The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

“Thank you,” I finally ventured, my voice cutting through the thick silence that hung between us like a heavy fog. “For handling that situation back there.”

Devon remained focused on the road, his profile stark against the shimmering lights of the city, a silhouette of determination and restraint. “Your ex-fiancé has a talent for making scenes,” he replied, his voice steady, almost devoid of emotion.

“He’s not my—” I hesitated, the words dying on my lips. Did it even matter what I called him anymore? “Yes, he does,” I conceded, frustration creeping into my tone.

Tightening my grip on the portfolio nestled in my lap, I summoned the courage to revisit the true reason I had sought Devon out tonight. “About the revised proposal, I was hoping you could—”

“Tonight’s business discussion is over,” Devon interjected, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. “I agreed to drive you home, not to continue working.”

A wave of disappointment crashed over me, sharp and stinging. The abrupt dismissal felt like a slap in the face, especially after the indignity of downing three whiskeys under his watchful gaze, only for Ethan to waltz in and ruin everything.

Noticing the shift in my expression, Devon softened slightly. “Tomorrow night, six o’clock. The Pinnacle Hotel in Manhattan. I’m hosting a private gathering. Bring your proposal then.”

My heart leaped at the mention of the Pinnacle Hotel—the very place where we had shared our first night together. The memory ignited a rush of warmth to my cheeks, and I silently thanked the dim lighting for hiding my reaction.

“I’ll be there,” I replied, striving to maintain a professional facade even as my pulse quickened.

As Devon glanced down at his phone, I seized the moment to observe him more closely. The harsh blue light illuminated the tension etched into his jawline and the pronounced shadows beneath his eyes, hinting at sleepless nights. His brow furrowed in a way that suggested a permanent state of worry.

“I won’t be,” I promised, slipping out of the car and stepping into the cool embrace of the night air.

The Harper mansion loomed quietly as I entered, the stillness indicating that everyone was likely asleep. I ascended the grand staircase with care, avoiding the creaky steps I knew all too well. My old bedroom awaited me, a pristine sanctuary that felt anything but home. Despite having my own apartment in Brooklyn, my father insisted on keeping my room here—a gesture I suspected was more about appearances than genuine affection.

I retrieved my laptop and the market research files I desperately needed from the desk drawer. Settling cross-legged on the bed, I dove into refining the details of my proposal, determined to address every critique Devon had laid out earlier. His sharp comments about digital integration had stung, but they were undeniably accurate, and I was resolved to create something that would impress even a visionary like him.

For the next several hours, I poured over every element of our presentation, meticulously enhancing the digital aspects and perfecting the NFT campaign concepts. I aimed to strike a balance that would captivate both traditional luxury buyers and tech-savvy collectors. By the time the clock struck 3 AM, my eyes burned from the relentless glare of the screen, but I pressed on, inching closer to the perfection I so desperately sought—each adjustment bringing me nearer to the standard of excellence that might finally win Devon Kane’s approval.

As I finally surrendered to sleep, Devon’s piercing gaze and the memory of his arms around me at the Pinnacle Hotel invaded my dreams, intertwining with the stress of the club incident and the looming pressure of tomorrow’s meeting. Even in slumber, I found myself ensnared by his presence, unable to escape the intricate web of emotions he had spun around me.