He thought he was only taking his CEO to a wedding until she grabbed his hand and begged him not to let go

The media storm broke over Charleston like a category four hurricane.

By noon, news vans were parked three deep along the Battery. Helicopter blades chopped the gray sky above Broad Street, broadcasting live footage of Julian Sterling being led out of the federal courthouse in handcuffs, his expensive suit rumpled, a jacket thrown over his wrists to hide the steel chains.

Inside the executive suite of Whitmore Properties, the atmosphere was completely different.

The noise of the street was muffled by three inches of reinforced glass. On the fortieth floor, the phones were ringing off the hook, but for the first time in four years, the panic was gone. The stock price, which had plummeted twelve percent at the opening bell, had rebounded twenty-two percent by two o'clock as news of the thwarted fraud spread across the trading desks.

Claire sat at her massive mahogany desk, reviewing the final legal dismissal of all injunctions.

Her office door opened.

Daniel stepped inside. He had changed back into his denim shirt, his heavy work boots, and his faded canvas jacket. His hair was damp from the afternoon drizzle, and he held a paper folder under his arm.

Claire looked up from her documents. For a long moment, she simply looked at him.

“You’re dressed for work,” she said.

“I have a roof inspection on the warehouse district at three,” Daniel said, his tone entirely professional. “The drainage channels backed up during the storm last night. If we don’t clear them, the lower tenant loses inventory.”

Claire set her pen down. She stood up, walked around her desk, and stopped three feet in front of him.

“You gave Thomas Vance the evidence at four in the morning,” she said. “You didn't sleep.”

“Neither did you.”

“Daniel.” She stepped closer. Her perfume—roses, sea salt, and clean linen—drifted toward him. “You saved my company. You saved Henry’s family. You saved my life. And you’re going to inspect a roof?”

Daniel offered a small, quiet smile. “Roofs don’t care about federal indictments, Claire. Water comes down, it needs somewhere to go.”

He extended the folder toward her. “This is my thirty-day notice.”

Claire froze. The color drained from her face faster than it had in the boardroom when Julian threatened her.

“What?” she whispered.

“I’m resigning,” Daniel said gently.

“No.” She didn't take the folder. She backed away half a step, shaking her head. “No, Daniel. Absolutely not. If this is about money, I’ll make you Vice President of Operations. I’ll make you Chief Security Officer. Name your salary. Three hundred thousand? Half a million? You can have whatever you want.”

“Claire,” Daniel said, his voice dropping into that deep, calming register that had kept her grounded in the storm. “Listen to me.”

“I won’t let you leave,” she said, her voice cracking with sudden, overwhelming emotion. “You told me you wouldn't let go of my hand!”

Daniel set the folder down on the edge of her desk. He took one step forward, closing the distance between them until he was looking straight down into her wide, glistening eyes.

“I’m not letting go,” he said softly.

Claire stopped, her chest heaving. “Then why are you resigning?”

“Because as long as I work for you,” Daniel said, his hand rising slowly, hesitating for a fraction of a second before his rough, calloused fingers gently brushed against the side of her cheek, “I am your employee. There are policies. There are human resources ethics. There are board members who will whisper that your head of security took advantage of a vulnerable CEO during a corporate crisis.”

Claire’s eyes widened as his words sank in.

“I don’t want your money, Claire,” Daniel continued, his thumb wiping away a stray eyelash from her cheekbone. “I never did. But if I stay in that basement, every time I look at you, I’m going to have to pretend that I didn't hold you in my arms while you slept in that cabin. I’m going to have to pretend that I don’t care about you.”

Claire’s breath hitched. A shiver ran through her body.

“And you think resigning fixes that?” she whispered, leaning slightly into the warmth of his hand.

“It means tomorrow morning, when I ask you to have dinner with me,” Daniel said, “you won’t be my boss. You’ll just be Claire. And I’ll just be Daniel.”

Claire laughed—a wet, breathless, beautiful laugh that filled the quiet office with light.

She reached up, covering his hand on her cheek with her own, lacing her fingers between his taped, bruised knuckles.

“You’re an infuriating man, Daniel Reed,” she said.