Chapter 4

Lana’s POV

The drawer clock glared at 10:07 a.m.

Seven minutes behind.

I slapped the steering wheel once, hard enough to make it hurt. "Move!" I yelled at the taxi in front of me, though my windows were rolled up.

The Monroe Tower loomed before us; the kind of building that made everyone on the outside feel small.

I swerved over, flung open the door, and stepped out into the rain. My heels clacked too rapidly on the sidewalk as I walked through the revolving doors, gasping somewhere between the base of my throat and the center of my chest.

I did not enjoy being late. It made me feel sloppy, not collected.

Inside, the lobby soared up, marble floors, chrome columns, and a gigantic "M" carved into black stone. People moved in stiff unison. No one lingered. No one smiled.

With the exception of the receptionist, who gave me a blank, glazed smile. "Good morning, Ms. Roth. The boardroom is thirty-two floors up."

I nodded abruptly, pushing wet hair out of my ear. "Thanks."

The mirrored elevator walls teased me up the levels. My reflection was tight, jaw clenched, eyes hard but tired. I smoothed the front of my blazer, inhaled, exhaled. You're calm. You're in command.

As the doors opened, I emerged too quickly into someone.

The push knocked me back. My briefcase went flying, papers scattering like scared birds.

"Oh my God" I knelt, gathering up the papers. "I'm so"

“Watch where you’re going,” a deep voice cut in.

I froze mid-reach. His tone wasn’t angry, it was dismissive, edged with irritation. Like my existence had inconvenienced his air.

I looked up.

The man standing over me wore a charcoal suit that was too tightly fitted to be a coincidence.

His tie was loose, his shirt open just far enough to suggest arrogance. His eyes cold, gray, unreadable and flickered over me

He didn't lean to help. Of course he didn't.

"I apologize," I muttered, pushing papers into the folder.

He arched an eyebrow. "You said 'oh my God.' That's not the same thing."

The audacity.

I stood up, chin jerking into a reflexive rise. "You could work on simple manners. Unless that suit came with a superiority complex."

His lips twisted, not a smile, not yet. "You greet people like this all the time?"

"Only the ones who anticipate me getting down on my knees after bumping into them."

He leaned slightly, voice smooth and soft. "And what would lead you to believe that I'd be interested?"

I blinked, taken off guard for a half-second before I regained my footing. "Because men like you are prone to."

His eyes narrowed, amused and assessing simultaneously. "Men like me?" He cut me off again.

I breathed through my nose. "The kind who wear arrogance as perfume. The kind who appropriate every room."

That finally coaxed a smile, reluctant, maddening. "You've got a sharp tongue, Ms…?"

"Roth," I said. "Lana Roth."

His eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch, but before he could utter another word, the door to the conference room down the hall creaked open.

"Ah, Ms. Roth!" Keller's voice thundered down the hallway. "Glad you could join us. You've already met Mr. Monroe, I guess."

The floor beneath me seemed to spin.

I turned slowly, pounding heart thudding against my ribs. "I— what?"

Keller grinned. "Jace Monroe, CEO of Monroe Corp. Your new business partner."

For a split moment, the entire hallway was motionless.

The man, Jace Monroe jammed his hands into his pockets, that condescending, knowing grin spreading as though he'd been holding this moment in waiting to be unveiled.

"Pleasure's mine," he whispered.

My jaw almost dropped. Almost.

I could only produce a thin, brittle smile in lieu. "Of course."

Keller slapped his hands together, unaware of the tension. "Well then, shall we?"

I followed them into the boardroom, still with a racing heart. Jace took the seat farthest from mine on the table, naturally. I sat opposite him, back stiff, pulling my features into a blank face.

He leaned back in his chair, one arm across the top of it, eyes half-shut but alert. I hated his open look of relaxation as though he could notice every quiver of feeling I was struggling to hide.

Keller started talking about "strategic integration," "synergy," and "expanding social programs under Monroe branding." I barely heard him.

I could only feel Jace's eyes upon me.

My fists gripped my pen tighter, the metal digging into my skin. I would not look up.

But I could feel the glimmer of a smile still lingering on his lips.

When Keller mentioned financing, I finally managed to get a word in edgewise. "So, let me get this straight," I said, my voice cool, professional, "the foundation's independence is still intact, correct?"

Jace shifted, the movement slow and deliberate. "That depends."

"On what?"

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "On how well we get along."

The air thickened. I maintained my impassive face, though my throat suddenly went dry.

"I work for causes, not corporations," I answered firmly. "If your company thinks it can buy influence, you're mistaken."

Jace's smirk grew wider. "Influence is only for sale when someone's desperate to sell. Are you?"

The challenge hung between us. My heart skipped a beat quickly, betraying me.

"I don't need your approval," I said quietly.

"Good," he said quietly. "Then we'll get along just fine."

Keller cleared his throat with a strained sound. "Great energy here! Passion's a wonderful thing. Passion generates innovation."

I wished to laugh. Passion. That wasn't what this was. It was friction, hot, live. The type that blisters if you aren’t careful.

The rest of the session was a blur. Schedules, terms, media approvals, I answered on autopilot, posture perfect, every gesture a deliberate move.

Jace didn't say much, but where he did, the room leaned in. His voice carried that gentle authority people obeyed or cowed.

When it was done, Keller smiled, shook my hand, then Jace's, humming along about "history-making collaborations."

As he left, the room emptied down to the two of us.

The silence was different now, closer, thicker.

I gathered my folders, not risking a glance up. My fingers ran over the edge of a paper too roughly and tore it half off. My breath stopped.

"Careful," Jace told me. "You're shaking."

I tensed.

"I'm not," I replied, but my tone was thinner than I intended.

He stood, buttoning his jacket. "You're good at hiding it, though. I'll grant you that."

Finally, I looked up. "You think you know me just because you bumped into me by accident in a hallway?"

He looked at me slowly, deliberative. "No. I know people. You build fences when you've been stripped bare."

My breast tightened at the word. Stripped.

He'd seen. His eyes softened for a moment, just before coming back on guard. "Ease off, Ms. Roth. I'm not your enemy."

"Not yet," I said.

That drew another faint smile. “Good. Keep that edge. I’ll need it where we’re going.”

He walked toward the door, pausing just long enough to meet my gaze again. “Monday, 9a.m. My office. Don’t be late this time.”

The door shut behind him with a quiet click.