Chapter Five — Forced to Work Together

Dianne’s phone buzzed while she was still sipping her morning coffee, half-awake and trying not to think about him.

She glanced at the screen.

Incoming call: Charlotte (her boss at the PR firm).

Her heart sank.

Nothing good ever came from a call this early.

“Charlotte?” she said, trying to sound professional.

“Dianne, good morning, dear. I need you in the office in twenty minutes. We’ve just landed a big account — and I want you handling it.”

That caught her attention. “Big account?”

“Yes. One of London’s top corporations. High-profile client, delicate image issue. You’re the only one I trust with this.”

Dianne smiled faintly, flattered but wary. “All right, I’ll be there.”

She hung up, not knowing her morning was about to spiral into madness.

By the time she arrived at the Mayfair office of Sinclair Group, her nerves were frayed. The building was sleek — glass walls, polished marble, everything exuding wealth and authority. She tugged her blazer and whispered, you’ve got this, Blake.

But as soon as she stepped into the conference room, her breath caught in her throat.

Sitting at the head of the table, his sleeves rolled up, was Roy Sinclair.

Her pulse skipped. You have got to be kidding me.

Roy’s lips curved slowly when he saw her. “Well,” he drawled, “if this isn’t fate being its usual twisted self.”

“Don’t start,” she muttered, setting her bag down. “I didn’t come here to play games, Mr. Sinclair.”

He smirked. “Neither did I. This is business, Miss Blake.”

Business.

The word tasted like poison.

Charlotte beamed as if oblivious to the tension that thickened the air. “Wonderful! You two already know each other — that’ll make communication so much smoother.”

Roy’s brow arched. “Oh, we communicate just fine, don’t we, Dianne?”

Dianne’s jaw tightened. “Only when you’re not talking over me.”

Charlotte gave a polite laugh, clearly sensing friction. “Excellent. Then I’ll leave the two of you to discuss details. Roy — we’re excited to represent Sinclair Group. Dianne will oversee the entire campaign.”

As soon as the door shut, Dianne dropped the polite façade.

“What game are you playing, Roy?”

He leaned back in his chair, his tone smooth. “No game. I simply need the best in PR, and from what I’ve heard, that’s you.”

“Cut the crap,” she hissed. “You could’ve hired anyone. You chose me just to make my life miserable.”

He tilted his head, his gaze narrowing with a mixture of challenge and admiration. “If you think I waste my time on revenge, Miss Blake, you overestimate your importance.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Then why?”

Roy stood and walked around the table, his voice lowering. “Because the press still won’t let go of what happened. You know how to handle scandal — I need that.”

Her laugh was bitter. “Oh, so now I’m your damage control?”

“Exactly.” He smirked. “Who better to manage my scandal than the woman who caused it?”

She glared at him, the insult cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. “You’re unbelievable.”

He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the faint mix of cologne and arrogance clinging to him. “You have no idea how unbelievable I can be.”

Her pulse raced, and she cursed inwardly for reacting. “You’re insufferable, that’s what you are.”

Roy smiled faintly. “And yet here you are — agreeing to work for me.”

“I didn’t agree—”

“You just did,” he interrupted smoothly. “You work for Sinclair Group now, Miss Blake. Congratulations.”

She blinked. “What?”

He handed her a folder. “Signed contract. Charlotte approved it. I told her you’d be the lead consultant for our brand overhaul.”

Her jaw dropped. “You tricked me into this?”

He shrugged. “I prefer the term strategic persuasion.”

Dianne clenched her fists. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Maybe,” he said softly, meeting her eyes, “but you’ll still show up tomorrow at 9 a.m.”

“And if I don’t?”

He leaned in, voice low and laced with threat. “Then I’ll make sure no PR firm in Mayfair hires a woman with your history.”

Her breath hitched. His tone was calm, but the warning was real.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Their eyes locked — fire against ice.

Finally, Dianne exhaled sharply, snatching the file from his hand. “Fine. I’ll work for you. But let’s get one thing clear, Roy — I don’t like you, and I don’t trust you.”

He smiled, slow and dangerous. “That makes two of us, sweetheart.”

Hours later, back in her flat in Notting Hill, Dianne tossed the file onto her bed and collapsed beside it.

She stared at the ceiling, her thoughts loud and messy.

How did I end up here again? Why does he keep showing up like some cruel twist of fate?

She covered her face with her hands. “I can do this. It’s just work.”

Her phone buzzed. A new message.

Roy Sinclair:

Welcome to the team, Miss Blake. Don’t be late tomorrow. I hate waiting.

Her teeth clenched as she typed back.

Dianne:

I hate arrogance. Guess we’ll both suffer.

She tossed her phone aside and whispered under her breath, “God help me. This man is going to drive me insane.”

Across Mayfair, Roy smirked at her reply, lounging in his penthouse office.

Aaron glanced over his shoulder. “You’re smiling at your phone again. Should I be worried?”

Roy took a slow sip of his scotch. “No. Just… entertained.”

Aaron grinned. “Entertained, huh? Sounds more intriguing.”

Roy’s jaw flexed as he stared out at the London skyline. “She’s impossible. But I can’t seem to stop thinking about her.”

Aaron raised a brow. “Maybe it’s not her you can’t stop thinking about — maybe it’s the fact that, for once, you didn’t win.”

Roy’s smirk faded, replaced with something quieter. “We’ll see about that.”

Aaron watched him for a long moment, his grin softening into concern. “Roy, tell me you’re not going to make her life a living hell just because she bruised your ego.”

Roy turned his glass slowly between his fingers, the amber liquid catching the low light. “You think I care about my ego?”

Aaron chuckled. “You always care about your ego.”

Roy’s jaw flexed. He didn’t answer. His gaze lingered on the skyline—glittering towers piercing the night—and for a second, something unreadable crossed his face.

“She’s different,” he muttered finally.

Aaron raised a brow. “Different how?”

Roy’s eyes hardened again, the vulnerability gone as fast as it came. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is making sure she doesn’t ruin me.”

Aaron smirked. “You sure that’s what you’re worried about? Because from the look in your eyes, I’d say you’re already a little ruined.”

Roy shot him a glare, but Aaron only laughed and stood. “Goodnight, boss. Try not to dream about your PR nightmare.”

When the door shut, Roy let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He loosened his tie, setting the empty glass aside, and walked toward the window.

Down below, London glimmered like a thousand secrets waiting to be uncovered.

He could still see her face in his mind—those defiant eyes, the way her lips tightened when she was angry, the tremble in her voice when she tried not to show she cared.

“Dianne Blake,” he murmured to himself. “You’re going to be the end of me.”

But somewhere in the corner of his mind, another thought whispered: or maybe, the beginning of something else entirely.