The Hostile Takeover

Seattle greeted Chloe Miller the only way it knew how: with a relentless, slate-grey drizzle that turned the city into a watercolor painting of steel and glass.

Chloe didn't mind. She adjusted the hood of her canary-yellow raincoat, gripped the handle of her floral suitcase, and punched the code into the keypad of the penthouse elevator.

*4-8-1-5.* Ben’s high school football jersey number, twice. Her brother wasn't exactly creative with security.

The elevator whooshed upward, leaving the street noise far below. Chloe took a deep breath, smoothing her damp bangs in the mirrored wall. This was it. Her 1L summer associate position at Sterling & Moss. No more "Little Chlo-Chlo." No more being patted on the head. She was going to be a shark. A shark in a yellow raincoat, maybe, but a shark nonetheless.

The doors slid open directly into the living room.

Chloe stepped out and immediately felt like she should take her shoes off. The apartment was... aggressive. It was all chrome, black leather, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Space Needle. It smelled of expensive cedar and absolutely nothing else. No food, no dust, no life.

"Ben?" she called out, dragging her suitcase onto the white marble floor. "I’m here! I hope you bought groceries because I’m starving and—"

She rounded the corner of the massive sectional sofa and froze.

Ben was not there.

Instead, a man was standing by the kitchen island, pouring a glass of amber liquid. He was wearing a charcoal three-piece suit, the jacket discarded on a stool, his tie loosened just enough to suggest he had survived a war zone. He froze mid-pour, his dark eyes locking onto her.

Julian Thorne.

Ben’s best friend. The guy who had spent half of Chloe’s childhood ignoring her, and the other half terrified he would break her.

"Chloe," Julian said. His voice was a deep baritone that vibrated in the empty room. He set the bottle down. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," Chloe said, confused. She gestured to her suitcase. "For the summer? The internship? Ben said I could crash in the guest room."

Julian closed his eyes for a brief, painful second. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course he did."

"Where is Ben?"

"London," Julian said, reopening his eyes. They were the color of espresso—dark, intense, and currently filled with annoyance. "He got deployed on the Kensington merger this morning. He’ll be gone for three months."

Chloe’s stomach dropped. "He didn't tell me."

"Ben forgets to tell people things when he's chasing billable hours," Julian said. He picked up his phone. "I’ll call The Four Seasons. They can have a suite ready in an hour."

"A hotel?" Chloe bristled. She let go of her suitcase. "I can't afford a hotel, Julian. I’m an intern. I’m being paid in experience and validation."

"I'll pay for it," Julian said dismissively, tapping at his screen. "It’s not appropriate for you to stay here. Alone. With me."

"Why?" Chloe challenged. She walked further into the room, her yellow coat a beacon of defiance in his monochrome world. "Are you dangerous? Do you bite?"

Julian looked up from his phone. His gaze swept over her, lingering for a fraction of a second on her wind-flushed cheeks before snapping back to her eyes. "I am a thirty-year-old man, Chloe. You are..."

"Twenty-two," she finished. "And a law student. And your roommate, apparently."

"No," Julian said firmly. "Ben would kill me."

"Ben is in London," Chloe pointed out. "And I have a key code. And I have rights. Technically, since Ben invited me, I’m a licensee. You can't evict me without proper notice."

Julian’s eyebrow twitched. A corner of his mouth almost—*almost*—lifted. "Did you just cite property law at me?"

"I got an A in Property," Chloe beamed. "Look, Julian. I promise I won't bother you. I’ll be a ghost. You won't even know I’m here."

Julian looked at her. He looked at the bright yellow coat, the floral suitcase, and the sheer, unstoppable force of her optimism. He looked around his sterile, empty apartment, which suddenly felt very small.

He sighed, sliding his phone into his pocket.

"The guest room is down the hall, to the left," he muttered, picking up his scotch. "Don't touch my espresso machine. It’s calibrated to a specific pressure."

"Aye aye, Captain," Chloe saluted.

She grabbed her suitcase and marched down the hall.

Julian watched her go. He took a long drink of the scotch. It burned, but not as much as the realization that his sanctuary had just been invaded by the one person he had spent a decade trying not to notice.

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