Chapter 47 Midnight Oil
I stayed late at Nyx Collective.
Midnight late.
Everyone else had left hours ago, but I was still at my desk, hunched over my laptop.
Technically, I was working.
Realistically? I was hiding.
From Ashton.
From the terrifying possibility that he might suggest we consummate our brand-new, totally normal, definitely not weird marriage with a roll in the hay.
Because I was scared I’d say yes without blinking.
Or worse—what if I was the one to bring it up?
Sure, we were legally husband and wife now.
But the only time we’d actually slept together, I’d been blackout drunk and didn’t even know his name.
Still, from the fragments I did remember, he’d been... insane. Stupidly good.
The kind of good that ruins porn for you.
Like, knew what to do with his lips and hands and tongue and you-know-what good.
And okay, yes, my libido wanted an encore.
A sober one.
But the rest of me was terrified I’d come on too strong, act like some unhinged nympho, and scare him off.
I mean, I did rip his shirt that night.
That’s not exactly first-date energy.
He’d been very professional about this whole contract marriage thing.
So I needed to be professional, too.
Which is why I was still at Nyx, doodling nonsense on my sketchpad, pretending I cared about bezel settings and chain lengths when really, I just didn’t want to go home.
Eliza Black was coming in a few days to pick her lead designer.
No pressure or anything.
My brain had been flatlining all week, but the pendant necklace had given me some inspiration which I needed to jot down before it vanished.
I’d shut off all the lights except one, because mood lighting helped.
Close to one o’clock, I had just stretched and cracked my spine in five places when I heard the door open quietly.
I turned and cocked an eyebrow.
What was she doing here?
Violet Lin had left hours earlier.
Apparently, she was just as surprised to see me as I was to see her.
“Oh wow, working late?” she said, pulling up short when she saw me stand up.
I gave her a side-eye, sat back down, clicked my mouse, and shut down the deck I had been working on.
She didn’t need to see anything.
She noticed my move and scoffed. “Please. Like I care what you’re working on. We both know you’re just killing yourself over that Eliza Black pitch. I already finished mine. Not that I’d waste my time looking at yours. I will get the project, by the way. You should just quit now. Save yourself the heartbreak. Nothing worse than crying over a dead dream.”
I turned my chair slowly to face her. Leaned back.
“If I get it, great. If I don’t, whatever. It’s one project. I don’t treat it like it’s the last golden ticket out of my tragic little life. That level of desperation kinda reeks. If anyone’s crying when Eliza picks someone else, it’s going to be you, sweetheart.”
Violet’s jaw clenched so hard I half-expected her teeth to crack.
She stormed closer, heels stabbing the floor like she was trying to kill it.
“I’m not desperate,” she hissed. “Even if I don’t get this, I’ve got backup. Unlike you, I’ve got options. I could quit tomorrow and still be fine. Hell, I could buy Nyx Collective if I wanted and fire your smug face just for fun.”
“Cool. So why are you here at midnight talking to me instead of doing rich-girl Pilates or whatever?”
Her nostrils flared.
I smiled.
She didn’t.
“Your folks made some cash riding the post-pandemic crypto wave. Big whoop. Doesn’t change the fact they’re still new money. If your family had the power you’re flexing, why didn’t they even get an invite to the Laurents’ gala, hmm? And while we’re at it, you still haven’t told me how you got in. What was it—snuck in under the dessert cart?”
Her face dropped. “You—!”
“Yes?”
She glared like she was seconds from launching her Louboutins at me, then hissed, “You’ll regret this,” and stomped out.
I watched her go, head tilted.
A minute after she left, I grabbed my bag and followed.
Something about her showing up after hours, all flustered, didn’t sit right with me.
Violet Lin didn’t do unannounced pop-ins without a reason, and her face when she saw me earlier was straight-up guilty.
I slipped downstairs, low heels silent on the marble.
She’d already reached the lobby, deep in conversation with one of the security guards.
I ducked behind the stairwell, the one blind spot in the CCTV coverage, discovered thanks to three months of staying late and pure paranoia.
She handed the guy a card.
Not the kind to access the building, the kind you swipe on a POS terminal.
The guard—his name was Jace, I think—had started last month.
Baby-faced, couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.
Clean-cut, twitchy, the type who still apologized when people bumped into him.
More importantly, not the rich type.
Normally, Violet wouldn’t chat up someone like him.
No way she was down here chatting him up for fun.
Jace tried to push the card away, but Violet said something too low for me to catch, then he pocketed the card, but not before he darted his eyes around, guilt written all over his face.
I ducked down before he could see me and connected the dots.
Violet was paying him off to erase security footage.
Only security and management had access to the surveillance tapes.
If she wanted something wiped, she had to go through him. Or Savannah.
Which meant her little detour upstairs had been a recon mission—to check if the office was empty, and if by luck, Savannah had forgotten to lock her door.
But the moment she saw me, she changed her plan.
I waited for her to leave before heading back upstairs to pack up.
But not before I checked my phone and made sure I got what I wanted.
