The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 12

**Dust Writes New Stories**

“I’m not playing games with him,” I asserted firmly, my voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. “This is strictly business. He’s ghosting me on a contract negotiation that could potentially save my company from going under.”

Ryan, on the other end of the line, emitted a thoughtful hum that suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced. “The last I heard, he was at Pantheon,” he replied, his tone laced with skepticism.

“The private club?” I asked, my heart sinking at the thought.

“Yeah. But listen, Aria, that place is notoriously exclusive. You can’t just waltz in there. And Kane… well, there’s quite the story about him tossing out a socialite who tried to seduce him. They literally had to carry her out while she screamed her head off.”

A lump formed in my throat as I swallowed hard. “I’ll take my chances. This is about a business proposal, not some desperate attempt at seduction,” I countered, though I felt the weight of uncertainty creeping in.

“Right,” Ryan drawled, his voice dripping with doubt. “Just… be careful, okay? Shoot me a text when you’re safely out of there.”

“Absolutely. And Ryan? I’d really appreciate it if you could keep this under wraps,” I added, my tone serious.

“Scout’s honor,” he promised, though we both shared a knowing chuckle, aware that his Boy Scout days were long behind him.

Once I hung up, I glanced at the clock hanging on my wall. It was just past 3 PM. If I hurried back to my office to grab the proposal materials and then changed, I might just be able to catch Devon before the dinner rush, when the club would be bustling with patrons.

I dashed into the shower, letting the warm water wash away my nerves. Afterward, I blow-dried my hair, coaxing it into smooth, elegant waves that framed my face. A touch of makeup was all I needed—just enough to appear polished yet professional.

Choosing my outfit felt like a high-stakes gamble. I knew that if I dressed too casually, I’d be turned away at the door; if I went for something too flashy, it would undermine my credibility.

Finally, I settled on a classic black pantsuit paired with a cream silk blouse beneath. My shoes were modest two-inch heels that added a touch of sophistication without being over the top. The overall look was respectable and business-appropriate, designed to convey to Devon Kane that I was serious about this contract and not just dabbling in games.

As I climbed into the Uber, Ryan texted me the address. Pantheon was located in a nondescript building in Midtown Manhattan, devoid of any visible signage—just a discreet black door guarded by a towering security guard.

Seizing the moment, I replied, “Actually, I was hoping to speak with Devon about a business matter. It’s quite urgent.”

Christopher studied me for a moment, his gaze flicking over my conservative attire, a barely concealed smirk tugging at his lips.

“Come in,” he finally said, motioning for me to follow. “I’ll see if he’s available.”

A wave of relief washed over me as I stepped into the dimly lit interior. Pantheon lived up to its reputation—sleek, modern, and exuding an air of exclusivity that enveloped every surface. The main lounge was adorned with low leather couches, abstract art pieces that could fetch millions, and a crowd of beautiful people engaged in hushed conversations. I felt painfully out of place in my modest business suit amidst the sea of designer dresses and bespoke tailoring.

Christopher led me towards a private section cordoned off by a velvet rope. “Wait here,” he instructed, before disappearing behind a curtain.

I stood there awkwardly, clutching my portfolio as I tried to project an air of belonging. Several patrons glanced my way, their expressions ranging from curious to dismissive. Suddenly, my conservative outfit felt like a tactical blunder—I looked more like someone’s personal assistant than a peer in the business world.

After what felt like an eternity, Christopher reappeared. “Come on back,” he said, lifting the velvet rope. “But fair warning—he’s not in the best mood.”