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Chapter 16 – Tension at Every Turn
Eleanor
Sienna didn’t just breeze in and out. She lingered.
Over the next two weeks, her presence at Sterling Enterprises became a carefully orchestrated torment—an exercise in dominance dressed in designer heels. She'd show up midday with artisanal coffee or some obscure French pastry Marcus never requested. Always uninvited. Always smiling.
“Darling, I thought you might need a break,” she’d coo, pressing a kiss to Marcus’s cheek in full view of the office. Then she’d turn to Eleanor, eyes sweeping over her like inventory. “Still managing that chaotic calendar of his, Eleanor? Bless you. You must have the patience of a saint.”
Her voice dripped with politeness. Her words were knives.
Eleanor, outwardly composed, met each veiled jab with professional grace. But inside, she was burning.
What infuriated her more than Sienna’s presence was Marcus’s silence. He never corrected Sienna, never dismissed her, never sent her away. He let her stake her claim in subtle, invasive ways. And Eleanor had no choice but to endure.
But she saw it—the way Marcus tensed beneath Sienna’s touch, the way his voice lowered whenever his gaze landed on Eleanor. He never looked at Sienna the way he looked at her. He never watched Sienna the way he did when Eleanor smoothed her skirt, or bit her lip in concentration, or brushed hair from her face with fingers that trembled just slightly.
The memory of that night in the elevator haunted her body. She could still feel the ghost of his hand near her cheek, the warmth of his breath at her neck. And worse—her own reaction. The pulse that had throbbed between her legs for hours after, the ache that settled deep in her spine every time she heard his voice.
And now, every time Sienna kissed his cheek or called him darling, Eleanor’s body rebelled—her thighs tightening, her stomach coiling, her breath going shallow with something dangerously close to jealousy.
She hated it.
But she wanted him.
Marcus
He noticed the shift in Eleanor almost immediately.
She became colder. Not in a malicious way—Eleanor never lost her composure—but something vital had receded. The warmth she gave so effortlessly to others was absent when she looked at him now.
And that gutted him.
Because he missed it. Craved it.
He watched her from behind his glass wall like a man starving—memorizing the curve of her neck when she bent over her desk, the press of her thighs when she crossed one leg over the other. Every detail undid him. Her scent lingered long after she passed by, always subtle, always familiar. It made his cock harden at the worst possible times—board meetings, budget reviews, even now, with Sienna seated two feet away, droning about dinner parties and country clubs.
He wanted Eleanor.
He wanted to drag her into his office and press her against the glass until the whole damn floor knew who she belonged to. But he couldn’t. Because she wouldn’t let him.
She was withdrawing, walling herself off.
And he had no one to blame but himself.
Eleanor
It was late Friday when the office finally thinned out, leaving only silence, rain tapping against the glass, and her. Still at her desk. Still typing.
Marcus’s voice cut through the hush. “Eleanor. A moment.”
She rose, tablet in hand, and stepped inside.
He didn’t sit. He stood behind his desk, hands braced on the surface like he was preparing for battle.
“I’ll be in Chicago next week for the Jensen merger,” he said. “Three days. I want you on-site.”
Her stomach dropped. “Three days?”
His eyes didn’t waver. “Flights are booked. You’ll stay at the Langford. I’ve sent the itinerary.”
She struggled to speak. “That’s… short notice.”
His gaze softened a fraction. “Is it a problem?”
Yes, she wanted to say. Because three days alone with you will break me.
“No,” she said. “I’ll make arrangements.”
He stepped around the desk, closing the distance between them until the room shrank around her. “You’ve been different.”
She froze.
“Since the elevator,” he said, voice low, rough. “You’ve barely looked at me.”
“I’ve been focused on work.”
His eyes searched hers. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
She swallowed hard.
“I won’t kiss you,” he said. “But I want to.”
Eleanor’s breath hitched. Her skin burned. Her thighs pressed together as the memory lit her nerves on fire.
“I’m your assistant,” she whispered.
“You’re the only person I think about when I’m supposed to be sleeping,” he said. “You’re the one I see when I close my eyes. That’s not going away.”
She backed toward the door, panic and need crashing inside her.
“I’ll be ready for Chicago,” she said, voice thin.
He let her go.
But his restraint was fraying.
And hers was almost gone.
