Circled the table with that graceful, dangerous stride. She tracked every step, the way his suit jacket pulled across his shoulders, the faint rumple at his cuffs suggesting another sleepless night.

He stopped beside her chair. Close enough that heat radiated from him. Close enough that she caught the faint scar along his jaw—the one she'd traced with her tongue during that reckless summer.

"Nothing about you has ever been simple." His hand rested on the back of her chair, not touching but near enough that the fine hairs on her neck stood up.

The air between them thickened. She could feel the pull low in her belly, traitorous and familiar. Her fingers curled into her skirt to keep from reaching for him.

"The position pays three hundred thousand for six months," he continued, voice dropping. "Plus bonuses if we repel the takeover."

The number landed like a lifeline. Enough to secure Maya's future. Enough to breathe without the constant knot of worry in her chest. But it came with him—his eyes, his proximity, his unrelenting scrutiny.

"I have family," she said before she could stop herself. The words scraped her throat raw. "People who depend on me."

His eyes darkened. "Husband?"

The single word hung between them. Lourdes swallowed hard, the silver locket hidden beneath her blouse suddenly heavy against her skin.

"No." She forced her voice even. "But there are responsibilities."

Silence stretched. His gaze moved over her face, cataloging changes. She wondered what he saw. The new lines of exhaustion? The sharper edges of a woman who'd learned survival the hard way?

He reached past her for the contract on the table. His arm brushed hers—wool against silk, brief but electric. Her breath hitched audibly. She jerked back before she could control it.

Vincent's lips curved. Not quite a smile. "Still so jumpy around me. Interesting."

"Don't flatter yourself." The words came out breathier than she intended. "I don't like being crowded."

"Liar." He dropped the contract in front of her. The pen rolled toward her hand. "Sign it. We both know you need this as much as I need your... particular talents."

Her fingers closed around the pen. The metal felt cool against her overheated skin. She signed with careful strokes, each letter a small betrayal.

When she finished, he took the pen back. Their fingers touched again. This time she didn't pull away. His skin was warm, the pads of his fingertips slightly rough. The contact lingered a beat too long.

"Welcome back to Carstairs Enterprises, Lourdes." His voice had gone rough. "Try not to disappear on me again."

She stood abruptly. The chair scraped against the floor. Distance. She needed distance before the scent of him and the memories overwhelmed her completely.

"I should get started. The competitor analysis needs updating before close of market."

Vincent remained by her chair. For a moment, she thought he might reach out, might brush that stray hair from her face the way he used to. Instead his gaze traveled over her again, slower this time. Searching.

She turned toward the door on unsteady legs.

"Lourdes."

She paused but didn't turn. Couldn't risk him seeing the panic flickering across her features.

"You look different," he said quietly. "But not that different."

Her hand found the doorframe, gripping until the wood bit into her palm. She thought of Maya at daycare right now, building crooked block castles with those identical deep brown eyes. Of all the ways this could shatter her daughter's world.

"Five years is a long time," she answered. "People change."

She walked out before he could respond. The assistant waited with a professional smile and a keycard. Lourdes followed on autopilot, mind spinning through new lies she'd need to maintain.

The office they assigned her was too much. Corner windows with a sweeping city view. A desk that cost more than her Brooklyn apartment's yearly rent. And worst of all, an unobstructed line of sight to Vincent's glass-walled domain across the open floor.

She could see him already. Jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up his powerful forearms as he paced while speaking into his phone. The sight made her stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

Lourdes snapped the blinds shut with more force than necessary. The leather chair sighed as she dropped into it. Her hands trembled when she pulled out her phone.

Elena's text waited: How did it go? Did he recognize you? Please tell me you didn't melt into a puddle of conflicted lust.

She stared at the screen until the letters blurred. Her finger hovered over the keyboard, but what could she say? That his touch still sent sparks across her skin? That signing that contract felt like selling her soul all over again?

Instead she typed: It's fine. Starting immediately. Call you tonight.

The response pinged back instantly: Bullshit. But okay. Hug that little fox for me.

Lourdes set the phone down. Her laptop screen glowed to life, the desktop photo of Maya filling the space. Wild dark curls. Mischievous grin. The exact tilt of her head that mirrored the man across the floor.

She traced her daughter's face with one finger, the same one that still tingled from Vincent's touch.

The blinds between their offices suddenly parted. Vincent stood in his doorway, gaze fixed directly on her space. Even through the glass, his eyes held that calculating intensity.

Her breath caught. Had he seen the photo before she closed the blinds? The thought sent ice through her veins.

He started toward her office.

Lourdes slammed her laptop shut just as his knuckles rapped once against her doorframe.