Between Him And Him

Chapter 6: Between the Lines

The address Ethan sent led me to an upscale townhouse on the Upper East Side, the kind of place that exuded quiet wealth. The moment I stepped inside, I knew this wasn't just a casual gathering.

The air smelled of aged whiskey and expensive perfume. Soft music drifted through the space, mixing with the low hum of conversation. The guests were impeccably dressed, sipping champagne in clusters, their laughter polished and effortless.

I straightened my dress—a sleek black number that hugged my figure in all the right places—and forced myself to exhale.

I belonged here.

Or at least, I was going to make them think I did.

"Ava."

I turned to find Ethan approaching, looking as effortlessly refined as ever. A tailored navy suit, an expensive watch glinting at his wrist, an air of authority that seemed to command attention without him even trying.

"You made it," he said smoothly, his eyes scanning me in a way that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.

"I did," I replied, offering a small smile. "Thanks again for the invitation."

His lips twitched slightly, something almost amused flickering in his gaze. "Of course. I have a feeling you'll make a strong impression tonight."

The way he said it—low, assured—felt like a challenge.

And I wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

The evening passed in a blur of introductions and carefully measured conversations. I met investors, senior partners, even a few high-profile clients. Every interaction was a game—subtle power plays hidden beneath polite smiles.

Ethan stayed close enough to observe, but never interfered.

It wasn't until later, when most of the guests had settled into easy conversations, that he approached me again.

"You handled yourself well tonight," he murmured, handing me a glass of wine.

I took it, tilting my head slightly. "You sound surprised."

"Not surprised," he corrected, studying me over the rim of his glass. "Impressed."

Something about the way he said it—calm, deliberate—sent heat curling low in my stomach.

And suddenly, I wasn't sure if this was still just about work.

I should have felt victorious.

I had survived the evening, navigated conversations with industry giants, and left a lasting impression. I had done exactly what I was supposed to do.

But as I stood there, glass of wine in hand, under the careful scrutiny of Ethan Carter, I felt anything but settled.

His presence was different now. Less the controlled authority figure I had spent the past week trying to impress, and more something else—something slower, heavier. His gaze lingered just a second too long. His stance, more relaxed than usual, hinted at something... dangerous.

I took a sip of my wine, willing my pulse to steady.

"You're overthinking," Ethan murmured, watching me closely.

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He smirked, swirling his own drink. "You've been on edge all night. Calculating. It worked in your favor, but now the evening's over." He tilted his head slightly. "You can breathe now, Ava."

I let out a soft breath, but it wasn't relief that filled my lungs—it was something far more complicated.

"I wasn't nervous," I said, lifting my chin slightly.

Ethan chuckled, the sound deep and knowing. "Of course not."

He stepped closer—not enough to be inappropriate, but enough that I could smell his cologne, something dark and expensive.

There was something about Ethan Carter that demanded attention, not in an overt way, but in the kind that made people lean in, listen a little harder, try a little more.

And right now? I was leaning.

"Tonight went well," he continued, voice smooth as silk. "You'll do well at Wellington."

"Will?" I echoed.

His gaze flicked to my lips before returning to my eyes, so quickly I almost thought I imagined it.

"I don't take unnecessary risks, Ava."

And then, before I could find my footing, he stepped back, his expression unreadable again.

"Enjoy the rest of your night," he said.

And just like that, the moment was gone.