Divorced The Billionaire, Married His Boss

The freezing water instantly soaked through Brennan's bespoke suit, the heavy wool dragging him down. The icy shock stole the breath from his lungs. He let out a sharp, guttural grunt as his knees hit the hard porcelain bottom of the tub. He braced his hands on either side of Chandler's head to keep from crushing her, the water sloshing violently over the edges and flooding the marble floor. The brutal cold acted like a physical slap to Chandler's nervous system. The drug's fiery grip receded just enough to let a sliver of clarity pierce her brain. She gasped, her chest heaving as she stared up. Brennan was hovering inches above her. Water dripped from his dark hair, running down his sharp cheekbones and dripping from his jawline onto her collarbone. His wet white shirt clung to his torso like a second skin, outlining the hard, rigid muscles of his chest and abdomen. His gold-rimmed glasses were slightly askew, but behind the lenses, his dark eyes burned with an intensity that made her breath catch. Terrified by the sudden intimacy and the freezing water, Chandler scrambled backward, pressing her spine hard against the back of the tub. She pulled her knees to her chest, her teeth chattering violently. Brennan pushed himself up. He stood slowly, water cascading off his clothes in heavy sheets. He looked down at her. She was shivering uncontrollably, her thin black dress completely transparent, clinging to her skin. His jaw tightened. The physical restraint required to not pull her out of the water and into his arms was tearing his muscles apart. He stepped out of the tub, his soaked shoes squelching on the marble. He reached up and ripped two massive, thick bath towels from the heated rack. He threw one directly over Chandler's head, draping it over her shoulders to completely cover her exposed body. Without saying a word to her, he turned on his heel and walked out of the bathroom. Davon was waiting in the hallway outside the bedroom. Brennan stopped, stripping off his ruined suit jacket and tossing it onto a chair. He used the second towel to aggressively dry his hair. "Get Leo Gray up here immediately," Brennan ordered, his voice like cracking ice. "Tell her to bring dry clothes for the lady and to stay in the room until I return." Davon nodded sharply. "Yes, sir." Brennan walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Manhattan skyline. He pulled his waterlogged phone from his pocket. Miraculously, it still worked. He dialed a number. The line picked up on the first ring. "Lock down the club," Brennan commanded, his tone lethal. "Pull the security footage from the main bar. Find out exactly who slipped the drug into her drink. I want a name, and I want him held in the basement until I get there. If he leaves that building, you are fired." He hung up, his thumb pressing hard against the screen. Ten minutes later, a sharp knock sounded at the door. Leo Gray, a trusted female employee of the hotel, entered quickly. She carried a stack of fresh, dry clothes. Brennan pointed toward the bathroom. "Get her out of the water. Dress her. Do not leave her side." Leo hurried into the bathroom. Brennan grabbed a spare dry overcoat from the closet, throwing it over his wet shirt. He had to leave. The Aethelred Group board was expecting his final confirmation documents tonight before his official introduction tomorrow. If he stayed in this room, watching her shiver in that bed, he would lose his mind. He walked out of the suite, taking the private elevator down to the main lobby. The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Brennan stepped out into the grand, dimly lit lobby. He took two steps before a figure stepped directly into his path, blocking his way to the exit. Avery Osborn stood there. His tie was gone, his shirt wrinkled, and his eyes were bloodshot with manic frustration. He had searched the entire club and bribed a bouncer to find out a man had carried Chandler into the adjoining hotel. Avery did not recognize the man standing in front of him, but the sheer, oppressive aura of power radiating from Brennan made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Avery stepped closer, his fists clenched at his sides. "Did you see a woman?" he demanded, his voice harsh and demanding. "Brunette. Black dress. She came in here with some guy." Brennan stopped. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a slow, deliberate finger. His dark eyes swept over Avery, taking in the pathetic, desperate state of the Osborn heir. The corner of Brennan's mouth twitched with absolute disdain. Instead of answering, Brennan reached into the inner pocket of his dry overcoat. He pulled out a sleek, black metal card case. He slid his thumb over the top, extracting a thick, gold-embossed business card. On the back, handwritten in crisp ink, was a private mobile number. He held it out between two fingers. Avery frowned, confused. He snatched the card. He looked down. The gold lettering caught the lobby light. Aethelred Group Brennan George, Chief Operating Officer Avery's pupils dilated violently. The breath hitched in his throat. Aethelred Group was his company. He was the Marketing Director. And the man standing in front of him was the legendary, ruthless new COO who was scheduled to take over the entire company tomorrow morning. The aggressive posture instantly drained from Avery's body. His shoulders dropped. He forced his facial muscles to relax, pasting on a stiff, terrified professional smile. "Mr. George," he stammered, his voice losing all its previous venom. "I... I apologize. I didn't realize." Brennan slipped the card case back into his pocket. He looked down at Avery, his expression completely unreadable. "I have no interest in your personal life, Mr. Osborn," Brennan said, his voice smooth but laced with heavy warning. "But I suggest you maintain a level of decorum. Running around a hotel lobby looking like a deranged bouncer is not the image Aethelred expects from its directors." Avery's face flushed a deep, humiliating red. He swallowed hard, his pride burning to ash in his throat. "I understand, sir. I am just... I am looking for my wife. It's an emergency." The word wife made the air around Brennan drop ten degrees. He took a slow step forward, invading Avery's personal space. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so only Avery could hear. "Ex-wife, Mr. Osborn," Brennan corrected, his tone slicing like a scalpel. "I suggest you handle your private life with more discretion. After all, a recently signed document leaking to the press wouldn't be good for your carefully curated image or your company's stock." Avery felt like he had been struck by lightning. He stumbled back half a step, his mouth falling open. The divorce was a complete secret. Only he, Chandler, and their respective lawyers knew it had been finalized. How could this man possibly know? Paranoia exploded in Avery's brain. Was this a setup to ruin the Osborn family? He stared at Brennan, his heart hammering against his ribs in pure panic. "How do you know about that? Who the hell told you?" Brennan adjusted his cuffs, his movements slow, deliberate, and perfectly controlled, completely ignoring the frantic question. "As the incoming COO, I make it my business to know the exact vulnerabilities of all my key executives. Consider this your first and only warning." Brennan walked past him, flanked by Davon, and strode out the revolving glass doors. A black Maybach was waiting at the curb. Brennan got in, and the car sped away into the night. Avery stood frozen in the middle of the lobby. He looked down at the gold-embossed business card in his hand. He squeezed his fist shut, the sharp edges of the thick card digging painfully into his palm. He looked toward the private elevator. He knew Chandler was up there. But he had no keycard, no authority, and now, he had no right to go after her. He was completely, utterly powerless.