Chad Harrison, the billionaire playboy who has never slept with the same woman twice steps out of his private jet after spending the night deliberating on how to close a major deal, Chad felt confident knowing he had never lost anything in his entire career.
"Sir, the car is ready," Pete his loyal assistant said nudging him towards the black Mercedes parked in front of the jet.
With a slight nod of his head, he moves to the car and lowers himself with an immaculate grace that cannot be taught. The leather seat seems to mold itself to his form, familiar yet indifferent, much like the life he had curated for himself; luxurious, controlled, and emotionally distant. Pete shuts the door quietly, already speaking into his earpiece as the driver pulls away from the private terminal.
Chad loosens his tie, exhaling slowly. The city skyline looms ahead, steel and glass glinting under the early morning sun. Another deal. Another victory. Another proof that he was untouchable.
Or so he thought.
His phone vibrates once. Chad glances at the screen, expecting an update from legal or finance, but instead sees a name he doesn't recognize.
Unknown Number: You left this behind.
Before he can question it, a photo loads. His breath stills.
It's his watch.
Not just any watch the limited-edition Patek Philippe his father had given him before he died. Chad's fingers tighten around the phone.
"That's impossible," he mutters.
"Sir?" Pete asks from the passenger seat, turning slightly.
"Nothing," Chad replies curtly. He types quickly.
Chad: Who is this?
The reply comes almost instantly.
Unknown Number: The woman you swore you'd never remember.
His jaw hardens. Chad Harrison did not forget women. He dismissed them. Remembering required effort; forgetting was effortless. Last night had been calculated, a release after a twelve-hour negotiation that ended at midnight. He recalls champagne, a penthouse suite, silk sheets… but not her face.
That alone unsettles him.
Chad: Where did you get my number?
A pause. Longer this time.
Unknown Number: You gave it to me. Right before you fell asleep.
Chad's heart gives an unfamiliar lurch. He never slept after sex. Never. It was a rule; one he had followed religiously since his early twenties, when emotions first proved to be liabilities.
Pete watches him through the mirror. "Sir, is everything alright?"
"Yes," Chad lies smoothly, slipping the phone into his pocket. "Change of plans. Take us to the Harrison Tower."
Pete blinks. "Your meeting with the board is—"
"—postponed," Chad says, his tone final.
The car shifts direction, merging into traffic.
The Harrison Tower stands like a monument to ambition—fifty floors of ruthless success bearing his name. Chad strides through the revolving doors, greeted by hushed admiration and subtle fear. Employees straighten. Voices lower. Power follows him like a shadow.
Inside his private office, floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city. Chad pours himself a glass of water, ignoring the faint tremor in his hands.
Sleep??
He hadn't slept like that in years. Deep. Dreamless. Vulnerable.
His phone buzzes again.
Unknown Number: Relax, Mr. Harrison. I'm not blackmailing you.
Chad: Then what do you want?
This time, the reply takes longer. Chad imagines her on the other end: calm, unhurried, unaffected by his wealth or reputation. That, more than anything, irritates him.
Unknown Number: My job back.
He frowns.
Chad: I don't employ women I sleep with.
Unknown Number: You didn't sleep with me when you fired me.
Silence stretches as the truth clicks into place.
Chad's mind flashes back to six weeks ago; a late afternoon, a recommendation from HR, a woman sitting across from him with intelligent eyes and an unshakeable calm. She had challenged one of his projections, respectfully but firmly.
He'd admired her competence.
Then fired her.
Not for incompetence. For daring to look at him like he was human.
Chad: Your name is—
Unknown Number: Lena Moore.
The name lands heavily.
Lena Moore. The economist who had warned him about a flaw in the overseas merger. The one he'd ignored.
The deal he'd been deliberating over all night.
The deal he wasn't as confident about as he pretended.
Chad closes his eyes briefly.
Chad: Where are you?
A pause.
Lena: You don't get to summon me, Chad.
She used his first name. No honorific. No reverence.
Something stirs in his chest—annoyance laced with curiosity.
Chad: You have my watch.
Lena: And you have my career.
He exhales sharply, rubbing his jaw.
Chad: Come to my office. We'll talk.
Lena: No.
Of course.
Lena: Café Umber. One hour. If you're late, I leave.
The line goes dead.
Chad stares at the screen long after it goes dark.
Café Umber is small, warm, and entirely unsuited to a man like Chad Harrison. He arrives precisely on time, dressed impeccably yet feeling oddly exposed.
Lena is already there.
She looks nothing like the women he usually entertains. No designer dress. No calculated allure. Just quiet confidence in a cream blouse and dark jeans, her hair pulled back loosely, eyes sharp and observant.
His watch sits on the table between them.
"You slept," she says simply, sipping her coffee.
"So you keep reminding me."
"You trusted me," she corrects.
Chad sits. "I don't trust easily."
"I know. That's why I didn't sleep with you."
He stiffens. "Excuse me?"
"You passed out mid-sentence," she says, amused. "Mumbling about leverage and exit clauses."
Heat creeps up his neck.
"This changes nothing," Chad says. "You want your job? You'll get a better one. Higher pay. NDA included."
"Lena shakes her head. "I don't want your money."
"Everyone wants my money."
"I want you to listen," she says quietly. "The deal you're about to close will cost you more than you think."
He studies her, really studies her. No fear. No desire to impress.
"For the first time in your life," she continues, "you're about to lose something. And you know it."
Silence hums between them.
Chad leans back slowly, a dangerous smile forming. "You're confident."
"No," Lena says. "I'm honest."
Something shifts.
For the first time, Chad Harrison realizes that winning has never scared him.
But losing her?, someone he never planned to remember just might.
And for a man who had never lost anything, that fear feels dangerously close to desire.