[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 23: Interview

CASSIAN

I stepped out of the bathroom, phone still pressed to my ear, clothes damp from Noah’s wet body pressed against me.

Worth it.

Completely worth it.

"... so we need your signature on the revised contract before we can proceed with the acquisition," the COO was saying, voice clipped and professional. "Legal has flagged a few clauses that require executive approval. Specifically the non-compete terms and the severance packages for the outgoing board members."

I moved toward the bedroom door, already mentally sorting through the logistics.

"Send the documents to my email," I said. "I’ll review them within the hour."

"The board is meeting at two, Mr. Wolfe. We need confirmation by then."

"You’ll have it by one-thirty."

"And the severance packages? Legal is concerned about the payout structure... "

"Approve them as is," I interrupted. "If the outgoing board wants to make noise about golden parachutes, let them. We’re not renegotiating at this stage."

A pause. "Understood, sir."

"Anything else?"

"No, that’s all for now."

"Good."

I ended the call and pocketed my phone, glancing down at my shirt.

Damp patches where Noah’s body had pressed against mine. His skin still warm from the shower. The way he’d looked... wet, flustered, hard... burned into my memory like a brand.

I smirked.

Definitely worth it.

I pulled out my phone again and dialed.

Two rings, then: "Yes, Mr. Wolfe?"

One of my security detail. Posted downstairs, no doubt keeping the lobby clear of any overly curious hotel staff.

"I need a fresh suit brought up," I said. "Three-piece. Black. And breakfast. Make it a full spread... eggs, bacon, toast, fresh fruit, coffee. The works."

"Right away, sir. Ten minutes."

"Good."

I hung up and moved to the window, looking out over the city.

The interview crew was still set up in the living area. I could hear the muffled chatter, the rustle of equipment being adjusted, the interviewer’s overly bright voice rehearsing questions.

Tedious. All of it.

But necessary.

My father had insisted I start doing press. "Good for optics," he’d said. "Shows you’re legitimate. Not just some ex-convict playing CEO."

I hated every second of it.

But I played the game.

A knock at the bedroom door.

I opened it to find a hotel staff member holding a garment bag and wheeling a silver breakfast trolley laden with covered dishes.

"Your suit and breakfast, Mr. Wolfe."

I took the garment bag and gestured for him to leave the trolley just inside the door.

"Thank you."

He nodded, stepping back, and I shut the door before he could linger.

I turned...

And found Noah standing there.

Fully dressed now. Hair still damp. Looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

I pushed the trolley toward him.

"Help yourself."

He eyed the food suspiciously.

I raised an eyebrow. "It’s not poisoned, Noah."

He didn’t respond. Just stood there, arms crossed, staring at the trolley like it might explode.

God, he’s adorable when he’s wary.

Finally, he moved. Sat on the edge of the bed. Lifted one of the silver covers.

The look on his face... barely restrained hunger, eyes widening slightly at the sight of eggs and bacon and fresh pastries... was priceless.

He tried to hide it. Failed miserably.

I turned away, biting back a smile, and started unbuttoning my damp shirt.

I could feel his eyes on me.

Not overtly. He was pretending to focus on the food, picking up a piece of toast with studied nonchalance.

But I felt it.

The way his gaze flickered over as I shrugged out of my shirt. Lingered as I reached for the fresh one.

I glanced over my shoulder.

He looked away quickly, cheeks flushing.

"Curious, Noah?"

"No," he said too fast.

I smirked, pulling on the fresh shirt. "You’re a terrible liar."

"I’m not lying."

"Mmhm."

I buttoned the shirt slowly, deliberately, watching him from the corner of my eye.

He took a bite of toast. Chewed. Tried very hard to look uninterested.

Failed.

I finished dressing... vest, jacket, adjusting the collar... and turned to face him fully.

"The interview should wrap up in about an hour," I said. "Then another fifteen minutes to get them out of here."

He nodded, still chewing.

"So get comfortable while you can."

I winked.

His face went red.

I walked out, leaving him alone with his breakfast and his flustered thoughts.

The moment I stepped back into the living area, they swarmed.

The interviewer... Kate? Karen? I didn’t care... immediately brightened, stepping forward with that practiced smile.

"Mr. Wolfe, we’re so grateful you could make time for us today. Business Insight Today doesn’t often get access to someone of your... stature."

"Mmhm."

One of the crew members adjusted a light. Another fiddled with the camera angle.

And then there was Lila.

Hovering near the edge of the setup, holding a tablet, clearly trying to look busy but watching me with that same desperate energy she always had.

She stepped forward, hesitant.

"Mr. Wolfe, I... " She cleared her throat. "I wanted to apologize. For the other night. At the bar. I didn’t mean to... I mean, I didn’t intend to come across as... you know."

I looked at her blankly.

She shifted uncomfortably. "Homophobic. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me. I respect... "

"It’s fine," I interrupted, voice flat.

Her smile faltered. "Oh. Okay. I just... "

"We’re starting in five," the director cut in, clapping his hands. "Mr. Wolfe, if you could take your seat?"

I moved to the chair by the window without another word.

Lila stepped back, deflated.

The interviewer settled across from me, smoothing her blazer, checking her notes.

"Alright," she said brightly. "Let’s begin."

The questions were predictable.

"Mr. Wolfe, you’ve taken over as CEO of XUM Properties and Hospitality at a time of significant growth. What’s your vision for the company moving forward?"

I answered smoothly, citing expansion plans, strategic partnerships, market positioning.

All rehearsed. All meaningless.

"Your father, Charles Wolfe, built this empire from the ground up. Do you feel pressure stepping into his shoes?"

"I don’t step into anyone’s shoes," I said evenly. "I make my own path."

She smiled, scribbling notes. "And what about the rumors of internal conflict? Some shareholders have expressed concern about the succession plan... "

"Shareholders are always concerned about something," I said. "That’s their job. My job is to deliver results. Which I do."

She continued smoothly. "Your half-brother, Preston Wolfe, has been very active in the company’s operations. Some have speculated that there’s tension between the two of you. Any truth to that?"