Updated Oct 4, 2025 • ~17 min read
Ivy woke to seventeen missed calls from her mother and a text from Naomi that simply read: What the hell did you do?
The Post had run a brief mention in their society column: “Tensions flared at the Harrington Foundation Gala when Ivy Blake, stepdaughter of host Richard Harrington, made pointed remarks about past business dealings. Sources say the newly blended family is still finding its footing.”
Polite code for: The Blake girl made a scene and embarrassed everyone.
Ivy groaned and pulled a pillow over her face. Her phone buzzed again—Claire, undoubtedly calling to deliver another lecture about family loyalty and appropriate behavior. Ivy silenced it and dragged herself to the shower, letting scalding water wash away the lingering humiliation of the previous night.
By the time she emerged, dressed for the office in a charcoal sheath dress and her armor of designer heels, she could smell coffee brewing. Theo was in the kitchen, already dressed in a navy suit, looking frustratingly well-rested for someone who’d also endured last night’s disaster.
“Morning,” he said neutrally, sliding a cup of coffee across the counter toward her. “Black, two sugars.”
Ivy blinked. “You know how I take my coffee?”
“You’ve been living here for three weeks. I pay attention.” He returned to his own cup, scrolling through his phone with the casual focus of someone catching up on overnight emails. “Your mother called me six times this morning.”
“She called me seventeen times.”
“She’s upset.”
“She’s always upset when I don’t fall in line.” Ivy sipped the coffee—perfect, annoyingly—and leaned against the counter. “Did Richard summon you for a lecture too?”
“He tried. I told him I had an eight AM meeting and couldn’t talk.” Theo glanced up, something like amusement flickering in his gray eyes. “I’m avoiding him until his temper cools. You might want to do the same.”
“Coward,” Ivy said, but there was no heat in it.
“Strategist,” Theo corrected. “There’s a difference.”
They drank their coffee in companionable silence, and Ivy found herself studying him in the morning light. He looked tired despite the polished exterior—faint shadows under his eyes, tension in his jaw that suggested he’d slept as poorly as she had. For a moment, she wondered what kept him awake at night, what thoughts chased him through the dark hours.
Then she remembered she wasn’t supposed to care.
“I should go,” Ivy said, rinsing her cup. “Some of us have to work for a living.”
“I work.”
“You attend meetings and make executive decisions from a position of inherited privilege. It’s not the same thing.”
Theo’s expression shifted, something sharp and defensive flashing across his face. “You really do think I’ve never earned anything, don’t you?”
“Haven’t you?”
“One day,” he said quietly, “you’re going to realize how wrong you are about me. And I’m going to enjoy watching you eat those words.”
There was an edge to his voice that made Ivy pause, something raw and almost hurt beneath the cool exterior. But before she could respond, her phone buzzed with a reminder: staff meeting in thirty minutes.
“I have to go,” she said again, grabbing her bag and heading for the elevator.
“Ivy.” Theo’s voice stopped her at the doors. “For what it’s worth, what you said to Welch last night wasn’t entirely wrong. Just poorly timed.”
It was as close to an apology as she was likely to get. Ivy nodded and stepped into the elevator, Theo’s gray eyes the last thing she saw before the doors closed.
The offices of Sterling & Hayes Marketing occupied the twenty-third floor of a Midtown building with views of the Chrysler Building and enough trendy exposed brick to satisfy the millennial aesthetic. Ivy had clawed her way to senior executive in three years through sheer determination and an almost pathological need to prove she wasn’t defined by her father’s failures.
“Well, well,” her assistant Marcus said as she passed his desk. “Somebody made the society pages.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting. I’m just saying that calling out a billionaire at his own charity gala is a bold career move. How’s unemployment treating you?”
“I still have a job, Marcus.”
“For now.” But he was grinning, clearly entertained by her spectacular self-destruction. “Your ten o’clock is here, by the way. Some corporate type from Harrington Industries. Wouldn’t say what it’s about.”
Ivy froze. “Harrington Industries?”
“Yeah. Tall, expensive suit, looks like he eats lesser mortals for breakfast. Want me to tell him you’re busy?”
“No.” Ivy forced herself to move, to project confidence she didn’t feel. “Send him in.”
She had three minutes to compose herself before the knock came. When she opened her office door, the man standing in her waiting area wasn’t Richard—thank God—but someone equally intimidating in that corporate shark way. Fifties, silver-haired, designer suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent.
“Ms. Blake? James Chen, Chief Operating Officer at Harrington Industries.” His handshake was firm, his smile polished. “Thank you for seeing me on short notice.”
“Mr. Chen.” Ivy gestured him into her office, mind racing through possibilities. Was this a warning? A threat? Richard’s way of demonstrating his reach into every aspect of her life? “What can I do for you?”
“I’ll be direct.” Chen settled into the chair across from her desk with the ease of someone comfortable wielding power. “I saw your… exchange with Harrison Welch last night. And I have to say, while your delivery could use some polish, your instincts were sound.”
Ivy blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Welch is a vulture. Everyone knows it, but no one calls him on it because he controls too much capital.” Chen leaned back, assessing her with sharp eyes. “You, however, apparently didn’t get that memo. Which suggests either remarkable courage or remarkable stupidity.”
“I’m going with stupidity,” Ivy said dryly. “Given how that turned out.”
“Perhaps.” Chen smiled faintly. “Regardless, it got my attention. Harrington Industries is launching a new division focused on ethical investment and sustainable business practices. We need someone to head up the marketing and public relations—someone who isn’t afraid to challenge the status quo. Someone with a personal stake in corporate accountability.”
Ivy’s mind reeled. “You’re offering me a job?”
“I’m offering you an opportunity.” Chen pulled a folder from his briefcase and slid it across her desk. “The position comes with a significant salary increase, full benefits, and the chance to shape how one of Manhattan’s largest corporations approaches social responsibility. It also comes with Richard Harrington’s full support.”
The folder sat between them like a loaded gun. A flash of the dangerous chemistry of a forbidden love pulsed through her thoughts—was Theo behind this? Had he somehow arranged this as an apology for last night?
“Why?” Ivy asked. “Why would Richard Harrington offer me this after I embarrassed him at his own gala?”
“Because Richard Harrington didn’t build an empire by holding grudges against people who show initiative.” Chen’s expression was unreadable. “He built it by identifying talent and putting it to use. You have a reputation for aggressive, effective marketing strategies. You have a personal connection to corporate ethics issues. And you’re already family. It’s good business.”
It was also a trap. It had to be. Richard Harrington didn’t forgive public challenges—he neutralized them. Offering Ivy a high-profile position at his company, making her dependent on his goodwill, was the perfect way to control her.
“I need to think about it,” Ivy said carefully.
“Of course.” Chen stood, smoothing his suit. “Take the weekend. But Ms. Blake? Opportunities like this don’t come around often. And Richard Harrington doesn’t make offers twice.”
After he left, Ivy sat alone in her office, staring at the folder like it might bite her. Inside was a detailed job description, a salary that made her current paycheck look like pocket change, and a personal note in sharp, masculine handwriting she recognized:
Consider it an olive branch. —RH
Ivy spent the rest of the day in meetings, pitching campaigns and managing her team while her mind churned through the implications of Richard’s offer. By the time she made it back to the penthouse, exhausted and no closer to a decision, she found Theo in the living room with a tumbler of scotch and a view of the city lights.
“Rough day?” he asked without looking at her.
“You could say that.” Ivy dropped her bag and kicked off her heels with a groan of relief. “Did you know your father was going to offer me a job?”
That got his attention. Theo turned, surprise flickering across his face before he schooled it into neutrality. “What kind of job?”
“Head of marketing and PR for some new ethical investment division.” Ivy crossed to the bar and poured herself a glass of wine—not the expensive stuff, just the normal overpriced bottle that passed for casual drinking in the Harrington household. “James Chen showed up at my office this morning with an offer I’m apparently not supposed to refuse.”
“Chen came himself?” Theo’s expression shifted into something she couldn’t quite read. “That’s… interesting.”
“Interesting how?”
“Chen doesn’t handle recruitment. He’s COO—he has people for that.” Theo took a slow sip of scotch, thinking. “If he came personally, it means my father wanted to send a message.”
“What message?”
“That you matter. That he’s taking you seriously.” Theo met her gaze across the dim living room. “Which means you actually rattled him last night.”
The idea that she’d managed to unsettle Richard Harrington was both thrilling and terrifying. Ivy sank onto the couch, wine glass cradled in both hands.
“Is it a trap?” she asked quietly.
“Probably.” Theo’s honesty was almost refreshing. “But it might also be a genuine opportunity. My father’s many things, but he’s not stupid. If he thinks you could be useful, he’ll use you. Whether that’s good or bad for you depends on how well you play the game.”
“I’m not good at games.”
“You’re better than you think.” Theo crossed to sit beside her, leaving a careful foot of space between them. “You went toe-to-toe with Harrison Welch in front of Manhattan’s elite and didn’t back down. That takes guts.”
“Or stupidity. Chen couldn’t decide which.”
“Chen’s an asshole. Don’t listen to him.” Theo’s voice held unexpected heat. “What you did took courage. Reckless courage, maybe, but courage nonetheless.”
Ivy looked at him, startled by the defense. “I thought you were angry about last night.”
“I was. I am.” Theo stared into his scotch like it held answers. “But I also… I understood why you did it. And part of me respected the hell out of it, even if it was a terrible idea.”
The admission hung between them, vulnerable and honest in a way Theo rarely allowed himself to be. In the low lighting, with the city glittering beyond the windows and the scotch loosening his careful control, he looked younger. Less like the corporate prince and more like just a man carrying burdens she was only beginning to understand.
“Why do you stay?” Ivy asked suddenly. “If Richard is so controlling, if the golden boy life is such a prison—why not leave? Start your own company. Make your own way.”
Theo’s laugh was bitter. “Because it’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
For a long moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he took a long drink of scotch and set the glass down with deliberate care.
“Because my father has leverage over me,” he said quietly. “Information he could use to destroy my career, my reputation, everything I’ve built. So I stay, and I play the obedient son, and I wait for an opportunity to break free that might never come.”
The raw honesty of it stole Ivy’s breath. She’d assumed Theo stayed for the money, for the comfort, for the easy path. It had never occurred to her that he might be as trapped as she felt.
“What kind of information?” she asked.
“The kind I’m not ready to share with someone who’s investigating my father.” But there was no heat in it, just resignation. “Sorry, Ivy. You’re not the only one with secrets.”
They sat in silence, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down like a physical thing. Outside, Manhattan glittered with possibility and danger in equal measure. Inside, two people who were supposed to be enemies found themselves in the strange territory of almost-allies.
“For what it’s worth,” Ivy said finally, “I don’t think you’re a coward. I think you’re surviving the only way you know how.”
Theo looked at her then, really looked, and something shifted in his expression. Softened.
“And for what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I think you should take the job. Not because it’s what my father wants, but because it gives you exactly what you’ve been looking for—access to the inner workings of Harrington Industries. If there’s proof of what he did to your father, that’s where you’ll find it.”
“You’re telling me to investigate your father?”
“I’m telling you to be smart about it.” Theo’s gray eyes held hers, intense and serious. “If you’re going to go after Richard Harrington, do it from a position of power. Make yourself indispensable, earn his trust, and then use it against him. That’s how you win.”
“That’s ruthless.”
“That’s survival.” He stood, collecting his glass. “Think about it. And Ivy? Whatever you decide, be careful. My father’s offer might be an olive branch, but olive branches can still be used as weapons.”
He disappeared into his room, leaving Ivy alone with her wine and her thoughts and the growing realization that Theo Harrington was far more complex than she’d given him credit for. The sting of a love-hate stepbrother relationship had shifted somehow, the balance tipping from pure antagonism into something more nuanced.
Something more dangerous.
Saturday morning, Ivy met Naomi for breakfast at their favorite café in the West Village, desperate for perspective from someone who wasn’t a Harrington.
“So let me get this straight,” Naomi said, stabbing her omelet for emphasis. “You publicly called out a billionaire investor, embarrassed your new stepfather at his own charity gala, and got offered a high-level corporate position as a result?”
“That’s the summary, yes.”
“And you think it’s a trap.”
“It has to be a trap.”
Naomi considered this, sipping her coffee. “Or it’s exactly what it appears to be—a smart businessman recognizing talent and putting it to use. Richard Harrington didn’t get where he is by being petty.”
“He destroyed my father’s company.”
“Which you still don’t have proof of.” Naomi’s tone was gentle but firm. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, Ivy. I’m saying you need to separate your emotions from the facts. Maybe this job offer is Richard’s way of controlling you. Or maybe it’s his way of turning a potential enemy into an asset. Either way, it’s an opportunity.”
“That’s what Theo said.”
“Theo, huh?” Naomi’s eyes glinted with interest. “We’re on a first-name basis now?”
“We live together. It would be weird not to be.”
“And how is living with your devastatingly hot stepbrother working out?”
Ivy kicked her under the table. “It’s fine. We have ground rules. We mostly avoid each other.”
“Mostly?”
“He made me coffee this morning. He knew how I take it.”
“Ooh, coffee knowledge. That’s basically a marriage proposal in man language.”
“Naomi.”
“I’m just saying.” Naomi grinned wickedly. “A flash of the dangerous chemistry of a forbidden love is hard to ignore when you’re sharing a penthouse. Especially when he’s apparently defending you and giving you career advice.”
“He’s not defending me. He’s protecting his father’s interests.”
“Sure. That’s why he told you to take the job that would give you access to investigate his father. Because he’s so protective of Richard.”
Ivy had no response to that, because Naomi was right. Theo’s advice had been calculated to help her, not Richard. And that complicated everything.
“I’m taking the job,” Ivy said finally. “Not because Richard offered it, but because Theo’s right—it’s the best way to find what I’m looking for.”
“And what are you looking for, exactly?”
“Proof. Justice.” Ivy met her friend’s eyes. “The truth about what happened to my father.”
“Just be careful,” Naomi said quietly. “The truth isn’t always what we think it is. And sometimes revenge costs more than we’re willing to pay.”
Monday morning, Ivy called James Chen and accepted the position. By Monday afternoon, she’d given notice at Sterling & Hayes. By Monday evening, she was back at the penthouse, simultaneously exhilarated and terrified by what she’d set in motion.
Theo was in the kitchen when she arrived, cooking something that smelled like garlic and herbs and comfort.
“I took the job,” Ivy announced.
He turned, and something that looked like relief flickered across his face. “Good.”
“That’s it? Just good?”
“What do you want me to say?” Theo returned to his cooking, but there was tension in his shoulders. “I think you made the right choice. For you, for your career, for whatever investigation you’re planning.”
“Your father’s going to think I’m under his control now.”
“Let him think that. It makes you less of a threat, which makes you safer.” Theo glanced at her over his shoulder. “And Ivy? When you find what you’re looking for—and you will find it, because you’re nothing if not determined—be ready for the consequences. Destroying Richard Harrington won’t be clean or easy.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” He set down his wooden spoon and turned to face her fully. “Because once you start down that path, there’s no going back. My father has destroyed people for far less than what you’re planning. And he won’t hesitate to destroy you too, family or not.”
“Why do you care?” Ivy asked, the question escaping before she could stop it. “If I succeed, I’ll probably take you down with him. Your career, your reputation, everything.”
Theo was silent for a long moment, something complicated warring in his expression. Then he crossed the kitchen, stopping close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes.
“Because,” he said quietly, “someone should have defended your father when Richard came after him. Someone should have stood up and said it was wrong. No one did. And I’ll be damned if I let history repeat itself without at least warning you of the cost.”
The words hit Ivy like a confession, raw and honest and devastating in their implication. Theo Harrington—golden boy, corporate heir, Richard’s son—was telling her he believed her. That he knew his father was capable of exactly what she accused him of.
“Thank you,” Ivy whispered.
“Don’t thank me yet.” But his voice was rough, almost tender. “I haven’t decided whether I’m helping you or trying to save you from yourself.”
“Maybe it’s the same thing.”
“Maybe.”
They stood close enough to touch, the dangerous chemistry of a forbidden love crackling between them like electricity. Ivy’s pulse kicked, awareness flooding through her in a way she couldn’t control or deny. Theo’s gray eyes darkened, tracking from her eyes to her mouth and back again, and for one breathless moment she thought he might close the distance.
Then the timer on the stove beeped, shattering the moment, and Theo stepped back with something like regret flickering across his face.
“Dinner’s ready,” he said, voice carefully neutral. “If you want to join me.”
“Yeah,” Ivy managed, still shaky from whatever had just almost happened. “I’d like that.”
They ate together at the dining table, talking about safe things—her new position, the office politics she’d be walking into, the best strategy for earning Richard’s trust. But underneath the practical conversation, something had shifted between them.
Theo had defended her. Had believed her. Had chosen, in some small but significant way, to be on her side.
And Ivy was beginning to realize that hating Theo Harrington was becoming impossible when he kept giving her reasons to do the opposite.
Reader Reactions