The glass door shattered open. Isadore didn't walk; he stormed onto the terrace.

"Sterling!" His voice was a whip crack. "Back off."

Carter stumbled back, nearly tripping over a planter. "Mr. Grimes. I... she's crazy. She climbed up there herself!"

Isadore ignored him. He walked straight to the railing. He didn't look panicked. He looked furious.

"Get down," he ordered Ashton. "Now. Do not turn my evening into a crime scene."

Ashton looked down at the drop, then back at him. She held out a hand.

Isadore grabbed it. His grip was iron. He didn't just help her down; he yanked her off the ledge.

She collided with his chest. For a second, she was pressed against the solid wall of his tuxedo. She smelled expensive scotch and starch. She let herself linger for a heartbeat, pressing her face into his lapel.

Isadore stiffened. He pushed her back to arm's length, his hands lingering on her shoulders for a fraction of a second too long before dropping.

"Go," he said to Carter, not looking away from Ashton. "If you come within ten feet of her again, I will buy your father's company and liquidate it for sport."

Carter turned white. He scrambled back inside.

Ashton shivered. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Isadore said, his voice low. "You staged that."

"Did I?" Ashton challenged.

She turned and ran. Not back inside, but toward the service fire escape.

Isadore watched her go. He adjusted his cuffs, his heart rate slightly elevated. He hated that.

Ashton took the stairs down to the kitchen level. She grabbed a waiter's jacket from a rack and a tray with a single glass of champagne. She rode the service elevator to the penthouse floor.

She knocked on the door of the Presidential Suite.

Isadore opened it. He had loosened his tie. He looked at her, then at the tray.

"How did you get up here?"

"Room service," Ashton said, pushing past him into the room. "Hide me. Carter is waiting in the lobby."

Isadore closed the door. "Ten minutes. Then security escorts you out."

Ashton walked to the window. The city sprawled below them, a grid of electricity.

"Charity let him in," Ashton said. "She wanted a scene. She doesn't care if it ruins your gala, as long as it hurts me."

Isadore poured himself a drink. "I don't care about your catfights."

"You care about your reputation," Ashton said, turning to face him. She walked over and took the glass from his hand. She took a sip, her eyes locked on his. "Charity is a liability. She's messy. She's emotional."

She stepped closer, invading his personal space. "You need a partner, Isadore. Not a child."

Isadore looked at the glass she had just drunk from. He looked at her mouth. "And you're the partner? You have nothing."

"I know how to unlock the Harmon Trust's voting rights," she said, her voice dropping. "They're trapped behind a legal firewall Carter created, but I know the loophole. And I know where all the bodies are buried."

Isadore stared at her. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with static.

"You have nothing," he repeated, but there was less conviction in his voice.

Ashton set the glass down. She reached out and straightened his tie. "I can give you a perfect, silent wife. Someone who understands that marriage is a business transaction. I won't ask for love. I won't ask for your time."

"Prove your value," Isadore said. He didn't step back.

Ashton stood on her tiptoes. She leaned toward his ear. "Charity's father is leveraging the Gentry holdings to cover gambling debts in Macau. I know because my grandfather's old accountant still sends me birthday cards... and warnings. He told me Gentry is one bad marker away from collapse. The audit starts next week. If you merge now, you inherit his debt."

Isadore froze. His eyes narrowed. That was insider information. Dangerous information.

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang. Urgent, rapid knocking followed.

"Isadore? Are you in there?" It was Charity.

Ashton's eyes widened.

Isadore grabbed Ashton's arm. He shoved her toward the walk-in closet. "Get in."

"What?"

"If she sees you here, the deal blows up before I can verify your intel. Get in."

Ashton slipped into the closet. Isadore kicked the door shut, leaving it cracked an inch.

He opened the suite door. Charity pushed past him, her eyes wild.

"I heard voices," she accused. "Who is here?"

"I was on a call," Isadore said calmly.

Charity saw the glass on the table. The one with the lipstick stain.

She started walking toward it.

Isadore moved. He crossed the room in two strides, snatched the glass, and dumped the contents into the ice bucket. He walked to the wet bar and rinsed the glass in the sink, scrubbing the rim with his thumb.

"I ordered a drink," he said, drying the glass. "It was warm."

Charity stopped. She looked at the empty glass, then at the closet door. She sensed something. But she had no proof.

"When are we announcing the date?" she asked, her voice shrill.

"Not tonight," Isadore said. "I have a headache. Leave."

Charity glared at him, then turned on her heel and marched out.

Ashton watched from the darkness of the closet. Her heart was racing. He had covered for her. He had washed the glass.

He was an accomplice now.

Ashton pushed the closet door open. Isadore was standing by the window, his back to her.

Suddenly, the lights flickered and died. The room plunged into darkness. A loud crack from a nearby transformer, a casualty of the storm, echoed through the glass. It wasn't a city-wide blackout, just a localized surge that tripped the suite's main breaker.

"Stay where you are," Isadore's voice came from the dark.

Ashton moved anyway. She fumbled forward, hands outstretched. Her shin hit the coffee table.

"Ow." She stumbled.

Strong hands caught her arms. She fell against him.

In the dark, the boundaries dissolved. She could feel the heat radiating off him. She could hear his breathing, steady and deep. Her hands rested on his chest, feeling the slow, heavy thud of his heart.

"If you lied about the debt," Isadore whispered, his voice vibrating against her forehead, "I will destroy you."

"I don't lie about money," Ashton whispered back.

His hands moved up her arms, resting on her shoulders. He didn't push her away.

"You want to use me to hurt her," he said.

"It's a win-win."

His thumb grazed her jawline. It was a shocking, electric touch. "If you get me the ledger proving the debt, I'll help you with the Trust."

"Deal," Ashton breathed. "But I need a down payment."

"Name it."

"Get me out of here safely. And keep Carter away."

"Done."

The emergency lights flickered on, bathing the room in a sickly orange glow. Isadore stepped back instantly, his face a mask of indifference.

He took off his tuxedo jacket and handed it to her. "Put this on. Cover that dress."

Ashton slipped into the jacket. It was warm. It engulfed her.

He led her out the service exit to the garage. Sloan's car was waiting.

"Email the ledger by morning," Isadore said, opening the car door for her.

"Pleasure doing business, Mr. Grimes."

Ashton climbed in. As they drove away, she pulled the jacket tighter.

"Oh my god," Sloan squealed. "Is that his jacket?"

Ashton smiled, burying her nose in the collar. "This is just the beginning."