Cayden’s POVBusiness is war. Not the kind fought with bullets, but with headlines, numbers, and whispers in boardrooms. And right now, I was losing ground.The launch of Posh Posh, my new lifestyle brand, was supposed to be flawless. Months of planning, weeks of teasing, a carefully orchestrated campaign. The first wave of products had barely hit the shelves when the blow came.Maison de Clairmont.Even the name was pretentious, French-leaning, dripping with borrowed prestige. Scarlett’s ex-husband’s company. He had bided his time like a snake in the grass, then struck the same week as my launch, flooding the market with a near-identical product line.When Harvey placed a sample box on my desk, I tore into it like it had personally insulted me.The packaging was sleek, but when I twisted open a serum, the liquid sloshed too thin, cheap fragrance flooding the air. “Garbage,” I muttered, smearing it across a glossy paper. The formula separated almost instantly, oil slicking over the
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