10. The First Attack

Claire's POV

The problem with Tiffany Morgan was that she never did anything obvious because if she had openly flirted with Damien, I could have been angry if she had insulted me in front of other people, I could have defended myself and if she had behaved like the villain I wanted her to be, at least I would have known where I stood.

Instead, she smiled, she complimented people, she remembered names and she thanked assistants and held doors open and laughed at exactly the right moments.

By the end of her second day at Laurent Group, half the executive floor seemed to adore her and I was beginning to understand just how dangerous she really was.

The morning started with a strategy meeting in one of the larger conference rooms overlooking Midtown.

I arrived twenty minutes early, as I always did.

Years of working beside Damien had taught me that preparation solved most problems before they had the opportunity to become problems.

The presentation was already loaded onto the screen. The financial packets had been distributed. Coffee had been arranged. Every executive attending the meeting had received updated briefing documents before arriving.

In other words, everything was under control or at least it had been.

I was reviewing the final agenda when the conference room door opened.

Tiffany walked in carrying a tablet. "Good morning." Her smile was effortless.

I returned the greeting politely. "Morning."

She looked around the room. "You're always this early?"

The question sounded harmless and it probably was, yet after yesterday's conversation, I found myself examining every word she spoke. "Usually."

She laughed softly. "Damien always hated being late."

The statement settled between us it was a casual observation, a memory and a reminder but I wasn't sure which.

Before I could respond, more executives began arriving. The room gradually filled with conversation and ten minutes later Damien entered.

Immediately, the atmosphere shifted it always did. People straightened, conversations paused and attention focused. Damien acknowledged everyone with a brief nod before taking his usual seat at the head of the table.

For a moment, his eyes found mine but the look lasted less than a second, yet something about it made my pulse stumble but then the moment disappeared.

The meeting began.

For the first half hour, everything proceeded normally. Reports were presented, questions were asked and decisions were made exactly the kind of meeting I could practically run in my sleep then Damien requested the updated projections for an upcoming acquisition.

I immediately reached for the correct file and before I could speak, Tiffany spoke first. "The revised projections are on page twenty-three."

The room turned toward her and my hand froze halfway to the folder.

Tiffany smiled. "I reviewed them this morning."

No one thought anything of it. Why would they? She was helping, being useful and being involved.

The meeting continued and ten minutes later another executive asked about a client presentation scheduled for the following week and again, before I could answer, Tiffany spoke.

"The presentation was moved to Thursday because the client requested additional time."

The executive nodded. "Thank you."

My jaw tightened not because the information was wrong because it wasn't but because those were details I normally handled and details Damien normally relied on me to provide.

The distinction was small enough that nobody else seemed to notice, but unfortunately, I did and so did Tiffany.

Every time she answered one of those questions, her smile grew just a little brighter as though she knew exactly what she was doing.

By the end of the meeting, I felt strangely displaced not replaced atleast not yet only displaced like someone slowly rearranging furniture in a room I'd spent years building.

The feeling followed me back to my office I was halfway through answering emails when Emma appeared.

She dropped into the chair opposite my desk and immediately frowned. "You look like you're plotting a murder."

"Again?"

"It's becoming a pattern."

I sighed and leaned back in my chair.

Emma studied me carefully. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"That was unconvincing."

I rubbed my forehead. "Tiffany happened."

Emma groaned. "That's even worse."

For several seconds I debated whether I was imagining things and maybe I was or aybe I was letting yesterday's conversation affect me or maybe I was seeing threats where none existed.

The possibility should have comforted me but instead, it made me feel ridiculous.

"I think she's doing it on purpose."

Emma immediately sat forward. "Doing what?"

"Everything."

Her expression remained blank.

I laughed humorlessly. "Exactly."

"Claire, you're going to have to help me out here."

I looked toward the glass wall overlooking the executive corridor.

"Tiffany keeps stepping into situations that don't involve her."

Emma frowned. "Maybe she's just trying to learn."

"Maybe."

"You don't believe that."

"No."

"Why?"

The answer came immediately because yesterday she told me I replaced her and because every smile feels calculated because every conversation feels rehearsed and because she walked back into Damien's world like she never left.

None of those explanations sounded particularly rational so I kept them to myself and instead, I said, "I have a feeling."

Emma stared at me. "That's all?"

"That's all."

She leaned back. "Well, that's deeply unhelpful."

I laughed despite myself. "Thank you for your support."

"Anytime."

After she left, I tried focusing on work again.

For nearly an hour, I succeeded but then another problem appeared and this one was harder to ignore.

Tiffany.

I was reviewing next month's travel schedule when I noticed several changes where flights had been altered, meetings had been adjusted, and a client dinner had been moved at first I assumed Damien had approved the modifications but then I noticed the authorization.

Tiffany Morgan.

My stomach tightened and without thinking, I stood.

A few minutes later I found Tiffany standing outside Damien's office speaking with one of the executive assistants.

She looked up as I approached. "Claire."

The smile appeared instantly of course it did.

I held up the revised schedule. "Did you make these changes?"

Tiffany looked at the pages. "Oh. Yes."

Just yes as though there was nothing unusual about it. "Why?"

She blinked. "Because the changes made sense."

The assistant standing nearby looked between us nervously and I forced myself to remain calm. "Tiffany, those schedules affect six different departments."

Her smile softened almost sympathetically which somehow irritated me more. "I know."

"Then why didn't you discuss it with me first?"

The assistant quietly disappeared.

Smart woman.

Tiffany folded her arms. "I didn't realize I needed permission."

There it was not rude and not openly confrontational just enough just enough to make me sound unreasonable if I pushed further.

Before I could respond, Damien's office door opened and both of us turned. Damien stepped into the corridor his eyes moved from Tiffany to me and then to the paperwork in my hand.

"What happened?"

The question sounded neutral and professional and I immediately wished we were having this conversation somewhere private. "Tiffany adjusted next month's executive schedule."

Damien looked at Tiffany but she remained perfectly calm. "I was trying to help."

Of course she was always helping, always smiling and always innocent.

Damien looked back at me and for a moment, I thought he understood but then he spoke. "Claire, I asked Tiffany to assist with scheduling."

The words hit harder than they should have not because he was angry because he wasn't and not because he was taking sides or at least not intentionally.

The problem was that he sounded completely reasonable as though the issue existed entirely in my imagination and as though Tiffany really was just helping and suddenly I understood something terrifying.

Tiffany didn't need Damien to choose her not yet. She only needed him to trust her because every time he defended her, she gained ground and every time he defended her, I felt a little more alone.