Lester Sinclair Novels & Stories

He understood, and he pitied her for feeling anything towards their boss. Sinclair Godfrey was no grand prize that Liezel had won. He may be able to give her things, but he will never give himself to her. Will was sure of that because he knew Sinclair wasn’t that kind of man. He knew that as soon as rumors about their CEO and his controversial past reached everyone in the company when he took over the CEO role. He had heard about how Sinclair was good at mixing business with pleasure. He had also heard about the college scandal that nearly ruined Belinda Sinclair’s marriage to another wealthy man, Gerard Maxwell.

“It’s life, I guess. Take care, Mr. Lethon. And don’t think too much about this.” It was an unnecessary suggestion, because I knew he’d think about it—for the rest of the day, perhaps the week. Outside, the cool air of the corridor hit me. As I made my way back toward class, I spotted Sinclair strolling down the hall in the company of two girls, his easy smile in place, his hands shoved casually into his pockets. The girls were laughing, one of them tapping his arm with obvious fondness. Oh, Levina would hate this. I slowed my steps just enough to watch them, the corner of my mouth curling in amusement. Sinclair was using his charm and popularity strategically; it was written all over him. A

His smile returned in full force as he settled down on it and motioned for me to do the same. “Please, Ms. Fairchild," he purred, "take a seat. Let's get down to business." As I settled into the chair, Mr. Sinclair leaned forward, a diamond ring flashing on his finger. “Ms. Fairchild,” He began as his voice dropped to a confidential whisper. “Allow me to introduce myself properly. Elijah Sinclair, COO of Gadget Inc., and, as of yesterday, a most fascinated admirer of your architectural prowess." He sure did know how to play the games. It was psychology to earn yourself in someone’s best book by making a nice statement about things they cherished the most.

“He’s thirty-eight, Isla.” “That didn’t answer the question,” I muttered under my breath, turning toward the sink to hide my smile. He sighed. “He’s powerful. Focus on your schoolwork, not grown men.” Too late, I thought. That night, I Googled him. Liam Sinclair. Billionaire. CEO of Sinclair International. My fingers trembled as I clicked through photo after photo. A commanding figure in sharp suits, steel-gray eyes that looked like they’d seen a hundred wars, and a jawline cut from marble. He had the kind of presence that made silence feel loud.

“Next time, try keeping your secrets in a better hiding place.” Adrian’s gaze flicked to the laptop on his desk, then back to her. His jaw tensed, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he knelt beside the intruder, yanking off the mask. The man was unfamiliar to Juniper, but Adrian’s expression darkened. “Damon Sinclair,” he muttered. Juniper crossed her arms. “Should I know that name?” Adrian let out a humorless laugh. “CEO of Sinclair Tech. And a royal pain in my ass.”

He released a heavy breath, his expression turning utterly serious. "You know my name. Liam Sinclair. It's not just a coincidence, someone sharing the same name." "I am that Liam Sinclair. The third son of General Ferdinand Sinclair and Her Royal Highness, Princess Grace. And just this morning, I officially assumed the position of CEO for SCA Group's New York branch. This is the real me, Cecilia." The air seemed to solidify around them. Cecilia felt the ground give way beneath her. She staggered, her slender heels unable to steady her against the shock. Her body swayed.

A flicker of surprise flashed in his eyes. It was him—the man who often appeared on the financial news channels. Gregory Sinclair, CEO of Sinclair Group. He was just standing there without saying a word, but his sheer presence was enough to make the air feel thicker. His cold gaze was on Anathea's hand, which was still holding the Carl's.

he said. “I do.” “No,” he corrected quietly. “You don’t.” Lydia’s expression didn’t change. “Then explain it to me.” Adrian stood up slowly. He wasn't being aggressive, but deliberate. He moved around the desk, stopping just a few feet from her—close enough to feel familiar, but far enough to stay controlled. “Sinclair isn’t just reacting,” he said. “He’s positioning.” Lydia nodded slightly. “I know.” “He’s using media.”

The room erupted into applause again, polite applause, and I also clapped along, although my mind was still focused on one thing, where is Xavier? The master of ceremonies raised his hand somewhat, a grin spreading across his face. "And now, it is my very great pleasure to present the man whose vision, genius, and unwavering commitment have shaped the Sinclair Project. The chief patron of this extraordinary project, Mr. Xavier Lorette! The room broke out into applause, the sort that rolled in waves through the room. People stood and turned, clapping louder, whistles cutting into the rear of the room. And then I saw him.

“Yes, I mean Roman Sinclair Sr. You killed him and his two sons seven years ago during a turf war. Remember we never found the last son because he was aboard and then he went off grid after that.” That fucking bastard. Now, he's back as Mark Luxembourg. And I'm very sure he didn't come back to America because he missed McDonald's.