Chapter Fifty-Two: Queen in Training

I woke to the scent of coffee and the feeling of warm lips pressing against my temple.

"Time to become a billionaire," Dominic murmured against my skin, his voice rough with sleep and something darker.

My eyes fluttered open to find him already dressed in a charcoal suit that fit him like armor, his hair still slightly mussed from sleep. The sight of him sent heat pooling low in my belly despite the exhaustion still weighing down my bones.

"What time is it?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"Seven. Meeting's at ten. That gives us three hours to turn you into the kind of woman who eats corporate boards for breakfast."

The predatory smile that curved his lips made my pulse quicken. This was the Dominic who'd built an empire through sheer force of will—dangerous, calculating, absolutely ruthless.

"I don't know if I can do this," I admitted, sitting up in bed. The silk pajamas he'd dressed me in the night before clung to my skin, and I caught the way his eyes tracked the movement.

"You can." He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand finding my thigh through the thin fabric. "You faced down poison, assassination attempts, and lawyers who wanted to destroy you. A board meeting is nothing."

His thumb traced small circles on my leg, and the simple touch sent electricity racing through my nervous system.

"Besides," he continued, his voice dropping to that tone that made my knees weak, "I'm going to teach you everything I know about making powerful men beg."

God, I thought, the way he says things like that should be illegal.

"You're coming with me?" I asked, trying to focus on his words instead of the way his touch was making me feel.

"Try to stop me." His hand moved higher on my thigh, and I had to bite back a gasp. "These people think they can intimidate you because you're young, because you're a woman, because you didn't grow up in their world. But they're about to learn that you have something they'll never have."

"What's that?"

His eyes met mine, dark and intense. "Me."

The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear.

He stood abruptly, and I mourned the loss of his touch. "Shower. Now. We have work to do."

Twenty minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel to find Dominic laying out clothes on the bed. Not just any clothes—a power suit in midnight blue that looked like it had been tailored specifically for warfare.

"Armani," he said, noticing my stare. "Custom. I had it made for you last week."

"Last week? You knew about the board meeting last week?"

His smile was sharp as a blade. "I know everything about everyone who might threaten what's mine. The Van Alston board has been circling like vultures since Victoria was shot. I've been preparing."

What's mine. The possessive way he said it made my breath catch.

"Turn around," he said, moving behind me.

"I can dress myself—"

"I know you can." His fingers found the knot of my towel, and I felt it loosen. "But this is about more than getting dressed. This is about armor."

The towel fell away, and cool air kissed my skin. Dominic's hands skimmed along my shoulders, not quite touching but close enough that I could feel his heat.

"Power," he said, his breath warm against my ear, "is ninety percent perception. How you stand, how you move, how you look at them when they think they're looking down at you."

He reached for the silk blouse, holding it open for me to slide my arms into. His knuckles brushed against my bare skin as he pulled it closed, and I had to grip the bedpost to keep from swaying into him.

"When you walk into that boardroom," he continued, his fingers working the buttons with maddening slowness, "you need to move like you own everything they've ever wanted."

"And how exactly do I do that?"

"Like this." His hands settled on my hips, adjusting my posture until my spine was straight, my shoulders back, my chin lifted. "Feel that? That's what confidence looks like from the outside."

The position pressed my back against his chest, and I could feel every breath he took, every beat of his heart. The intimacy of it was almost overwhelming.

"Now the skirt," he said, kneeling behind me.

I stepped into the fabric, and his hands guided it up my legs with reverent care. When his fingers grazed the backs of my thighs, I bit my lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

"They're going to try to make you feel small," he said, standing and zipping the skirt with deliberate slowness. "They'll use your age, your background, your gender—anything they can find to put you on the defensive."

"So what do I do?"

"You remember that you're about to become the most powerful woman in that room. Possibly the most powerful woman in the city." His hands smoothed down my sides, ostensibly checking the fit of the suit but really just finding excuses to touch me. "And you act like it."

He moved to face me, adjusting the collar of my blouse with the kind of attention usually reserved for artwork. "Never apologize for taking up space. Never explain yourself unless you choose to. And never, ever let them see you sweat."

"What if I don't know the answers to their questions?"

"Then you tell them you'll get back to them. What you don't do is guess, or fumble, or let them make you feel stupid." His fingers traced along my collarbone, ostensibly straightening my neckline but sending shivers through my entire body. "Remember—they need you more than you need them."

"Do they?"

"You're the heir. Without you, they're just expensive employees managing money that doesn't belong to them." His hands moved to my face, tilting my chin up until I was looking directly into his eyes. "With you, they either become allies or obstacles. Make sure they understand the difference."

The intensity in his gaze was almost unbearable. I felt like he was seeing straight through me, reading every doubt, every fear, every desperate desire to be worthy of the power I was about to inherit.

"What about you?" I asked quietly. "Are you my ally or my obstacle?"

Something shifted in his expression—something vulnerable and raw that he quickly covered with that familiar predatory smile.

"I'm whatever you need me to be," he said. "Your partner, your protector, your weapon." His thumb traced my lower lip, and my breath caught. "Your king, if you'll have me."

The words hung between us like a challenge and a promise.

"Dominic—"

"Shoes," he said abruptly, stepping back before the moment could deepen into something we weren't ready for. "Then we'll practice your entrance."

The heels he'd chosen were designer, deadly, and tall enough to add three inches to my height. When I stood in them, I felt transformed—not just taller, but more commanding, more dangerous.

"Perfect," he said, his gaze sweeping over me with obvious approval. "Now walk."

I took a few steps, getting used to the height and the way the suit moved with my body.

"Again," he said. "But this time, walk like you're about to fire everyone in the room."

I tried again, adding more confidence to my stride.

"Better. But you're still thinking too much. Don't think—just own the space."

After twenty minutes of walking back and forth across our bedroom, Dominic finally nodded his approval.

"Now," he said, moving to sit in the chair across from me, "let's talk about how to destroy people with words."

For the next hour, he taught me the art of corporate warfare. How to use silence as a weapon. How to ask questions that forced people to reveal their weaknesses. How to make demands sound like favors and threats sound like friendly advice.

"The most important thing," he said, "is to never let them forget that you hold all the cards. They can posture and intimidate and try to make you feel small, but at the end of the day, you're the one with the money. And money is the only language these people really understand."

"What if they refuse to work with me?"

His smile was absolutely predatory. "Then you fire them and find people who will. That's the beauty of being in charge—you get to decide who deserves to be in the room."

As we prepared to leave for the meeting, Dominic caught my hand and pulled me against him one last time.

"You're going to be magnificent," he said, his voice low and intense. "And when it's over, when you've claimed what's rightfully yours, we're going to celebrate."

"How?"

His eyes darkened with promise. "However you want. But I have some suggestions."

The heat in his voice made my knees weak, but there was no time to explore what he meant. The car was waiting, the board was gathering, and I had an empire to claim.

As we walked out of the mansion together, I felt the weight of his teachings settling into my bones. Not just the tactics and strategies, but the confidence that came from knowing someone believed in me completely.

I was about to walk into the most important meeting of my life.

And I was ready to win.