Novels by Clare

The stillness of the emptied dining saloon was a cold, jarring juxtaposition to the fury of the storm outside. The sudden extraction of the board's energy had left Jonah depleted, his adrenaline retreating like a tide and leaving behind a landscape of shuddering exhaustion in its wake. He moved on autopilot, reaching for his tablet, his hand trembling slightly as his fingers touched the cooled glass."Leave it."Clarkson's voice was not loud. It was a low command, but it easily filled the massive space, echoing in the air between them. He had not changed position.Jonah's nerves were on edge as he glanced up. "Did I just sink my own ship? Give Harper the ammunition she needed?"That is to be seen," Clarkson replied, his voice level, not giving anything away. He finally pushed away from the bar and began to walk toward him with a predator's slow, measured ease. Each step was deliberate, sounding softly on the teak. "Your presentation was. unorthodox. A high-risk strategy.""It was the

The dining salon aboard the Andromeda was a scene of restrained chaos. The sleek, contemporary room, all chrome and low-slung leather, had the ambiance of the inside of a precision timepiece just as its mainspring was about to burst. The subdued, tense undercurrent of the Roberts Global board was a grating hum beneath the rising keen of the gale outside. Beyond the broad panoramic windows, the Manhattan skyline was being eaten by a bruised, purpling dusk. The first heavy drops of rain began to streak the glass like frantic, silver tears, and the gentle, reassuring rock of the yacht developed into a stomach-plummeting sway.Jonah felt the motion of the deck beneath his feet, a bodily echo of the uncertain ground on which he stood. He faced the head of the obsidian table, a lone figure in front of a tribunal of suited suits and calculating eyes. Their collective skepticism was a physical force against his chest. On the other side of the room, propped against the bar with an infuriating,

The ring of Jonah's secure work telephone was an invasive species in the creative ecosystem of his warehouse apartment. He muted it, his hand moving in quick, confident motions across a large sheet of vellum, tracking a structural problem for the Nereid's stern that had been vexing him all evening.The telephone rang again. And again. Tenacious. Business-like.With a resounding sigh, he wiped the charcoal-stained fingers on his jeans and retrieved it. On the screen was a note from Lena Pierce, Clarkson's assistant. Her detached tone stripped the room of warmth.Mr. Jones. Please be advised of your mandatory attendance at the quarterly board strategic retreat, taking place this weekend aboard the R/Y Andromeda. Departure is Friday at 18:00 from Pier 11. The retreat concludes Sunday afternoon. Your presence is required for the full duration. Attire is business casual for daytime sessions, formal for evening dinners. A tailor from Mr. Roberts’s preferred agency will arrive at your worksp

The boardroom door hissed shut behind Jonah Jones, shutting him and shutting Clarkson Roberts off in their own vacuum of creation. The silence was immediate, a stark contrast to the fiery confrontation that had just been fought. The air itself seemed charged, vibrating with the echoes of Jonah's defiance.Clarkson stood motionless at the head of the obsidian table, his knuckles resting on the cool, polished surface. The ghost of Jonah’s final, searing indictment hung in the room. “You’re not building a legacy; you’re building a monument to your own fear!”The words should have been water on stone. His name was Clarkson Roberts. He was protected by billions, by a lifetime of oppression and suits of corporate armor. But the words had found a crack, a hairline fracture in the unbreakable foundation he'd believed existed.He could still see it: the angry, unrelenting light in Jonah's blue eyes, the obstinate thrust of his jaw, the way his passion seemed to fill out his physique in the roo

The planet rotated on its axis. Jonah was frozen, Harper's supercilious smile burned itself into his mind, the ghost of Clarkson's vision—some nightmares never lie buried—twisting into a terrible portent. The message on his phone throbbed, an unmailed bomb with the pin pulled out. He ruined us."Leave," Jonah snarled, shaking.Harper's brows flew up in pretended innocence. "I'm only here to help you navigate through this. aftermath. This isn't good for you, Jonah. Being spotted with this kind of scandal? And after your show today?""Get. Out." The words were a snarl, ripped from a place of raw, betrayed survival.She left, her silence more deadly than any extra words. The moment the door shut behind her, Jonah's phone vibrated. A fresh text from Maya.Maya: I'm sorry. I had to. He's out of control. The board will use Chimera to drive him out and destroy the Nereid. This is the only proof that he's not the only monster. My dad made the choice. Clark was the means to an end.A further f

The executive level was more subdued now. The air that had previously been thick with terror was now electric with a new tension—a combination of triumph and excitement that had left Jonah's nerves raw. His triumph with the thruster design had won him a thin veneer of respect from Clarkson, but it had also put a bullseye on his back. He felt it—the subtle shift in how Harper Lane's eyes tracked him as he moved through the corridors, cold and calculating.He was studying the signed foundry contracts in his basement office when the door swung open without a knock. Harper stood in the doorway, her sharp silhouette defined against the antiseptic hallway lights. She didn't come inside; she just looked at the small, windowless room with a scornful lip twist."Cozy," she said, with heavy mock warmth. "Clarkson's new toy seems to be thriving in its doghouse."Jonah relaxed into his chair, not even blinking. "Harper. Did you come down here to gawk at the interior decorating, or is there actual