Chapter 11: Breaking Rules
1737words
"The situation is critical," he explained, sliding a folder toward me. "Blackwood's European division is facing a crisis that requires immediate intervention."
I flipped through the documents—financial reports showing alarming discrepancies, evidence of potential fraud by the London office's CFO.
"This could sink the entire European operation if not addressed immediately," Alexander continued. "I need to handle it personally."
"I understand that, but why am I going?"
His eyes met mine. "Because I trust your financial expertise. And because Richard will use any separation between us to fuel rumors about our relationship."
The dual reasoning—professional and personal—reflected our increasingly complex dynamic. Since the night of his confession, we'd maintained a careful distance, both seemingly afraid to acknowledge the growing tension between us.
"How long will we be gone?" I asked, already mentally cataloging what I'd need to pack.
"Three days, possibly four." Alexander checked his watch. "The jet leaves at noon. Ms. Chen has arranged for your things to be packed."
Of course she had. In Alexander's world, efficiency trumped personal choice every time.
"I'll need to call my sister, let her know I'll be out of the country."
Alexander nodded. "Of course. And Elena?" His expression softened slightly. "Thank you. For coming with me."
The simple gratitude, offered without calculation or manipulation, warmed me more than it should have.
---
Alexander's private jet was a study in luxury—all cream leather and polished wood, with a staff that anticipated our every need. As we settled in for the transatlantic flight, I found myself studying him covertly.
In the six weeks since our arrangement began, Alexander had changed in subtle ways. The rigid control remained, but beneath it, I occasionally glimpsed something softer—moments of genuine humor, flashes of vulnerability, even kindness.
"You're staring," he noted without looking up from his tablet.
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"How different this is from my usual travel experience. Last time I flew to Europe, I was crammed in economy between a snoring businessman and a mother with twins."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Not quite the same amenities."
"Not quite," I agreed, gesturing to the champagne chilling beside us. "Though I did get half a can of soda and some pretzels."
His soft laugh—a rare, genuine sound—made something flutter in my chest.
"You should do that more often," I said without thinking.
"What? Fly to London?"
"Laugh," I clarified. "It suits you."
Our eyes met, and for a moment, the pretense fell away—no contract, no business arrangement, just two people connecting across the space between them.
The moment shattered when his phone rang—Ms. Chen with urgent updates about the London situation. As Alexander shifted back into CEO mode, I turned to the window, watching clouds drift beneath us and wondering when exactly Alexander Blackwood had become more to me than a business transaction.
---
"What do you mean, there's only one suite available?" Alexander's voice was dangerously controlled as he addressed the apologetic hotel manager. "I specifically reserved two connecting rooms."
"I understand, Mr. Blackwood, and I deeply apologize for the confusion. We had a pipe burst on the fourth floor this morning, affecting several rooms including one of yours." The manager's British accent grew more pronounced with his nervousness. "The Presidential Suite does have two separate bedrooms, however. Complete privacy for both you and Mrs. Blackwood."
I opened my mouth to correct him—I wasn't Mrs. Blackwood yet—but Alexander's hand at the small of my back silenced me.
"That will have to do," he conceded. "Have our luggage brought up immediately."
The suite was stunning—a palatial space with panoramic views of London, antique furniture, and every luxury imaginable. And, as promised, two bedroom suites on opposite sides of the common area, each with its own bathroom.
"Well," I said, trying to lighten the tension as the bellhop departed, "at least we won't be sharing a bathroom."
Alexander ran a hand through his hair—a gesture I now recognized as a sign of stress. "This is inappropriate. I'll have Ms. Chen find alternative accommodations."
"For a four-day trip? That's ridiculous." I moved to the window, taking in the view of the Thames. "We're adults, Alexander. And technically, we are engaged."
His eyes met mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths. "That's not the point."
"Then what is the point?" I challenged. "That you don't trust yourself to stay on your side of the suite?"
The words were meant as a joke, but Alexander's expression turned serious. "Perhaps I don't."
The quiet admission hung between us, charged with implications neither of us seemed ready to address.
"We should prepare for tomorrow's meetings," he said finally, breaking the tension. "The CFO doesn't know we suspect him yet."
Grateful for the return to business, I nodded. "I've analyzed his reports. He's been siphoning funds through a shell company for at least eighteen months."
We spent the evening reviewing documents and developing our strategy, the familiar rhythm of collaboration easing the awkwardness of our shared accommodations. By midnight, we had a solid plan to confront the CFO and salvage the European division's finances.
"We should get some rest," Alexander said, closing his laptop. "Tomorrow will be challenging."
As we moved toward our respective bedrooms, he paused, turning to face me. "Elena, about what I said earlier—"
"It's fine," I interrupted, not ready to discuss the implications of his admission. "Goodnight, Alexander."
I retreated to my room, closing the door firmly behind me. But sleep proved elusive as I replayed his words in my mind: Perhaps I don't trust myself.
Did that mean he felt the same growing attraction that had been tormenting me? The same confusion about where our contractual relationship ended and genuine feelings began?
Eventually, I drifted into restless sleep, dreams filled with storm-gray eyes and unspoken possibilities.
---
The next two days passed in a whirlwind of meetings, confrontations, and damage control. The CFO confessed when presented with our evidence, leading to a complete overhaul of the London office's financial systems.
Throughout it all, Alexander and I worked in perfect synchronization—anticipating each other's thoughts, complementing each other's approaches. Several executives commented on our "obvious connection," assuming the strength of our professional partnership reflected our personal relationship.
They weren't entirely wrong.
On our final evening in London, with the crisis successfully managed, Alexander suggested a walk along the Thames. Rain had fallen earlier, leaving the pavements slick and glistening under the streetlights, the air fresh with the scent of wet stone and river water.
"You were remarkable these past few days," Alexander said as we strolled past the Houses of Parliament. "The London team respects you. That's not easily earned."
"We make a good team," I replied, pleased by his praise but trying not to show how much it affected me.
"We do." He glanced at me, his expression softening in the golden glow of the streetlamps. "In more ways than I anticipated when I proposed our arrangement."
Before I could respond, the skies opened again, rain suddenly pouring down in sheets. Alexander grabbed my hand, pulling me under the nearest awning as other pedestrians scattered for shelter.
"So much for our walk," I laughed, pushing wet hair from my face.
Alexander's eyes fixed on the movement, his expression changing to something more intense. "You're soaked."
"So are you," I pointed out, noticing how his usually perfect hair now curled damply against his forehead, how his white shirt clung to his shoulders.
He looked younger somehow, less controlled, more human. Without thinking, I reached up to brush a raindrop from his cheek.
The simple touch seemed to break something open between us. Alexander caught my hand, holding it against his face for a moment before slowly lowering it, his fingers intertwining with mine.
"We should get back to the hotel," he said, his voice rougher than usual.
The rain showed no signs of stopping, so we made a dash for it, arriving at the hotel lobby breathless and dripping. The elevator ride to our suite was silent, charged with an awareness that had been building since that night during the power outage.
Inside the suite, Alexander handed me a towel from the bathroom, our fingers brushing in the exchange. The simple contact sent electricity through me, a reminder of how much had changed between us since our arrangement began.
"I should change," I said, my voice unsteady.
As I turned toward my bedroom, I heard Alexander curse softly. Glancing back, I saw him struggling with his cufflink, the rain having caused the metal to stick.
"Let me help," I offered, moving back to him without thinking.
Standing close, I worked at the stubborn cufflink, acutely aware of his breath on my hair, the warmth radiating from him despite his damp clothes. When the cufflink finally came free, I looked up to find his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my heart stutter.
"This isn't part of our contract," I whispered, giving voice to the boundary we were about to cross.
"I know," Alexander replied, his hand rising to cup my cheek.
And then he was kissing me—not the careful, controlled kiss of a business partner maintaining appearances, but something desperate and real and consuming. My hands found their way to his shoulders, feeling the solid strength of him as he pulled me closer, one arm around my waist, the other tangled in my damp hair.
The kiss deepened, years of Alexander's control seemingly shattered by this one moment of surrender. I responded with equal fervor, pouring weeks of confused emotions and denied attraction into the connection between us.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, I saw naked vulnerability in Alexander's eyes—desire mixed with something that looked almost like fear.
Without a word, he stepped back, his expression closing as the familiar mask slid back into place.
"Goodnight, Elena," he said, his voice rough with emotion he was clearly fighting to control.
Before I could respond, he retreated to his bedroom, the door closing firmly behind him.
I stood alone in the center of the suite, fingers touching my lips where I could still feel the pressure of his kiss, the taste of him lingering on my tongue.
Our contract had explicitly forbidden physical intimacy. That line had now been irrevocably crossed.
The question was: where did we go from here?
