Then he melted into it.
He kissed her back fully. As if he understood what this was and chose to meet her in it without overreaching. His hands gripped her waist.
He kissed her deeper for a heartbeat longer, then slowly, eased away, resting his forehead against hers.
He sighed. "God, I want more," he whispered, barely audible. "I would take more... if it wasn’t the damned wrong time."
Chay’s lashes fluttered open, their breaths mingling. She stood there, pressed to him, forehead to forehead. "I have never done anything so forward in my entire life. Don’t make me feel stupid."
"No, you are not." Guy stepped back slightly, his hands running through his hair in a move that betrayed how flustered he actually was. He looked like a man trying very hard not to look at the woman he wanted, knowing the moment he did, all his resolve would melt into the floor.
"I... it’s just that I know you’re hurting, Chay." His voice lowered as if grief had ears and he didn’t want to wake it again. "And it would be insensitive of me to take advantage of that. But trust me..." He paused, eyes locking with hers now. "When the time is right—and you do that again—it will be a different story."
There was no arrogance in his tone, just quiet conviction.
Chay’s cheeks flushed, and her hands toyed with the hem of her hoodie. "I’m sorry," she murmured.
"No... no, Chay," he said quickly, stepping back in with an earnestness that softened the tension. "It’s fine, really." He smiled, a little lopsided and a lot sincere. "But you seriously need to get back out there. There are still a ton of things to do if you’re going to launch at the end of the month."
Chay lifted her gaze again, eyes glassy but sharp. "I need you to be honest with me, Guy."
He tilted his head. "Painfully honest," he admitted with a dramatic sigh.
"Do you think I can do this?" she asked.
Guy walked toward her again, but this time slower, more deliberate. He didn’t answer right away. He studied her. Her energy. Her spirit. The way her shoulders were slightly slumped from grief but still squared in defiance of it. He could see the fire in her—it was just buried under too much ash.
"It’s a simple question," he said finally, "that has a complicated answer."
Her brows knitted. "How so?"
Guy took a deep breath, then pointed toward her chest. "Because you have what it takes. To have your name, your brand, your vision on the lips of everyone in this city and even beyond—that part is not in question."
She bit her lip, trying not to let hope creep in.
"But," he continued, "there are too many things holding you back."
He started to tick them off on his fingers. "Fear. Misguided loyalty. That weird compulsion to not outshine people who never even bothered to show up to your light show. You spend more energy trying not to offend people who aren’t even in the arena, than building your empire."
He gently reached out and turned her chin back to him with two fingers. "If you could be selfish—just a little bit, Chay..." He grinned now, wicked and warm all at once. "You’d be amazing. Scratch that. You’d be unfuckwithable."
Chay snorted despite herself. "Is that a professional fashion industry term?"
"Absolutely," Guy said, deadpan.
She shook her head, laughing now.
"Being selfish doesn’t sound like me," Chay said, almost with a note of apology. Her shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. She didn’t mean it to sound noble—it was just the truth. Putting herself first felt foreign.
Guy didn’t argue. He just nodded, lips tugging up in a knowing smile. "Which is why I said it’s a complicated answer," he replied. "But let’s start up first and we’ll see. Baby steps, Numero."
"In the meantime, I have the document from Verna. I’ll forward it to you. Make the rest of the deposit and sign. The building is yours."
It felt... surreal. Her building. Her name on the lease. She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat and gave a small, shaky nod.
"Just give me a week, tops," she said, mustering up some confidence. "I should be back to about 80%."
"I’ll take whatever I can get," Guy said with a smirk. Then, without warning, he leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.
The gesture was simple, light, but it lingered, deep inside.
He started walking toward the door, clearly thinking the scene was done. Professional motivation.
But he paused with his hand on the knob. "Actually," he said, glancing back over his shoulder, "I’ll be going out with a couple of friends tonight. I think you should come."
Chay straightened. "Oh... Guy... no. Business parties? Count me in. Small talk? Sure. But intimate social circles with more than two people?" She shook her head violently. "I don’t do so well. I panic."
Guy only raised a brow, completely unfazed by her resistance. "I’ll pick you up at eight," he said coolly, already halfway out the door.
She stared after him. "Guy... I said no..." she called weakly.
Just the click of the door closing behind him.
Chay stood in the middle of the room for a second, processing the whirlwind that was Guy. She looked around, as if the furniture might offer her some support or solidarity.
Then she muttered to no one in particular, "He heard me say no, right?"
She sighed, already regretting the possibility of being thrown into some room full of loud laughter.
Queen sat behind her wide glass desk, a steaming cup of untouched coffee growing cold beside her as she flipped through the thick set of documents a Verna agent had just dropped off. The Verna logo glared up at her from the pages—crisp, clinical.
"My husband will be in soon," Queen said, eyes still on the document. "You say we both have to sign, right?"