Chapter 11
Saif looked around, taking stock of the employees who stood frozen in place.He’d known they were watching—he always knew when eyes were on him—but even he hadn’t realized how large the crowd had grown.
Clearly, Mark Sinstack had been profoundly unpopular.
The energy in the room was thick with uncertainty.People shifted on their feet, glancing at one another, as if afraid to breathe too loudly.
“Back to your offices,” Saif said in a clipped voice.“An official statement about company leadership will be sent out shortly.”
Still, no one moved.
Then Jemma stepped forward.
She looked likeheragain.Not the exhausted version of herself he’d seen lately—shoulders bowed under too much weight—but the woman he remembered from a year ago.Head high.Voice steady.Eyes clear.
“Everyone,” she said gently, “I know this man.He’s fixed companies in far worse condition than Sinstack Designs.”She smiled—warm, confident.“Your jobs are safe now that Saif Al-Sintra is taking over.”
The collective sigh of relief was so unified it felt like the entire building exhaled.
A few tentative nods.
Then a slow shuffle of bodies retreating to cubicles, whispers and side-eyes following them.
When Jemma turned to face Saif again, she froze.
His eyes were locked on her.
And for the first time in a long time, she saw something there that made her chest tighten.
Admiration.
At that look… it soothed something buried deep inside her.A part of her that had been brittle with loneliness, cracked with fear, aching and starved of reassurance for too long.
“Let’s talk,” Saif said, his voice low and rough.
He turned and strode into Mark’s former office—only to stop cold after crossing the threshold.
“Mark wasn’t the most organized,” Jemma offered dryly.
Saif glanced around at the cluttered disaster.“No wonder he failed,” he muttered.Then, turning to make sure she followed, he waited until she stepped in before closing the door behind her.“So… what’s your plan?”
“Mywhat?”she asked, warily scanning the room.There was only one chair not buried under files, fabric swatches, and the distinct smell of stale bourbon: Mark’s oversized leather throne behind the desk.
“Your plan,” he repeated, moving some files and dropping into one of the guest chairs like he owned the entire building—which, she supposed, he did.“You’re in charge, Jemma.”
She blinked, staring at him for a long moment.“In charge ofwhat?”she finally blurted out.
“Sinstack Designs.”
He leaned back, crossing his arms over his impressively muscular chest.“This is how you’re going to repay me.I’ll dock a small portion of your paycheck each month to cover the costs of Jasper’s…,” he tilted his head slightly, thinking, then continued, “let’s call it creative vandalism.In return for not turning your brother over to the police, you’re going to turn this company around.Make it profitable again.”
“You can’t be serious,” she whispered, already shaking her head.“Saif, I’m not qualified to—”
“Of course you are,” he interrupted, like it wasn’t even up for debate.“I know your strengths and weaknesses.”He watched her carefully.“I’ll be here to guide you.And when I travel, you’ll come with me.”
That’s when the panic truly set in.
Jayla.
