Chapter 547: Rebecca Hartwell

Catherine’s expression shifted. Professional mask dropping slightly. "

Rebecca Hartwell

. 34. VP of Operations at Stellar Dynamics—aerospace company. She runs their entire West Coast operation. Brilliant woman. Absolutely brilliant."

I waited. There was always more. The good shit was never on the surface.

"Divorced six months ago. Husband left her for his 23-year-old assistant." Catherine’s voice went cold, that ice-queen tone that meant she was personally offended on behalf of another woman. "The assistant he’d been fucking for eight months while telling Rebecca her body didn’t do it for him anymore."

Fuck.

"She came to me three weeks ago. Took her that long to work up the courage after finding my card." Catherine pressed the elevator button. "Do you know how many times she called and

hung up before I answered

?"

"How many?"

"Seventeen times over two weeks." She pressed the button again, harder, like it was personally responsible for Rebecca’s pain. "When she finally came in for consultation, she could barely look at me. Kept apologizing. Asking if this made her pathetic."

I felt that familiar rage building. The one that came whenever I heard about men destroying women, taking something beautiful and strong and twisting it into self-doubt and shame.

"She told me—" Catherine’s voice caught slightly, that rare crack in her armor. "She told me she just wanted to feel beautiful again. Wanted someone to look at her like she mattered. Like she was worth wanting."

The elevator doors opened. Executive floor.

"I told her I had someone perfect for her." Catherine looked at me, and her eyes had that fierce protectiveness that made me understand why women trusted her with their secrets. "Don’t make me a liar, Eros."

"I won’t."

"She’s terrified. Vulnerable. This is her first time doing anything like this. She’s never even had a one-night stand."

I’ll take care of her."

"I know." Catherine smiled, small but genuine. "That’s why I chose you."

The doors started closing. I stepped inside.

"Eros?"

I looked back.

"Thank you. For understanding what this is really about."

The doors closed. I rode up in silence, thinking about Rebecca Hartwell. 34. VP of Operations. Running West Coast operations for a multi-billion dollar aerospace company.

Seventeen phone calls before she could speak to Catherine.

Three weeks to work up courage.

How many nights did she lie awake? Staring at Meridian’s website? Reading reviews? Maybe asking friends she trusted—carefully, quietly, ashamed but desperate.

How many times did she type "high-end escort Los Angeles" into Google and then delete her search history?

How long did she cry in the shower? In her car? At her desk between meetings where she had to be the competent VP?

What did it cost her—not the money, fuck the money—what did it cost her soul to walk through Meridian’s doors and admit she needed this?

To pay someone to make her feel desired because her husband had convinced her she wasn’t worth wanting for free?

The elevator chimed. Executive floor.

I stepped out. Plush hallway. Soft lighting. Suite 7 at the end.

I walked slowly.

This wasn’t about me. Wasn’t about adding another conquest or earning SP or building my empire. This was about Rebecca Hartwell. About a woman who’d been brave enough to come here despite everything telling her she shouldn’t.

I reached Suite 7. Stood outside for a moment.

Heard movement inside. Pacing. The soft sound of breathing—quick, nervous.

She was terrified.

I stayed there for two whole minutes as my being synched with her.

I knocked. Twice. Gentle.

Silence.

Then footsteps. Hesitant.

The door opened.

And there she was.

Rebecca Hartwell.

The first thing I noticed was her eyes. Blue-gray. The kind that probably sparkled when she laughed. Right now they were wide with fear and something else—hope? Desperation? Both?

She was shorter than I’d pictured, maybe 5’5" in the low heels, but the way she held herself made the room feel smaller. Shoulders squared, chin level, the posture of a woman who could silence a boardroom with one raised eyebrow. Blonde hair the color of sunlight on champagne, swept into a sleek, low ponytail that brushed the nape of her neck when she moved. Not a strand out of place. Effortless, like she’d twisted it back in the car and somehow made it look expensive.

Navy blazer, perfectly tailored, nipped in at the waist just enough to hint at the curve beneath without ever announcing it. White silk blouse beneath, the top button undone (

only one

), revealing the delicate line of her collarbone and the faintest shadow between. Tailored charcoal slacks that followed the long, clean line of her legs and stopped just above elegant ankles.

But underneath it all I could feel the tremor of nerves she refused to let show.

Her eyes were what stopped me cold. Pale blue-green, almost sea-glass, framed by lashes that didn’t need mascara to look lethal.

A face that belonged on the cover of Forbes and in someone’s bedroom fantasies at the same time. Sharp cheekbones, soft mouth, the kind of bone structure that made you understand why certain women get promoted faster than they should and hated for it just as quickly.

She stood just inside the doorway, one hand still on the handle like she hadn’t decided whether to let me in or bolt. The other hand hovered at her side, fingers half-curled, nails kept short and unpolished but flawless anyway, the cuticles the only betrayal--tiny half-moons of red where she’d worried at them in the car.

On the nightstand behind her, a single glass of red wine, half gone, the imprint of her lipstick faint on the rim.

She didn’t say hello yet. Just looked at me with those sea-glass eyes, equal parts terror and defiance, like she was daring me to prove her ex-husband wrong.

"Hi," I said. Kept my voice gentle. "I’m

Eros."

"Rebecca."

Her voice was steady. Professional. The voice she used in boardrooms. But it cracked slightly at the end. "Hi. Come in."

She stepped back. Too quickly. Nearly tripped on her own feet. Caught herself on the dresser.

"Sorry. I’m—" Nervous laugh. "I’m not usually this clumsy."

I stepped inside. Closed the door quietly. Stayed near the entrance. Gave her space.

The room was beautiful. King bed. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown LA. Low lighting. Expensive everything.

But Rebecca wasn’t looking at any of it. She was looking at me.

And I could see the exact moment the Eros effect hit her.

Her breath caught. Audible. Her pupils dilated. Her cheeks flushed.

But underneath the physical attraction—I could see something else.

Disbelief.

She looked at me like I couldn’t possibly be real. Like men who looked like this didn’t exist outside of movies. And they certainly didn’t show up for women like her.

"You’re—" She stopped. Swallowed. "Catherine said you were attractive but I didn’t—I mean—"

She laughed again. That nervous laugh that was half-panic, half-wonder.

"I’m sorry. I’m making this awkward."

"You’re not." I stayed where I was. Let her look. Let her process. "This is your first time doing something like this?"

She nodded. Then shook her head. Then nodded again. "Yes. First time. I’ve never—" Deep breath. "I’ve never paid for—I mean, I’ve never—"

"It’s okay." I kept my voice calm. Steady. Anchor in her storm. "There’s no judgment here."

"I just—" Her voice broke. "I didn’t know what else to do."

And there it was. The crack in the armor.