Chapter 172
The silence in the penthouse had been a weapon for two days. Gaston and Jocelyn moved around each other like hostile ghosts, the memory of the kiss and the slap a wall neither of them acknowledged. The fragile truce had only been called that morning — a forced ceasefire brokered by an emergency call from Gaston’s brother, Justin.
By Thursday, the boardroom of the Wolfe Hotel smelled of lemon polish and old money. The empty chair at the far end of the table — Vincent’s chair — stood as a quiet testament to the recent purge.
“We need stability,” a board member named Mr. Henderson grumbled, adjusting his glasses. “The stock is volatile.”
“We need brilliance,” Jocelyn corrected him from the head of the table. “Stability is just a slow death.”
She pressed the intercom. “Send in Ms. Golden.”
Q𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗂𝘁𝗒 𝗍𝘳𝖺ոѕ𝗅𝗮𝘁𝗶o𝘯ѕ оn g𝘢𝗹𝘯𝗼𝗏𝖾l𝗌.𝘤𝗈𝗺
The heavy oak doors opened.
Carmen Golden walked in.
She was striking. Her charcoal grey suit was tailored to within an inch of its life, and her dark hair was drawn back in a severe, elegant bun. But it was her eyes that held Jocelyn’s attention — intelligent and sharp, carrying a deep, unmovable sadness behind them.
“Ms. Wolfe. Gentlemen,” Carmen said, with a composed nod. Her voice was low, touched by a faint, unplaceable European accent.
“Ms. Golden, your résumé is exclusively European,” Henderson noted, his skepticism unconcealed. “Why New York? Why now?”
“I needed a fresh start,” Carmen replied smoothly. She set a leather portfolio on the table. “And I like a challenge. The Wolfe Hotel is a sleeping giant.”
Jocelyn studied her. There was something familiar about her poise — it reminded her of someone she could not quite place.
“The hotel is recovering from a scandal,” Jocelyn said. “How do you handle crisis?”
“By focusing on the numbers,” Carmen said, holding Jocelyn’s gaze. “Numbers don’t lie. People do.”
Jocelyn smiled. “I like that.”
The interview proceeded. Carmen was brilliant. She did not merely answer questions — she dismantled the hotel’s budget problems in ten minutes flat, sketching a recovery plan on the whiteboard that left Henderson sitting in stunned silence.
“You’re hired,” Jocelyn said at the end of the hour.
Carmen shook her hand — grip firm, skin cool.
“Welcome to the Wolfe Pack,” Jocelyn said.
Carmen offered a rare, genuine smile that transformed her face, making her look younger and softer. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
She gave a final professional nod to the room and walked out.
That evening, Jocelyn returned to the penthouse. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
“Gaston?” she called, toeing off her heels.
She walked into the living room and stopped.
Gaston was sitting on the floor, building a Lego tower. Beside him sat a small boy with messy dark hair and wide brown eyes.
Aaden.
Jocelyn blinked.
Gaston looked up. His face was guarded, the coolness from their argument still present in his eyes.
“My brother Justin had a campaign emergency,” he explained, snapping a red brick onto the tower. “I’m babysitting for the weekend.”
Aaden looked up at Jocelyn. He was a miniature version of Gaston in almost every detail, except that his eyes were softer — more soulful.
“We ordered pizza,” Gaston said, returning his attention to the Legos. “It’s in the kitchen.”