“She’s very small.”

“She’s judgmental about size comments.”

Muffin sniffed his sleeve, then climbed directly into his lap as if conquering a hostile nation.

Cameron froze completely.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

“Have you never met a cat before?”

“I’ve met cats.”

“Then why do you look like she’s negotiating a hostile takeover?”

“She’s touching me.”

“She does that.”

Muffin curled into a fluffy ball on his expensive trousers and began purring.

Something in Cameron’s face shifted.

Softened.

Almost helplessly.

He lowered one hand, hesitant, and brushed two fingers over her head.

Muffin purred louder.

The sight nearly destroyed me.

This impossible man, who could buy buildings without blinking, looked utterly undone by a seven-pound rescue cat.

“She likes you,” I said.

“She has poor instincts.”

“No. She has excellent instincts. She hates my landlord.”

“Smart cat.”

He stroked Muffin again, slower this time.

The room settled around us.

For a moment, it felt almost peaceful.

Then Cameron’s phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Once.

Twice.

Again and again.

He closed his eyes.

“Don’t answer it,” he said.

I glanced at the screen.

Vanessa Ellington.

Her name flashed in elegant white letters.

My stomach tightened.

“It’s her.”

“I know.”

The phone stopped.

Then started again.

Cameron reached for it, but I picked it up first.

His eyes snapped to mine.

I didn’t know what possessed me.

Maybe exhaustion.

Maybe curiosity.

Maybe the fact that a woman had publicly humiliated him and then decided midnight was a perfect time to keep cutting.

“Emma,” he warned softly.

I held the phone out.

“You should answer.”

“No.”

“Then I will.”

His brows lifted.

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“I specialize in those after midnight.”

Before he could stop me, I accepted the call.

“Cameron?” Vanessa’s voice came through immediately, smooth and icy. “Where are you?”

I paused.

Cameron stared at me as if I had just detonated a grenade.

“This is Emma Carter,” I said. “Mr. Reed is unavailable.”

Silence.

Then Vanessa laughed softly.

“Oh. The assistant.”

Muffin lifted her head, offended on my behalf.

Cameron’s expression went black.

I straightened.

“Yes. The assistant.”

“How quaint. Put him on.”

Another silence.

This one sharper.

“Excuse me?”

“He is not in a condition to have a productive conversation.”

Vanessa’s voice lowered. “Listen carefully, Emma. Whatever little fantasy you’re constructing in your head, destroy it now. Cameron belongs to a world you serve. You don’t enter it.”

Heat rose in my face.

Across from me, Cameron started to stand.

I held up a hand.

To my astonishment, he stopped.

“Thank you for the sociological update,” I said. “Was there a message?”

Her laugh vanished.

“Tell him he has until eight tomorrow morning.”

“For what?”

“He knows.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t think he does.”

“Then tell him I know about Meridian.”

Cameron went perfectly still.

Every ounce of drunken softness disappeared from his face.

Vanessa continued, “Tell him his father chose the wrong son to protect it. And tell him if he doesn’t come home tonight, everyone finds out.”

The call ended.

I slowly lowered the phone.

My hand felt cold.

“Cameron,” I whispered, “what is Meridian?”

He took the phone from me, but his eyes weren’t on the screen.

They were on the floor.

Or maybe somewhere far beneath it.

“Something my father should have buried twenty years ago.”

I sat down without meaning to.

“Is it illegal?”

He laughed once.

That told me enough.

Muffin, sensing disaster, jumped off his lap and disappeared beneath the table.

Cameron stood and swayed slightly, catching himself on the couch arm.

“I need to go.”

“No. Absolutely not. You can barely stand.”

“I have to.”

“Vanessa just threatened you.”

“She threatened more than me.”

The words were flat.

Controlled.

He was turning back into the man from the office, but now I could see the cracks under the marble.

“Tell me what Meridian is.”

His jaw tightened.

“You came to my apartment drunk and said you needed me. You let me answer your phone. A woman just threatened you through me. You do not get to shut the door now.”

Something flashed in his eyes.

Pride.

Fear.

Maybe admiration.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Then explain it.”

“I can’t.”

“Because it’s confidential?”

“Because the less you know, the safer you are.”

I laughed.

It came out bitter and thin.

“Men like you always say that right before ruining women’s lives.”

He flinched as if I had slapped him.

Good.

I was tired, scared, and still wearing kitten pajamas. I had earned one clean hit.

“I won’t ruin your life,” he said quietly.

“You already came to my home.”

“You already dragged me into whatever this is.”

“You already made me care.”

The last sentence escaped before I could stop it.

The room went still again.

Not like a boss.

Not like a billionaire.

Like a man who had been drowning all night and had just seen shore.

“Emma,” he said softly.

“No.” I stepped back. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look relieved. I’m angry.”

“I should report you to HR.”

“I own HR.”

“That is not helping your case.”

He moved closer, but carefully this time. No stumbling. No careless touch.

“I came here because you are the only person in my life who has never asked me for anything.”