Chapter 5 Playing with fire

DAMIEN

"The weather radar just cleared, boss, but the airport is completely backed up. Ground stop is in effect until tomorrow morning," Marcus muttered, adjusting the rearview mirror of the armored SUV as we cut through the rain-slicked, midnight streets of Milan. "Her flight back to London is officially canceled."

I didn't answer immediately. I looked to my right.

Mia was pressed against the passenger door, staring out the window at the blurry city lights. She looked entirely out of place in the plush leather interior of my car—a tiny, exhausted finance nerd drowning in an oversized airport cardigan, her glasses fogging slightly from the humidity.

"The paparazzi are already tracking this vehicle's transponder," Victoria stated, her voice smooth, level, and entirely devoid of warmth as she looked at her tablet. "If Miss Mia checks into a commercial suite under the Grey Enterprises corporate account before we have drafted the official press release, the media will frame this as an unscripted scandal. It creates an immediate liability for the upcoming board vote. We need her in a controlled environment."

"She’s staying at the penthouse," I said, my voice cutting through Victoria’s strict analysis.

Mia’s head whipped around, her eyes widening behind her lenses. "Wait, what? No. I can just find a regular Airbnb or—"

"My estate has a biometric security perimeter and a private garage," I interrupted, not even looking at her as I adjusted my cuffs. "You want to survive the next thirty days, Mia? You do what I say. You’re under my protection now."

Twenty minutes later, the iron security gates of my private penthouse complex closed behind us, shutting out the rest of the world.

By the time we made it up the private elevator and into the main foyer, the exhaustion had clearly caught up to her. She was shivering slightly, her shoulders tense.

"Victoria, get the guest wing prepared," I commanded, shedding my suit jacket and tossing it onto the lounge chair.

"The security team is still running the digital sweep on the west wing after yesterday's maintenance, Damien," Marcus interjected, checking his tablet. "The biometric locks are completely sealed until 6:00 AM. The only secure zone online right now is your master suite."

Mia froze in the middle of the marble foyer. "I’m sorry, did he just say your suite?"

"Relax, sweetheart," I murmured, a faint trace of amusement tugging at my mouth at her sudden panic. "I’ll take the study. You take the room. But first, you look like you're about to freeze to death."

I strode into my walk-in closet. I didn't have any women's clothes here, and I certainly didn't have the patience to call a stylist at two in the morning. I reached into the nearest wardrobe, my hand gripping the first piece of fabric it touched, and pulled it off the hanger.

It was the black silk-blend designer button-down I had literally just worn a few hours ago for the VVIP meet-and-greet. It still carried the faint, smoky scent of my cologne.

I walked back out and tossed it into her hands. "Take a shower. Change. Don't touch anything in the study."

She blinked at the shirt, opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it. With a defiant little chin tilt, she turned and marched into the master bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

I threw myself onto the leather sofa in the adjoining study, rubbing the bridge of my nose. My phone buzzed on the coffee table. It was a Google Alert. My older brother Julian had just leaked another trash article to the financial press, questioning my stability ahead of the board vote.

Let him play his games, I thought, a cold satisfaction settling in my chest. By tomorrow afternoon, the media will be too obsessed with my new 'relationship' to care about Floyd's rumors.

I stood up, frowning, as the sound of Victoria’s sharp, commanding voice cut through the corridor. She wasn't yelling—Victoria never lowered herself to shouting—but the absolute ice in her tone was enough to freeze water.

"You have been a signed party to this agency for less than four hours, Miss Miai," Victoria was saying, standing perfectly rigid in the dressing room doorway, holding her phone out with a steady, terrifying precision. "And you have already managed to create a textbook definition of a secondary press crisis."

I stepped up, taking the device from Victoria’s manicured fingers. "What happened?"

"She has deliberately bypassed the spirit of Clause Five," Victoria told me, her eyes locked on Mia with a look that could kill. "It is a systemic breach of our media strategy. I am already contacting the legal team to draft the financial penalties."

I looked down at the screen.

It was an Instagram post. From Mia's personal, private account.

It was a mirror selfie taken inside my master bathroom. Her face was completely cut out of the frame, but she was drowning in my black designer shirt, the hem hitting her mid-thigh, the expensive fabric visibly engulfing her small frame. Anyone who had looked at a single red-carpet photo from my meet-and-greet three hours ago would recognize the distinct silver embroidery on the collar instantly.

The caption below it was a single word: Borrowed.

The post had been live for exactly four minutes, and the comment section was already experiencing an absolute meltdown.

A dark, unfamiliar warmth coiled deep in my chest. Malicious compliance.

She had read Victoria's ironclad contract like a corporate loophole. Clause 5 explicitly stated no faces and no tags. She hadn't shown her face, and she hadn't tagged my name. She had simply posted a picture of herself wearing the clothes straight off my back inside my private home, letting the internet's collective imagination do the rest of the dirty work.

She was completely out-smarting my multi-million-dollar legal team before the ink on the contract was even dry. And god, it was the most attractive thing I’d seen in years.

I pushed past Victoria, stepping into the dressing room.

Mia was sitting on the velvet vanity stool, her wet hair wrapped in a towel, her thumbs flying across her phone screen as she watched her notifications tick up by the tens of thousands.

"You're playing with fire, Mia," I said, my voice dropping into that low, quiet register as I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms. I watched her reflection in the glass, letting my eyes slowly track the way my shirt hung off her bare shoulders. "Victoria is currently trying to figure out if she can sue you for the silhouette of my collar."

Mia didn't even look up from her screen, though I noticed the sudden, sharp hitch in her breathing. She widened her eyes, forcing a look of absolute, professional seriousness onto her face.

"Clause five explicitly states no faces and no tags, Mr. Grey," she said, her voice tight as she tried to sound like a stern corporate auditor. "Your shirt is incredibly photogenic. You should be thanking me for the free publicity."

I closed the distance between us before she could blink.

I didn't stop until my shadow completely eclipsed her under the bright vanity lights. I leaned down, placing one hand on the edge of her marble table, trapping her between my arm and the mirror, bringing my face close enough to smell the fresh, clean scent of my own soap on her skin.

"Careful, sweetheart," I murmured, my eyes dropping to her lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto her gaze. "If you keep auditing my contract for loopholes, I might have to find a few of my own. The 'no-touching' clause has a lot of gray area if you look close enough."

She opened her mouth to fire back another clever retort, determined to show me she wasn't intimidated.

But her body betrayed her.

A gorgeous, undeniable pink blush crept up her neck, coloring her cheeks a deep, vivid rosy hue beneath her glasses. She swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling in a quick, ragged breath. She was trying so hard to look like a ruthless negotiator, but the flush on her skin told me everything I needed to know.

She was affected. Terribly so.

A slow, wicked smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth. The suffocating physical tension in the air instantly broke as I straightened back up to my full height, letting out a low, amused chuckle.

"Relax," I said, smiling down at her flustered face as I casually unbuttoned the top link of my cuffs. "I pay my lawyers too much money to actually breach my own contracts. But you might want to turn off your phone, Mia. Your cheeks are going to give our secret away before we even get to Italy if you keep that up."