“She’ll fall into line.”
I know her.
She’s had a busy week clawing her way into power, baring her teeth in boardrooms, and unleashing a decade’s worth of feminine aggression on an industry that never made room for her.
Every power play she’s pulled in her interim role has been fueled by pride—wounded, starved, and finally off its leash. She thinks results buy her immunity. That as long as CrossPoint’s bottom line climbs, her ruthlessness is excused.
And when that serrated edge of hers is aimed elsewhere, I can oblige. Hell, I can even admire her new-found knack for wreaking havoc.
But if she dares set her sights on me and my family again?
I’ll have no choice but to take pleasure in bringing her to her knees.
The weekend is quiet.
I like it that way.
No calls I can’t ignore. No spot fires. A total lack of chaos.
Just order, early mornings in the gym, black coffee, clean reports, and long stretches of silence.
By the time I walk into my office on Monday it’s after eight and the city is in full swing. Horns. Crowds. The air thick with impatience.
I’ve already skimmed the international markets and mapped out my schedule before taking my seat behind the desk and opening my laptop to comb through the top-line data for Q2.
It almost feels like the start to a fucking solid week until my office door sweeps open, the glass shuddering as the handle thwacks into the wall.
“You said she was under control,” Miko barks.
I pause, two fingers resting on my trackpad, and raise my gaze from the screen. “Care to give some context to the theatrics?”
He paces, one hand clawed in his hair. “Check your fucking emails.”
I navigate to my inbox. To the outside world, Miko’s the composed, smooth-talking playboy. But behind closed doors, his temper doesn’t always wait for the full story.
I open the most recent email. From him. No subject. Just a YouTube link.
I click it.
My pulse kicks as Isla floods the screen.
She stands on the front steps of her office building—composed, radiant, lethal, and dressed for fucking war. A charcoal power suit hugs her figure, her white blouse unbuttoned just enough to show a glint of gold at her throat.
A cross pendant.
She’s not religious.
It’s a strategic show of morality. Not a good fucking sign.
I don’t need the sound to know what she’s up to. But I play it anyway.
“… After careful internal review, we’ve chosen to part ways with select partners due to a misalignment of ethics and direction. CrossPoint remains committed to integrity. To transparency. And accountability. We won’t apologize for demanding more from our clients. It’s one of the reasons we remain a market leader in investor confidence.”
I slam my fingers against the trackpad, pausing the clip. I’ve seen enough to make my hackles rise.
“Does she mention us by name?” I seethe.
“She doesn’t fucking need to,” Miko snaps. “There were already whispers at Philip’s party. Anyone who hasn’t figured it out yet is about to.”
