A Calculated Risk

​I sink down slowly into my chair, my hand rising to rub my temples as I feel the familiar, agonizing onset of a headache starting to spread.

​My free hand, acting completely of its own accord, reaches out and snatches the paper she left on the edge of the desk.

​I skim the names, my scowl growing deeper with every line I read. They are all, as expected, daughters of corporate rivals and socialite parasites; people I have unfortunately had to tolerate at charity galas and board dinners throughout the years. The thought of parading any of them around as my fiancée makes a cold sweat break on my face.

​I scrunch the paper up into a ball, toss it into the garbage bin without looking, and stand up.

​I pace the length of my office as my mind continues to replay her words. That's when it hits me.

​The board doesn't just want a woman on my arm; they want a spectacle. They want to see that the untouchable Julian Vance can be anchored. And if I am going to be forced into a public charade to protect my empire, I refuse to let it be with a stranger.

​I stop abruptly. Why am I even entertaining the idea of looking outside these walls when the only woman who has ever managed to pierce my armor, the only one who handles my chaos without flinching, sits right outside my door?

​She knows my schedule, she knows my temper, and God help me, she occupies every single waking thought I possess. Three years of watching her from across a mahogany desk, convincing myself that keeping her at arm's length was a form of professional restraint.

​If the board wants a partner, they will get one. But it will be on my terms.

​I walk toward the door and yank it open.

​“Miss Hayes,” I bellow, “my office. Now.”

​A few seconds later, she appears in the doorway, arching a single, elegant eyebrow. “Well, I take it you have found someone who appeals to your delicate sensibilities,” she murmurs, her voice laced with dry amusement.

​“Hardly, Miss Hayes,” I scoff, my eyes narrowing.

​I step aside, letting her walk further into the office. The silence stretches between us, thick and charged with a sudden, dangerous current. Three years of ignoring the way my pulse spikes every time she enters a room, three years of writing off every sharp retort as mere administrative competence, it all crashes down on me at once. I don't want a stranger. I want her.

​“Go out with me,” I blurt out suddenly, before I lose the courage to voice the turmoil waging war inside my head.

​Her eyes widen, and I watch, completely transfixed, as a violent flush creeps up her neck and stains her cheeks.

​“A-a-absolutely not,” she stammers, her professional composure fracturing for a fraction of a second before she slams it back into place. “Have you completely lost your mind? I am your secretary. Do you know the implications of what you're asking of me? Do you have any idea what they'll say or do if we're seen together like that?”

​I close the distance between us, taking a sharp step forward until she has nowhere left to retreat.

​“This will be a pure business transaction,” I murmur, my voice dropping an octave as I cage her against the doorframe, boxing her in with both hands on either side of her head. “I need someone to satisfy the board of directors, and you'll get a massive pay raise.”

​She tilts her chin up, refusing to cower, though her breath hitches. “I’m seeing someone,” she declares.

​My eyes narrow as a dark, humorless chuckle escapes my throat. “Do not insult my intelligence, Miss Hayes,” I growl, leaning in just a fraction closer. “We both know you don't have a partner. You leave the firm after I do and arrive before me. You haven't dated anyone since your last boyfriend cheated on you two years ago.”

​The words leave my mouth before my brain can censor them. How anyone can be dumb or blind enough to cheat on a woman like Clare Hayes is something I will never be able to comprehend.

​I watch as her jaw completely drops. “Why... how do you know that?” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

​“Don't let it get to your head, Miss Hayes,” I sneer, throwing up my usual wall of cold arrogance to cover the slip of my tongue. “I make it my obligation to know everything about those who work for me. You're my secretary. Unfortunately for both of us, you're also the only one who can tolerate my temper. Now, do we have a deal or not?”

​She narrows her eyes, pushing back against the wood of the doorframe instead of shrinking away from my proximity.

​“What are your terms and conditions, Mr. Vance?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “And how much money am I getting for tolerating your insufferable attitude?”

​A dark, victorious thrill surges through my chest. She’s negotiating. That means she’s caving.

​“Name your price, Miss Hayes,” I reply, my gaze dropping briefly to the rapid pulse hammering against the hollow of her throat. “Within reason. And as for the terms: three months of public appearances, seamless compliance in front of the board, and absolutely no falling in love.”

​A dry, incredulous laugh escapes her lips. “Trust me, Mr. Vance, falling in love with you is the absolute last thing on my to-do list. ​As the great Elizabeth Bennet once said, 'You're the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.'”

​“Good,” I murmur, swallowing down the sudden surge of hurt her words have conjured, because I know full well that by the time these three months are up, I will have completely rewired her reality. I extend a hand between us. “Then we understand each other.”

​Time to make Clare Hayes fall in love with me, I think, a dark, satisfying smile pulling at the corner of my mouth.