"Ms. Sinclair? Mr. Cross, your next appointment will be in in about an hour."
Eliana's voice rang through the intercom like a warning bell —sharp, alert, too early for comfort. Jade instinctively checked her watch.
"Noted, Eli. Keep me posted if anything changes." She said, her voice cool and steady. The line went dead.
She wasn't expecting much from this client. Just another overpaid man-child with a God complex and too many headlines. But the board had been insistent, and Jade knew better than to take chaos lightly.
Still, she did rather be early than caught off guard.
After about twenty minutes spent silently nursing her espresso and reviewing the file again. For the fourth time— Jade stood. Her heels echoed softly as she crossed the open-concept lounge. She paused just as the glass doors slid open.
"Eliana," she called, and her secretary looked up from her desk, blinking in surprise.
"You're leaving early," the girl said, setting down her coffee. "I thought you'd be reviewing client notes until closer to nine."
Jade offered a rare half-smile. "Change of plan. I'm heading out."
"To where?"
"CrossTech HQ." Jade slipped into her coat with practiced ease. "The company had decided to hold his sessions there. For the sake of confidentiality."
Eliana's brows lifted slightly. "That's... unorthodox."
Jade's tone sharpened just a hair. "So is he."
Eliana swallowed any further comment. "Understood. Should I reschedule the following client?"
Jade nodded. "Push them to the afternoon. And send a note to legal— we'll need an amended NDA signed by noon."
"Yes, ma'am."
Jade didn't wait for a goodbye. She turned, long coat fluttering behind her like smoke as she stepped into the elevator. While the doors slid closed, she allowed herself one long breath.
This wasn't just a session.
It was going to be a storm.
.
.
.
CrossTech HQ
The glass doors to CrossTech HQ slid open with a soft hiss, swallowing Asher into the marble-and-metal hush of corporate judgment.
He didn't pause. Not for the stiff-backed receptionists who avoided eye contact. Not for the security guards who gave tight, rehearsed nods. He was a storm in motion—charcoal slacks, open collar, a devil's smirk carved into his mouth.
Reese caught up to him somewhere between the elevator bank and the executive wing, sharp in his usual black suit and tighter in the jaw than normal.
"Do you ever check your damn schedule?" Reese hissed, matching his pace. "The board is ready to nail you to the wall."
Asher kept walking, eyes forward. "What's new?"
"You blew off a shareholder dinner. Showed up in the Daily Scandal again—shirtless, by the way. With a pop star whose PR team is now in flames."
"Tell them she begged me to stay dressed. I refused."
Reese growled. "This isn't a joke, Ash."
But it was. Everything was. Until it wasn't.
They stepped into the executive elevator, and Asher leaned back against the mirrored wall, arms crossed, looking every inch the devil-may-care billionaire the headlines painted him to be.
"I'm not interested in therapy," he said flatly. "Especially not the kind I can't fuck my way out of."
"You're not supposed to be interested," Reese shot back. "You're supposed to comply. The board hired her. Jade Sinclair. She's not your type, and she doesn't play games."
"Everyone plays games," Asher said, voice low and amused. "Some just don't know the rules."
Reese rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Look. You've survived lawsuits. Scandals. That incident in Monaco we're still paying hush money over. But this? If you don't take it seriously, they'll force you into a sabbatical. Possibly a buyout. And they're already drafting terms."
That snagged Asher's attention. Briefly.
The elevator dinged.
"Send me the contract," he said casually, stepping off. "I'll skim it between orgasms."
Reese didn't laugh.
Asher walked through the executive floor like a god in exile—everyone watched but no one dared to speak. His office, all glass and ego, waited at the end of the hall like a throne room.
He didn't go in.
Instead, he turned to the side office. The one HR had claimed for her.
Dr. Jade Sinclair.
His therapist. His punishment. His next obsession.
He didn't knock.
He never did.
~~~
The office was too quiet. For almost twenty-five minutes now since she walked in through the company walls to her designated office.
Jade sat behind the glass desk, staring at the file that had just been dropped on it like a challenge. Across the top in sharp, black print: CROSS, ASHER E.
She exhaled slowly, her perfectly polished nails tapping a lazy rhythm on the folder's corner. "Of course," she muttered. "They would give me him."
Asher Cross had always been a walking scandal. Billionaire tech genius by day, tabloid dominator by night. Every other headline featured his name and some breathless woman half-naked on his arm.
One week in Mykonos, the next in Paris, always with a different face, a different flavor. It was no wonder the board wanted to rein in his behavior— they were hemorrhaging stock confidence because of his escapades.
And now, somehow, he was her problem.
The door to her office opened without a knock. Bold. Arrogant. Exactly like she expected.
"I heard I'm your newest case," came a voice rich with self-satisfaction and something darker—amusement.
Asher stepped inside with the kind of casual confidence that bordered on obscene. He wore a tailored charcoal suit with the top buttons undone, no tie, revealing a strong, inked throat and a hint of muscle beneath. His gray eyes raked over her.
Jade didn't flinch. "Mr. Cross. You're late."
His smirk spread. "I was busy being misunderstood."
She stood, closing the file and lifting her chin. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm not impressed by wealth, status, or whatever act you've perfected to distract people from what's really going on inside you."
He took a slow step forward, eyes locked to hers. "Oh, I like you already."
She crossed her arms. "I'm not here for you to like me. I'm here to fix what your PR team thinks is broken."
Asher's smile faded just enough to show a flicker of real emotion. Intrigue? Frustration? Maybe both.
"So how does this work?" he asked, leaning against the edge of her desk like he owned the room. "I tell you I don't believe in love. You try to convince me I'm damaged, and we end up in some cliché where I 'learn to feel'?"
Jade stepped closer, deliberately invading his space. "No, Asher. You tell me the truth— and I'll decide if there's anything beneath the surface worth saving."
The air between them snapped tight. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then back to her eyes, and Jade felt it— the first crack in her resolve.
This was going to be a dangerous game.
And she had just agreed to play.