Off Limit
HARDIN'S POV
The clock on the far wall blinked 11:47 p.m.
Too damn late.
I rubbed my temples, leaning back in my chair as the glow from my monitor reflected off the untouched coffee beside me. Cold now. Bitter even when fresh, so I didn’t bother. My mind was thick with numbers, projections, contracts—but all I could think about was her.
Ariana.
She texted me around nine to say she was still at her office. Something about a last-minute investor call and a board issue she didn’t want to talk about over the phone. I could tell by her tone that she needed me, and I hated not being there already.
But I had one more thing to finish. Just one. Close the report. Send the memo. Then I’d walk out of this building, into the night, and straight to her.
My sanctuary.
My reason.
I cracked my knuckles and refocused, cursor blinking like a heartbeat on the screen.
Just one more thing.
Then the door creaked.
I didn’t look up immediately. Probably my assistant, coming back for her forgotten planner. I started to say, “You left—”
But the click of stiletto heels stopped me cold.
I looked up.
Beatrice.
Just the person I didn’t want to see. Not now. Not ever.
She walked in like she owned the place—expensive perfume wafting behind her like a goddamn warning flare. Tight navy pencil skirt hugging her hips like a second skin, blouse slightly too sheer for the time of night, heels high enough to break an ankle. And yet she moved like she wanted me to notice.
She was dressed to seduce.
But pretending to be here on business.
Fucking perfect.
“Beatrice,” I said, my voice clipped. “It’s almost midnight.”
She smiled like that was some sort of flirtation. “I know. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Liar.
“You’re here,” I said flatly, “so you did.”
She gave a light laugh, the kind rich girls learn in finishing school—rehearsed, calculated, annoying as hell. “I just came to remind you about our trip tomorrow. Switzerland. Early flight. Don’t forget.”
“I wouldn’t make it as CEO if I forgot shit like travel itineraries,” I replied, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t need to come all the way here to tell me that. For your information, I have a secretary. Who does that.”
She stepped closer. “I just thought it would be more… personal.”
I stood up, crossing my arms. “Why are you really here?”
Beatrice blinked, then smiled again, soft and slow like she thought it could charm me. “We’re going to be spending the weekend together. I figured we could start on the same page.”
I stepped around my desk slowly, blocking her approach. “Start what, exactly?”
“The partnership,” she said innocently, but her gaze flicked lower. “Our companies working together. You and me.”
Her hand lifted toward my chest.
I caught it mid-air.
Firm. Cold.
“Don’t,” I said, voice sharp as broken glass.
She blinked like she couldn’t believe I stopped her.
“Why do you hate me so much?” she asked, pulling her hand back like I’d burned her. “I’ve done nothing but try to be friendly.”
“Friends,” I said, “don’t show up late at night, dressed like they’re heading to a damn gala, and try to touch each other’s chest.”
She flinched at that, but the sulk quickly turned to anger. “You’re being dramatic. I only came to check on you. You work too hard. I thought—”
“No,” I snapped. “You thought you could pull the same stunt you’ve been trying for weeks. The ‘poor little rich girl with nothing but charm and daddy’s money’ trick. I’m not some bored executive looking for a fling. I’m not impressed by your surname, your wardrobe, or your games.”
Her eyes narrowed, voice sharpening. “You know my father’s the one who brought this deal to the table.”
“Yes. Your father. Not you. You’re just the mouthpiece he sent because he thought your legs might get more traction than his old ass. But I’m not interested in either.”
She stepped back, jaw tightening. “You’re a fucking prick.”
“And you’re out of line,” I said coldly. “Let me be very clear, Beatrice: if you bring this goddamn attitude with you to Switzerland, if you show up acting like this—trying to turn a business trip into your personal casting couch—I will humiliate you in front of every executive in that room. You want to play dress-up and pretend you’re a real negotiator? Fine. But you so much as breathe wrong around me, and I’ll pull your father from the contract. Don’t test me.”
Her face burned scarlet. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I stepped closer, voice a low growl. “Try me.”
She glared at me for a full three seconds, nostrils flaring like a bull about to charge, before she spun on her heel, grabbed her overpriced clutch off my table, and stormed toward the door.
Halfway out, she turned.
“You’ll regret this, Hardin.”
I didn’t even blink. “Already do.”
The door slammed shut behind her.
Silence.
I stared at the spot she had just occupied, the stink of her perfume still clinging to the air like a virus. I exhaled hard and turned back to my desk, disgust crawling under my skin like insects.
God, she just ruined my night.
I shut down the computer with one tap, grabbed my phone, and yanked my blazer off the chair. I needed out of this building. I needed to breathe. I needed Ariana.
I moved through the halls like a storm, feet fast, hands curled into fists at my side. The security guard nodded as I passed, but I barely noticed.
By the time I reached the elevator, I was seething.
What the hell made women like her think they could touch whatever they wanted? Say whatever they liked? And then twist the narrative when it didn’t go their way?
I had never—never—led her on. Not even once.
Every fucking time I tell her I'm not interested.
And yet she keeps coming back.
Keep pushing.
Keep trying to wear me down like I was a trophy to win.
But I wasn’t a prize.
And I sure as hell wasn’t available.
Not when I already belonged to someone.
Ariana.
Just thinking her name made my heartbeat steady again.
I got in the car and pulled into traffic, the city lights blurring past me. The farther I got from that building, the more the weight on my chest lifted.
Ariana’s office was only about an hour away at this hour. Her light would still be on, probably. She liked working late—said the silence helped her think.
I sometimes like her late nights. They gave me excuses to pick her up. To walk her to her car. To hold her hand and remind her that she wasn’t alone in all this chaos.
That someone saw her.
And loved her.
She had no idea what kind of night I’d had, and I wasn’t going to burden her with it. Not now. Not yet. She’d had enough on her plate.
But the second I saw her?
I was going to wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her neck and let the world disappear.
Because she was everything Beatrice wasn’t.
Smart without needing to prove it. Beautiful without begging for attention. Strong enough to stand beside me without trying to control me.
And when Ariana looked at me?
She didn’t see a title. Or a bank account.
She saw me.
By the time I reached her office building, the tension in my shoulders had melted into something softer. My heart beat faster, but for all the right reasons now.
I parked and got into the elevator, patiently waiting to reach her floor.
Her light was on.
I smiled.
Because despite everything—despite Beatrice and my mother and the politics and the power plays—at the end of the day, there was this.
Her.
Us.
And it made everything else fade into the background.
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