Chapter Six

# Matthew

If looks could kill, Carlos would be buried six feet under.

On one hand, I was relieved he stopped me before I did something as savage as taking Mia right there on my office desk. On the other, I wanted to wring his neck for the interruption.

"Really, Matthew?" Carlos's voice was laced with disbelief. "Of all the women in this city… her? The one we're supposed to use to get our hands on Rensons' network? This was your plan."

"She's not just any woman," I said, my tone tight. She's the kind of woman who makes me forget why I wanted that damn company in the first place. She's crashed into my life like a storm, scattering every carefully laid plan I've built. But I wasn't about to admit that to Carlos.

I strode into my office, every step deliberate, my temper simmering. The city skyline spread out behind my desk, a reminder of the empire I'd built from the ground up, an empire I intended to expand. Carlos followed, still glaring, still waiting for an explanation I wouldn't give.

Dropping into my chair, I leaned back, fingers drumming on the armrest. "What do you want me to do now? Walk away? Pretend I don't want her?"

"What I want," Carlos said flatly, "is for you to remember that Renson's isn't just another acquisition. Their distribution network could give us a global chokehold on the market. You were the one who said nothing—not a woman, not a damn distraction—would get in the way."

I met his stare, unblinking. "I remember my own words," I bit out, resisting the urge to scream that Mia was not a distraction. Maybe Carlos was right, I barely knew the woman. Renson's Corporation was too important to risk over a temporary fling… though something told me it would be far more than that. An image of her in my arms flashed through my mind, and I shook my head.

"Then you should know you can't have her. Think of what it could do to your reputation. We can't have that, Matthew, not after Hazel."

The name hit like a sucker punch. I felt my jaw clench before I could stop it. Hazel. He knew better than to bring her up. He probably said it just to make his point, but all he did was peel open a wound I'd spent years cauterizing.

"The last time I checked, Carlos, I call the shots around here. I am Matthew fucking Foster, and I will have what I want, no matter how difficult it is." I wasn't even sure if I was talking about the company or Mia. "There are several ways to get a company, Carlos."

He looked like he wanted to say more, but my death glare shut him up.

"It's been a long day, Carlos. I'd like to get some rest," I lied, just to get him off my back. After a pause, he muttered a goodnight and shut the door.

---

Silence. 2:00 a.m. My blood was running too hot for sleep. I stood at the window, watching the city glitter below like a board game, every piece waiting for my hand to move it.

I turned to my desk, flipped open my laptop. The glow of the screen lit the room in cold blue, a perfect match for the thoughts in my head. There were moves to plan, assets to track. I dove into secure files, cargo manifests, shipping routes, supplier agreements—every artery keeping that empire alive.

Renson's Corporation sat at the center like a prize jewel. They didn't just distribute goods, they controlled the cleanest, most reliable channels on the market. With them, my reach would triple. Competitors who dared stand in my way would choke on the dust I left behind.

This wasn't business, it was dominance. And I didn't lose.

But then her face intruded again, softening edges I didn't want softened. Fuck, why did she have to come in at this crucial point? My mind went back to when I kissed her and how amazing it felt, how fucking right it felt, how much I wanted to do more. I shoved my desire aside and kept scanning, and that is when I saw it—a buried clause in their South Asian shipping contracts. Sloppy wording. Fragile terms. Pull the right string, and it would cripple their overseas operation for months.

A slow smile spread across my face. One call to the right port authority, one favor cashed in, and Renson's board would crawl to me to "rescue" them, on my terms.

By 3:00 a.m., I had multiple scenarios, all ending the same way: Renson's under my control. Picking the easiest one, I called the patriarch himself.

"What the fuck, Foster? It's three in the morning," he growled.

"I wouldn't call unless it mattered, Jeff," I said, voice calm despite the thrill in my blood. "Not when the future of your company is dancing in my palms."

A beat of silence. "What do you want, Foster?"

Wise man. I smiled and started listing my demands—Renson's cooperation chief among them.

"Is what you've got that bad, huh?" he asked, disappointment bleeding through his voice. He should have thought twice before handing off his company to an incompetent fool like his son.

"You know I don't joke around," I said. "I want everything ready by sunrise. Heck, I don't even want to see your son's face in that company."

I hung up and dropped my phone. I stood up and stretched, a feeling of satisfaction spreading through me. Gathering my things, I stepped into the cool night air. My house was an hour away, enough time for four hours of rest. I knew Jeff Renson would not dare play games with me, not now.

And when the sun came up, I would walk into that company and enjoy the look of shock on Carlos' face and Mia Patel—the exact moment she realizes that her world now moved to my rhythm.