Zeke’s POV

I arrived at the forecasting company around the time I predicted Kamille would finish her interview, but I waited a few minutes before being told she was leaving. As I stepped from the car, our eyes met, and I saw the shock on her face. For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still.

Damn! How could I have missed how beautiful she is?

As quickly as she’d seen me, she recovered and started walking away, clearly avoiding me. I couldn’t let her go without speaking. I gently grabbed her arm, turning her to face me.

After a moment, she said, “Zeke? What are you doing here? Let me go; we’re in public.”

“Kamille,” I said, my voice firm but gentle, “we need to talk.”

She hesitated. “Well, I don’t want to talk to you, which is why I’m avoiding you. Can’t you see that?”

When did she learn to be so sharp?

“Why are you avoiding me? How long will this go on?” I asked, worry etched on my forehead.

“For as long as you need to forget me,” she replied, avoiding my gaze.

“But you can’t. We still have things to discuss,” I said.

“What’s there to talk about?” she asked, frowning. “Zeke, something happened between us that shouldn’t have, but can you just not pretend it never happened?” she added, her voice dropping. “This is so embarrassing.” I noticed a few passersby staring, but I didn't care.

“I’m sorry for what happened that night. I shouldn’t have done it, but I can’t forget it,” I replied.

Looking into her eyes, I added, “It’s been haunting me. Thoughts and memories of you plague me every night and morning. How can I forget that?”

She finally met my gaze. I saw a flicker of emotion—hurt, sadness, confusion, mirroring my own.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, reaching for her arm. She gasped slightly at my touch.

I knew my touch affected her as much as it did me. Despite my influence and power, I didn't mind being vulnerable with her. Only Kamille had that effect on me.

“Come with me,” I urged, my voice hoarse.

“Leave me alone, Zeke. I don’t want to talk,” she protested, trying to pull away.

Ignoring her, I took her hand and led her back into the building, into the elevator. I pressed the button for the sixty-fifth floor.

“Zeke, are you crazy?” she yelled. “I have nothing to say to you! Let me go!” I gently pinned her against the wall.

“I’m sorry about the other night,” I whispered. “But I don’t regret it. I’ve missed you so much.” I stared into her eyes, wishing I could express what I felt. Her lips… they beckoned to me.

My eyes wandered over her fair skin. She was so beautiful. I remembered how she called my name that night, how she clung to me. I wanted to bring her back to that moment of ecstasy, but I had to control myself.

Her shocked expression returned. “What the hell are you saying? Don’t you have somewhere to be? Why are you doing this? We’re over, get out of my life!”

I sighed, collecting my thoughts. “It’s too late,” I said softly. “You’re here, and I regret every day of the past four years that I let you go. I promise I’ll never let you go again.”

She laughed dryly. “How old do you think I am, Zeke? Five? Four? Tell those lies to someone else.”

Before I could respond, she continued, “Zeke, we’re done. We have our own lives. You once thought I was dead. Please let that thought remain.”

Her words pierced me. My heart pounded uncontrollably. Was it hurt? Pain? Both?

“Kamille,” I said, trying to hold her again, but she evaded me. I wanted to tell her everything—about her family's deception, the lies I was told, my lack of intention to hurt her—but her emotions weren’t receptive, and my words felt inadequate.

“I’m really sorry, Kamille,” I said solemnly.

I considered telling her about her family, but my phone rang, interrupting the moment.

Fuck!

It was Andrew, my chief security. He wouldn't call unless it was important. But Kamille was here. I glanced at her.

“What?” she asked, her calm demeanor gone. “Go ahead. You and I weren't meant to be here anyway.”

I was speechless, torn between her and the ringing phone. She took advantage of my hesitation, pushing past me and walking away without looking back. Anger surged. I answered the call.

“Speak,” I said coldly.

“We have information on Mr. Christopher George,” Andrew replied.

He could have emailed it. He continued, “He’s been seen with Miss Kamille. They seem very close.”

I ended the call. Anger and jealousy flared. I slammed my fist against the wall and stared in the direction Kamille had left.