9. The First Encounter

Claire's POV

By noon, I had accomplished almost nothing. On paper, my morning had been productive. I had answered emails, approved schedules, finalized travel arrangements for three executives, and reorganized next week's board meeting agenda.

In reality, I couldn't have told anyone what half of those emails contained because my attention kept drifting. Unfortunately, I knew exactly where it was drifting.

Every time the elevator doors opened, my eyes lifted automatically and every time someone walked past my office, I looked up and every time I heard laughter from the executive corridor, I found myself wondering if Tiffany was the reason for it.

The realization irritated me because I had never been insecure before at least not professionally.

For years, Laurent Group had been my territory. I knew every department, every executive, every client, and every crisis before it became a crisis.

I belonged here, yet somehow Tiffany had managed to make me feel like a guest in my own world before lunchtime. The worst part was that she hadn't actually done anything not really.

She hadn't flirted with Damien, she hadn't behaved inappropriately and she hadn't even been rude she had simply arrived and somehow that had been enough.

I pushed the thought aside and returned my attention to the financial reports spread across my desk. The quarterly projections were due before the end of the week, and Damien would want the finalized figures before tomorrow's meeting.

Normally I enjoyed this kind of work. Numbers made sense and people rarely did.

A soft knock interrupted my concentration. "Come in."

Emma stepped inside carrying a folder she took one look at my face and sighed dramatically. "Oh no."

I narrowed my eyes. "What now?"

"You have that look."

"What look?"

"The one that says you're pretending everything is fine while secretly imagining how difficult prison would be."

I couldn't help laughing. "That's oddly specific."

"I know you."

Emma dropped the folder onto my desk before lowering herself into the chair opposite me and for a moment, she studied me carefully and the humor faded from her expression. "You okay?"

The question was simple but the answer wasn't. "I don't know." It felt strange admitting that out loud.

Emma leaned forward. "You know none of this is normal, right?"

I laughed softly. "That statement covers a concerning amount of ground."

"I'm serious, Claire."

"So am I."

Emma shook her head. "The woman leaves him at the altar, disappears for four years and suddenly comes back, gets hired by the company, and somehow ends up with an office on the executive floor within twenty-four hours."

When she put it like that, it sounded even worse. "You're not helping."

"I'm not trying to help."

"Clearly."

"I'm trying to make sure you're not gaslighting yourself."

That earned another reluctant smile but before I could reply, my phone buzzed.

A meeting reminder.

I looked at the screen.

Conference Room Seven. Five minutes.

Wonderful, exactly what I needed more work.

Emma stood. "I should get back."

I nodded and paused. "Emma?"

She turned. "Yeah?"

"If I commit murder, you'll help me hide the body?"

She considered it. "For you? Probably."

"That's friendship."

"It's either friendship or poor judgment. Honestly, the line gets blurry."

I laughed as she left and for the first time all morning, my shoulders felt slightly lighter but unfortunately, the feeling didn't last.

Conference Room Seven was empty when I arrived.

A floor-to-ceiling wall of glass overlooked the Manhattan skyline, flooding the room with afternoon sunlight. The long conference table gleamed beneath recessed lighting, and a stack of presentation folders waited near the projector.

I moved toward the table and began organizing the materials. The meeting wouldn't begin for another fifteen minutes. There is still plenty of time or so I thought.

The door opened behind me and without looking up, I assumed it was one of the executives arriving early.

"You're ahead of schedule for once."

The silence that followed immediately told me I'd made a mistake. I looked up. Tiffany stood in the doorway and for a second, neither of us spoke but then she smiled and the expression was warm enough to appear genuine.

"I hope I'm not interrupting."

The strange thing was that she sounded sincere not fake and not forced but sincere and that somehow made her more unsettling.

"No," I said. "Not at all."

She stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind her and for reasons I couldn't explain, that small action made me instantly aware that we were alone. Truly alone with no witnesses just the two of us.

"I've been hoping we'd have a chance to talk properly," Tiffany said.

I set down the folder in my hands. "We already met this morning."

Her smile widened slightly. "That wasn't really a conversation."

I couldn't argue with that. The encounter in the executive corridor had lasted less than two minutes but this felt different, intentional.

Tiffany approached the table slowly. "I know this situation must be strange for you."

There was something about the statement that immediately put me on edge not because it was rude but because it was accurate.

"I imagine it's strange for everyone."

"Maybe."

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the city outside the windows. "When I left New York, I never expected to come back."

The comment caught me off guard not because of what she said but because of how she said it. There was sadness there or at least the appearance of sadness.

For a moment, I found myself wondering how much of Tiffany Morgan was real and how much was performance.

"I heard you've been living overseas."

"I have."

"That's a long time."

"It felt longer."

A brief silence settled between us and oddly enough, it wasn't uncomfortable and that should have worried me but instead, I found myself studying her trying to understand why Damien had once loved her and trying to understand why her return had shaken him so deeply.

Tiffany laughed softly. "What?"

I realized I'd been staring.

"Nothing."

"That wasn't nothing."

I sighed. "You really want an honest answer?"

"I prefer them."

The statement nearly made me smile. "You're not what I expected."

For a second, Tiffany looked genuinely surprised. "Is that good or bad?"

"I'm still deciding."

She laughed the sound was light and effortless the kind of laugh people immediately liked.

Dangerous.

Everything about her was dangerous not because she was openly hostile because she wasn't and because she knew exactly how to make people comfortable.

"I should probably confess something," Tiffany said.

"What?"

"I was curious about you."

The admission caught me off guard. "Me?"

"Of course you." Her tone suggested the answer should have been obvious. "When someone disappears for four years and comes back to find her former fiancé married, curiosity is inevitable."

The word former should have reassured me but it didn't instead, I found myself asking a question I probably shouldn't have. "Then what did you expect?"

Tiffany considered that carefully. "I don't know." For the first time, her smile softened. "I suppose I expected someone very different."

My stomach tightened. "Different how?"

She studied me for several seconds long enough to make me uncomfortable and then she smiled again. "I expected someone less impressive."

I blinked because that wasn't the answer I anticipated. "Thank you."

"It's a compliment."

"I noticed."

"I wasn't sure."

Despite myself, I laughed and immediately regretted it because for one dangerous second, I understood why people liked Tiffany. She made things easy, comfortable and effortless but then she tilted her head slightly.

The movement was subtle almost thoughtful and suddenly something changed not the smile and not her tone but something beneath it something colder. "I've heard so much about you." The words sounded innocent enough, yet every instinct I possessed immediately went on alert.

"Really?"

"Oh yes." She folded her arms loosely the smile never left her face. "I've heard so much about the woman who replaced me."

The room seemed to go completely still and for the first time since Tiffany Morgan had returned to New York, the war truly began.