The elevator shuddered once, twice, then died with a pathetic little clunk somewhere between the 41st and 42nd floors of OmniCore Tower.

I stared at the dark panel like it had personally betrayed me.

Of course. Of course this would happen the week I came back from maternity leave. Of course the universe would trap me in a six-by-six metal box with the one person on the planet I currently wanted to shove into a recycling chute.

Dr. Julian Cross leaned against the opposite wall in that crisp new Armani suit of his, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself for a twenty-two-year-old who’d just been locked in an elevator with his corporate rival. He was tall and lean in that dangerous, precisely put-together way ... dark hair swept back from a sharp, handsome face, strong jaw, and eyes that managed to look both amused and calculating at the same time. The kind of face that made people underestimate how ruthless he could be until it was too late. His groundbreaking work with Dr. Hikaru Nakamura on adaptive atmospheric processors had made him a legend in terraforming circles before he even finished his doctorate. OmniCore had recruited him like a prize thoroughbred. And then, while I was gone, they’d handed him my chair.

I was still in the white silk blouse and pencil skirt I’d chosen that morning specifically to remind everyone I was back ... Louis Vuitton heels clicking against the floor even when I wasn’t moving. At forty-two, I still had the kind of figure that made men forget what they were saying mid-sentence: tall, statuesque, full breasts that my blouse did absolutely nothing to hide, a narrow waist that flared into generous hips, long legs that my pencil skirt only emphasized. Auburn hair swept up in a loose twist that somehow still looked intentional after a morning of meetings. I knew exactly how I looked. I used it when I needed to.

“Well,” Julian said, that infuriating almost-smile tugging at his mouth. “This is cozy.”

I shot him a look that had made senior VPs cry in budget meetings. “Don’t start, Cross.”

“Start what? I’m simply observing that the Acting Chief Operating Officer and the former Chief Operating Officer are now sharing approximately thirty-six square feet of personal space. Fascinating data point.”

“Acting,” I repeated, voice flat. “Temporary. Placeholder. The board’s little science experiment while I was busy pushing a human being out of my body.”

Julian’s eyes glittered. “You’re still on the org chart, Rivers. For now.”

I smiled without warmth. “Keep talking. I haven’t had a good reason to fire someone before lunch yet.”

The emergency button did nothing. My phone had zero bars. The air already felt warmer. And my breasts ... heavy, tight, and increasingly furious that I hadn’t pumped between the 9 a.m. strategy session and the 10:30 investor call ... were starting to ache in that deep, insistent way that meant I had maybe twenty minutes before...

I shifted my weight. Julian noticed immediately. Of course he did. The little shit noticed everything.

“You okay?” he asked, and for half a second there was something almost genuine under the smirk. “You keep doing that thing with your shoulders.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You’re doing the exact same micro-expression you made in the Q3 review when the propulsion team tried to hide a cost overrun.”

I exhaled through my nose. “I need to pump, Cross. My body is under the impression I still have a nursing infant attached to me at all times, and it is not subtle about its needs.”

Silence.

Then, very carefully: “Ah.”

“Yes. Ah.”

Another beat. Julian’s gaze flicked down—just once—to the front of my blouse before snapping back up. A faint flush colored the tops of his cheeks.