Chapter 25: Chapter Twenty-Five — Off the Record

"You’ve been avoiding me."

"It is not a question," Willow said. "Noted. I have been busy."

"And before that?" he asked.

"Also busy."

A low exhale escaped him, almost a laugh that did not quite form. He watched her steadily as he said, "You usually return calls."

"Not always."

"No," he agreed, his voice lower now. "Not always."

Her jaw tightened and she held his gaze without flinching. He did not get to be gentle with her after everything that had happened.

"Is this the issue?" she asked. "Because if it is, it belongs outside this room."

He allowed silence to settle between them, cool and deliberate, as if silence itself were part of the conversation. Only after several seconds did he speak again.

"You should have told me about Christy’s invitation."

The words pressed against a bruise she had hidden well.

Her spine stayed straight and her expression did not change. "There was nothing to tell. She invited several people."

"She invited us," he said with quiet precision. "Together."

Of course he knew. Power never waited for permission to be informed.

"I am not planning to go," Willow said calmly.

A flicker crossed his eyes, amusement edged with something darker that she did not trust.

"I am Miles’s best friend and you are my girlfriend. We have to go."

The word girlfriend hung between them, too intimate and too public for the quiet professional space around them. Willow kept her tone neutral and controlled.

"I do not need coaching."

"No," he said softly. "You do not."

He stood then, slow and measured, and the movement carried the same quiet dominance he seemed to possess without effort. His reflection crossed hers in the glass wall behind him and for a moment the two figures seemed to merge into a single outline.

"You are going to walk into a room where people will assume your story for you," Zane said. "Do not let them."

His ocean blue eyes caught the light and held it, and for a moment she forgot which of them was performing and which of them was watching.

"You knew," she said finally. "And you did not text. You did not call."

"I did," he said calmly. "You did not answer."

She remembered the messages clearly. She had read every one of them and chosen silence with careful intention.

You are impossible to reach.

Dinner, or lunch if that is less dangerous.

I promise not to bite.

Silence had been a move on the board, deliberate and controlled.

"This is not your company’s scope," she said, motioning faintly toward the room and the tower around them. "This is personal."

"It is both," he said. "Whether we admit it in front of your team or not."

Heat climbed slowly into her throat and she forced it down before answering.

"Do you often discuss personal matters with vendors?"

"Only when the vendor is pretending not to know her boyfriend is the CEO."

Her head turned sharply toward him before she could stop herself.

"What?"

He smiled and the expression held no kindness.

"Funny thing about amnesia," he said lightly. "It makes you forget the most convenient facts."

The line sounded casual but there was intention beneath it, a quiet test and a claim disguised as humor.

Her silence stretched long enough to sting before she answered.

"I did not realize that counted as one of the side effects," she said coolly.

His expression shifted for a fraction of a second before settling again.

"Good," he said. "Then we are both learning to adjust."

Willow’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile, though neither of them believed in it.

"I learn fast."

"I have noticed," he said quietly. "You always did."

The familiarity in his tone brushed dangerously close to something that did not belong in a professional room.

He stepped closer to the table and lowered his voice until it blurred into breath.

"We have one more issue to discuss."

Her brows lifted slightly though she did not move.

"Issue?"

He gestured toward the chair she had vacated earlier.

"Sit. This is off the record."

Willow remained where she was. Something in his tone made her wary in a way she could not ignore.

"I will stand."

Zane held her gaze for a long moment before moving around the table toward her. Each step was quiet against the carpet, but the air between them tightened with every inch he closed.

"You are not going to sit," he said quietly.

"No," she replied, though her pulse was louder than her words.

"Then this will have to do."

Before she could ask what he meant he reached out and drew her into his arms. The movement was smooth and unhurried and impossible to resist without turning the moment into a struggle.

His hand settled at the small of her back and the warmth of him surrounded her in a way that felt too intimate for a business meeting.

She went still from instinct more than fear, every nerve warning her not to trust him.

"Relax," he said softly. "It is only me."

Only you, she thought, the man who had lied to her face and covered for his friend and left her to sort through the wreckage alone.

He did not know that she remembered everything. He believed she was lost in confusion and she was not ready to show her hand yet.

So she stayed still and played the role he expected.

Her body betrayed her despite her control. The scent of him, sandalwood and smoke, pulled at memories she was not supposed to have. His hold was not cruel. It felt protective and practiced, like a man holding something fragile he was not certain he deserved to keep.

"This is not business," she whispered.

He leaned back just enough to study her face.

"I never said it was, Willow."

His gaze lingered on her as though searching for confirmation of a story only he believed.

"The doctor said memory loss can take time. What matters is that you trust me."

She almost laughed at the word.

Trust.

"You were in an accident," he continued calmly. "It could have been worse. Please understand why I did not want to add to your confusion when you woke up. We are together, Willow. You and I."

The lie came smoothly and without hesitation.

Her chest tightened, not from surprise but from the absurdity of hearing it repeated.

"Together," she said quietly.

"That is right. You have been under a lot of pressure. I should have been there more these last two weeks, but things at Star spiraled and I should have made more time for you."

Her fingers curled against her palms. He spoke like a man apologizing for something real, as if he believed the version of events he described.

She almost pitied him for how convincing he could be.

"Work comes first," she said evenly.

"Not anymore," he murmured. "I will not make that mistake again."

He lifted his hand and brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek with easy familiarity.

"You really think this will help me remember?" she asked quietly.

"I think familiarity helps," he said. "Which is why there is something else."

Inside her mind was moving quickly. He still believed she trusted him and still believed she was lost in confusion. That ignorance was suddenly useful.

Her first instinct was refusal but the colder instinct followed quickly. If she went she could look Miles in the eye and stand beside Zane and smile.

"I see," she said calmly. "You do not like disappointing people."

"I do not like confusion," he corrected. "If you are seen with me it confirms what everyone already believes and keeps things familiar."

"Familiar," she echoed softly.

He studied her face carefully as though waiting for resistance. The air between them felt heavy and magnetic.

His thumb traced slowly along the edge of her jaw.

"You tense every time I touch you."

She forced a quiet laugh.

"Maybe I am out of practice."

"Then we will fix that."

Before she could answer he leaned down and kissed her, slow at first and controlled with the deliberate restraint of a man who understood exactly what he was doing. His hand tightened slightly at the small of her back, not forcing her closer but holding her in place with quiet certainty, as if movement away from him simply was not an option he intended to allow. The contact was warm and steady, and the familiarity of it struck her before the sensation itself did. His mouth moved with patient intention rather than urgency, giving her time to register every detail and no time at all to escape it.

Shock came first, sharp and instinctive, the sudden awareness of his closeness stealing her breath before she could steady herself. For a moment she remained rigid in his arms, her body resisting while her mind scrambled to restore order. She had agreed to the performance. She had accepted the role he believed she occupied. None of this was supposed to matter beyond appearances.

But he did not kiss her like a man maintaining appearances.

There was calculation in the way he held her, in the measured pressure of his hand against her back and the quiet persistence of his mouth. He kissed like a man building something rather than borrowing it, as if each second of contact laid another stone in a structure meant to outlast whatever had come before. His warmth surrounded her in a way that felt intentional, not careless, and she understood with sudden clarity that he was not trying to remind her of a past they never shared. He was trying to create one strong enough to replace it.

Defiance followed the shock. Her fingers pressed lightly against his chest, not quite pushing him away, but refusing to yield completely. She would not let him believe she belonged to him simply because he insisted on it. She would not give him that victory.

Yet even as the thought formed, something in her began to soften against her will.

Her mind repeated that this was strategy, that he was positioning himself carefully and patiently until there would be no space left for Miles in the version of events he presented to the world. Zane did nothing without purpose. Every gesture had weight. Every word had direction. Becoming necessary was simply another form of control, and he was good at it in ways that made resistance feel exhausting.

Her body betrayed her before she could stop it. The tension in her shoulders eased by degrees she could not track. The warmth of his mouth spread through her chest in a slow, dangerous way that had nothing to do with performance. His scent lingered close around her, sandalwood and smoke and something distinctly his own, familiar enough now that her senses recognized him before her thoughts did.

He deepened the kiss only slightly, enough to shift it from demonstration to possession, and the subtle change carried more meaning than any urgency would have. There was patience in the way he moved, a quiet certainty that he did not need to rush because time itself would work in his favor. He held her like a man who expected her to remain.

When he finally drew back it was gradual, the distance between them returning a fraction at a time until she could breathe again without effort. His hand remained at her back as if the contact itself were part of the argument he was making. His ocean blue eyes searched her face carefully, calm on the surface but intent beneath it, as though he were measuring the effect and storing the result for later use.

"There is no point using me to hurt him," he said quietly. "You are with me now and he is not worth it."

The certainty in his voice was not anger and not jealousy. It sounded like a conclusion he had already reached and no longer questioned.

Willow straightened slowly and gathered herself piece by piece, drawing her composure around her like armor while the warmth of his mouth still lingered against her own.

She straightened and gathered herself.

"I should go."

He nodded but did not move aside immediately.

She brushed past him and his cologne clung faintly to her sleeve.

Before she reached the door he spoke again.

"Willow."

She turned and hoped her face did not reveal the warmth still lingering on her lips.

"I am glad we will be working together," he said quietly.

She nodded and left.

Cindy and Raj stood nearby pretending to study a framed photo of cranes against a skyline. Cindy glanced at Willow’s face, read it, and said nothing.

As they walked Cindy nodded toward the catering table and said quietly, "I took a cupcake. For science."

She tasted the icing and grimaced before saying, "It tastes like ambition."

Raj stifled a laugh and Willow’s lips twitched.

"Spit it out before you start writing proposals for fun," Willow murmured.

"Too late," Cindy said solemnly. "I suddenly want to buy a crane."

The absurdity eased the tension enough for Willow to breathe normally again.

At the elevator she smoothed her jacket and adjusted her hairpin until everything looked perfectly in place. The doors opened with quiet mechanical precision and she stepped inside.

Her reflection looked calm and exact and untouched.

The elevator descended while the city flickered across mirrored walls.

Halfway down her phone buzzed and Christy’s name appeared with a calendar invitation for a pre engagement dinner at Cordell Gardens on Friday at eight in the evening.

Another message followed immediately from Zane confirming Friday at seven twenty and telling her not to argue.

She accepted neither invitation and let the notifications remain stacked together like two traps waiting for the same step.

Willow spent the rest of the afternoon pretending nothing had happened. She buried herself in Star Engineering outlines and diagrams and wire flows until the office lights dimmed and coworkers began leaving.