“Fix It and I’m Yours,” the CEO Teased — Then the Single Dad Shocked Everyone…

 

Serena Croft stood in the doorway.

She looked like she had just walked out of a warzone.

Mud coated her boots, her coat was ruined, and her eyes were burning with a lethal fire.

Standing right behind her was Declan, holding a heavy steel lockbox, his imposing frame blocking the only exit.

“Serena!” Gideon choked out, his voice cracking.

He tried to quickly plaster a look of relief on his face, but his eyes were darting toward the windows in sheer panic.

“My god, you’re alive! We… we thought you were caught in the mudslide!”

“Did you?” Serena asked, her heels clicking ominously against the hardwood floor as she walked slowly toward the table.

“Is that why you canceled my private security detail last night? Is that why you insisted I take the Koenigsegg instead of the armored SUV?”

The partners from *Kirkland & Ellis* exchanged alarmed glances.

One of the lead attorneys closed his portfolio.

“Ms. Croft, what is going on here?”

“Corporate restructuring,” Serena said coldly.

She reached the head of the table and stared Gideon down.

“Gideon here was just trying to expedite his promotion. By burying me in a ravine.”

“That is an outrageous accusation!” Gideon shouted, his panic turning into defensive rage.

He looked at the executives around the table.

“She’s clearly in shock. The storm must have caused a collision. She’s hysterical. Security!”

“Don’t bother,” Declan’s deep voice echoed through the room.

He stepped forward, setting the heavy steel lockbox on the pristine mahogany table.

He flipped the latches and opened the lid.

Inside, resting on a bed of shop rags, was the severed wire harness with the melted thermal fuse, and the custom plastic clamp holding the unbroken vial of highly corrosive acid.

Declan looked directly at the *Kirkland & Ellis* lawyers.

“I’m a master mechanic,” Declan stated, his tone flat and unyielding.

“Ms. Croft’s vehicle didn’t suffer a malfunction. The main data harness was intentionally severed and rerouted through a heat-sensitive bypass fuse, designed to stall the car on the steepest part of the mountain. And this—” he pointed to the clamp “—was rigged to the master brake line. If she had managed to restart the car, the first sharp turn of the steering wheel would have crushed this vial, dumping industrial acid onto the hydraulic lines. She would have lost all braking power at highway speeds.”

Dead silence fell over the boardroom.

The *Deloitte* auditors slowly pushed their chairs back from the table.

“Attempted murder,” the lead attorney murmured, staring at the evidence.

“You can’t prove anything!” Gideon spat, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Some mechanic finds a broken wire and suddenly I’m an assassin? You have absolutely no proof that I had anything to do with her car!”

Serena leaned over the table, her face inches from Gideon’s.

“I don’t need to prove you touched the car, Gideon,” she whispered, a cruel smile playing on her lips.

“Because while Declan was busy saving my life, I used his landline to call my offshore forensic accounting team in Geneva. The ones you didn’t know I hired.”

Gideon’s eyes widened in sheer horror.

“I know about the shell company in the Cayman Islands,” Serena continued, her voice rising so everyone in the room could hear.

“I know about the forty-million-dollar short position you took against our own stock three days ago. If I died, the stock would plummet, the merger would pause, and you would cash out hundreds of millions before the board even voted you in.”

She snapped her fingers, looking at the stunned executives.

“Check your phones. I just forwarded the wire transfer receipts to all of you.”

A chorus of buzzing phones erupted around the table.

The senior partner from *Kirkland & Ellis* looked at his screen, his expression hardening into stone.

He looked up at Gideon.

“Mr. Shaw,” the attorney said icily, “our firm no longer represents you. I highly suggest you do not speak another word without criminal defense counsel.”

The sound of police sirens wailed from the streets far below, growing rapidly louder.

Serena had called the San Francisco Police Department from the tow truck halfway across the Golden Gate Bridge.

Gideon looked at the door, then at Declan, who simply crossed his massive arms over his chest, daring the executive to try and run.

The fight completely drained out of Gideon.

He collapsed into his leather chair, burying his face in his hands as the realization of his ruined life crashed down upon him.

Serena turned away from him in disgust.

She looked at the remaining executives, straightening her ruined Armani coat, perfectly composed.

“Gentlemen,” Serena announced, her voice echoing with absolute authority.

“The police will be here in approximately sixty seconds to remove this trash from my building. After the room is thoroughly sanitized, we will proceed with the signing of this merger. Does anyone have a problem with that?”

No one dared to breathe a word of dissent.

The Queen had reclaimed her throne.

The aftermath was a blur of flashing red and blue lights, stern-faced detectives, and frantic corporate damage control.

SFPD Major Crimes detectives hauled a handcuffed, pale-faced Gideon out through the private freight elevator to avoid the press.

The boardroom was temporarily cleared, leaving only a heavy, ringing silence in the wake of the chaos.

Serena retreated to her private executive office—a sprawling suite of glass, white leather, and modern art on the top floor.

She bypassed her wet bar and poured two cups of black coffee from a sleek espresso machine, carrying them over to where Declan stood.

He was looking out the massive floor-to-ceiling window, watching the ant-like traffic moving through the concrete canyons of San Francisco.

In this ultra-sterile, high-powered environment, Declan looked entirely out of place, yet simultaneously like the most solid, real thing in the room.

“Black, no sugar,” Serena said, handing him a mug.

“Assuming you don’t take it with oat milk and agave like everyone else in this building.”

Declan took the mug, a faint smirk touching his tired eyes.

“Thanks.”

Serena walked over to her massive glass desk and leaned against it, crossing her arms.

She looked at him—really looked at him.

The adrenaline was finally fading, leaving behind a profound sense of exhaustion, but also an electric, undeniable awareness of the man standing in front of her.

He had seen her at her absolute lowest, terrified and weeping on a dirty garage floor, and he hadn’t judged her.

He had just protected her.

“The police are going to need a formal statement from you,” Serena said softly.

“They’ve taken the lockbox to the crime lab. Between the physical evidence and the offshore accounts, Gideon is looking at twenty years in federal prison.”

“Good,” Declan said, taking a sip of the coffee.

“Men like that… they think they can buy their way out of consequences. It’s nice to see one hit a brick wall.”

Serena set her coffee down and walked slowly toward him.

The space between them felt highly charged, crackling with an unspoken tension.

“I meant what I said last night, Declan,” she said, her voice dropping to a vulnerable register that no one in this building had ever heard.

“You saved my life. You saved my life’s work. I can write you a check right now that would guarantee Maria’s college tuition, buy you the best racing shop in the country, and set you up for life. Just name your price.”

Declan sighed, setting his mug on the windowsill.

He looked down at her, his expression gentle but unyielding.

“Serena, we talked about this. I don’t want your money.”

“Then what do you want?” she asked, taking a half-step closer.

She looked up into his eyes, her heart hammering against her ribs.

She remembered her own words on the mountain, the sarcastic taunt that now felt entirely prophetic: *Fix this impossible machine by morning, and I’m yours.*

Declan held her gaze.

For a second, his eyes dropped to her lips, and Serena felt a jolt of pure fire shoot through her veins.

But then, the hardened discipline of the single father returned.

He took a respectful step back.

“I want to go back to my garage,” Declan said softly.

“I want to pick up my daughter from Martha’s house, I want to wash this grease off my hands, and I want to sleep for fourteen hours.”

Serena felt a sharp pang of disappointment, but also a deep wave of respect.

He wasn’t like the sycophants who surrounded her.

He couldn’t be bought, and he couldn’t be seduced by power.

“I see,” Serena said, trying to mask the hurt in her voice.

“So that’s it? You ride in, slay the dragon, and drive back to the suburbs?”

“You don’t need me anymore, Serena,” Declan pointed out, gesturing to the sprawling city below them.

“You’re the CEO. You’ve got a billion-dollar merger to sign, a company to rebuild, and a board to terrify. You belong up here.” He looked down at his own worn boots.

“I belong on the ground.”

He walked toward the door of the office.

Serena watched him go, her chest tightening.

“Declan,” she called out before he reached the handle.

He stopped and looked back.

“My Koenigsegg is still sitting in your garage,” she said, a faint, desperate smile on her face.

“It needs a new brake line. And a new data harness.”

Declan’s lips twitched into a genuine smile.

“It’s going to take me a few weeks to source those parts from Sweden. I’ll have to charge you double for the labor.”

“I’ll pay it,” she replied instantly.

“Will you call me? When it’s ready?”

“I’ll call you,” Declan promised.

He opened the door and walked out, leaving Serena alone in her glass tower.