Fated Series. Book #2
"Be possessive of me, own me, keep me, because if you do then nothing and no one else can." - Maddox.
My name is Maddox Vallero, and I'm dead.
Well, that's not quite true. I'm alive in the breathing, walking, talking sense-but...
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Chapter 32 A Day Of Surprises Sophia
"Of course." I nodded, jotting down the information purely for show. I already had it memorized, but calming an irritated CTO was all about appearances. "I'll pass everything along to Mr. Vallero after this meeting, but since he's not here today, you'll be presenting to me. Let's start with the strategies you've outlined for developing the new software team he requested." I lifted my head from my laptop, schooling my expression into something impassive.
Across from me, Elijah sighed like I'd just asked him to single-handedly solve world hunger.
I understood his frustration. He didn't like having to report to me—just an assistant in his eyes—but I was fairly confident I could do his job in my sleep. And since Maddox had been hounding him lately, nitpicking everything down to his email sign-offs, Elijah was likely twice as irritated. To be fair, Maddox was more invested in this project than Elijah had been in his entire career. Just yesterday, I'd practically dragged him out of the IT department, mid-discussion, to take an important phone call. He pouted the entire time, then walked to his car and pulled out a full box of M&M's I hadn't even known he kept stocked. Basic necessity for life, he'd said.
Now, I sat back in my chair, waiting.
Elijah, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, yanked a binder closer, adjusted his reading glasses, and flipped it open. Then, to my absolute joy, he began reading it aloud. Word for word. As if I didn't have the exact same binder in front of me.
"Elijah." I cut him off, sharp but measured. "Thank you for the dramatic reading, but I assure you, I can manage that on my own. I'm asking for your thoughts, strategies, and insights—your approach. I'd appreciate a discussion more than a script."
His pale blue eyes flicked up, narrowing like I'd just asked him to personally fix the world's clean water crisis. "Miss Larovich," he sighed, pressing his thin lips together in irritation, "to be frank, I don't see what there is to discuss. Everything you need is in the binder."
To be frank, I think you're an asshole.
But instead of saying that, I held his gaze, unfazed, letting the silence stretch between us until it became his problem, not mine. Then, calmly, I asked, "Who's running this project?"
He straightened. "Me."
The silence thickened, but before I could properly enjoy watching him squirm, the conference room door opened.
I wasn't expecting anyone—this was a one-on-one meeting, and the only other person who cared about it was Maddox, who was currently off snowboarding.
So when Mateo walked in, my spine stiffened instinctively.
Crisp black suit tailored to his frame. Dark, assessing eyes. A presence that shifted the air itself.
Mateo carried authority like a second skin. He didn't have to demand attention—it gravitated toward him. Like a black cat crossing your path. You could convince yourself there was no superstition behind it, but the knowing was still there. A quiet, lingering awareness that he was not to be ignored.
