“Excellent?” he scoffed. “She didn’t get a single demand. We have oversight of Elion, access to their full data after the merger, and an accelerated timeline.”
Yes.
Everything she wanted.
Wrapped in everything he thought was his win.
“We have oversight for thirty days,” I corrected. “Not forever.”
He waved a lazy hand. “Thirty days, forever—who’s counting? Falkirk has the power. We can adjust anything once Elion’s under our banner.”
“That’s not how contracts work,” I bit out.
“She doesn’t know that,” he shrugged. “She said it herself—she’s in over her head.”
My vision narrowed. “She isn’t in over her head,” I said softly. “She played you like a damn fiddle.”
He blinked once, then smiled—deliberate and obscene. “Fiddle?” he echoed. “I don’t think she played me, Holt. But I am interested in finding out which strings make that little one sing.”
A sound tore from my chest—more growl than breath.
Fury surged, hot and unrestrained.
“Fuck you,” I snapped, the words sharp as I drove my pen into the table, carving a deep gouge across the wood.
Nathan’s expression stretched wider. “Fuck me?” he repeated. “I doubt she’d go that far. Not at first.” He tapped his mouth, thoughtful. “Maybe some head. But getting into her pants? That’ll take work.”
My hands shook.
“Although…” he continued, “I do have thirty days to instruct her. Might be just enough.”
Before I could think, I hurled my pen at his head.
It clipped past by inches, cracking against the glass wall with a sharp ring.
He flinched, barely, before that lazy serpentine smile returned. “Oh, Damien,” hetsked. “I’ll have to report that to HR.”
“You’re lucky it wasn’t the table.” The words burned. Heat scraped my throat raw.
A thin tether—a single, fraying strand of discipline my mother had spent a lifetime stitching into me—was all that kept me in my chair.
“So aggressive,” he murmured, writing theatrically on his notepad. “I’ll count that as another threat.”
My pulse thundered. Rage crawled beneath my skin.
If I stay, I’ll put him through the glass.
I shoved back from the table, chair screeching across the floor.
The door slammed behind me—violent, final.
His laugh followed.
Down the hall.
Into my office.
Under my skin.
