Chapter 1 Queen of the Boardroom

The boardroom of Prescott Global smelled of polished mahogany and anxiety. The air was cold. Up here, her desire was the only one that mattered. Thirty stories below, Dallas was covered in a brilliant tapestry of ambition.

Sloane Prescott Elizabeth didn't flinch. Wearing a fitted ivory jacket, she was a picture of poised elegance, standing at the head of the twenty-foot glass table. Her quiet was more menacing than any scream, and her posture was a sword. Her executive team's faces were washed-out, pale canvases before her.

She said, "The numbers are soft," her voice a clear, low instrument that didn't require amplification. It cut across the space. "The forecasts are hesitant. This isn't a plan. It's a surrender.

Sloane tapped her well-groomed finger on the computer screen built into the table. With a flick, she made the intricate merger flowchart disappear, replacing it with a harsh red graphic depicting projected losses.

She looked at the CFO and said, "Jeremy." He winced as though he had been hit. Please explain how "long-term growth" is equivalent to a 15% dilution of our key assets. Use of a few words. My tolerance for business lingo is very low this morning.

A man who had survived three business takeovers, Jeremy Fowler, stumbled. "Sloane, the market share... the potential for synergy..."

"Synergy," she murmured, allowing the word to linger, both sweet and toxic. It's a rather wasteful way of burning our money and hoping the competition takes notice. We suggest providing the matches to Apex. Her dark hair was like a smooth veil as she slowly and deliberately turned her head. "Marketing." Your evaluation of the shift in consumer behavior

With her notes shaking in her hands, a young woman called Lara cleared her throat. "Ms. Prescott, our data points to a shift toward experiential luxury. A phased campaign that emphasizes brand legacy and...

In a tone that was neither harsh nor cruel, Sloane interrupted. "Heritage is for museums and ghosts." "Neither of us is. The present is who we are. The future is us. Instead of a eulogy for a business model that died five years ago, I requested an analysis." Her palms were flat on the cool glass as she leaned forward. There was a void of complete silence. "I didn't use timidity to start this business from the ashes of my father's legacy. I didn't use 'phased campaigns' to stave off vultures for ten years. Prescott Global is who we are. Trends are not something we follow. We wipe them out."

Her eyes surveyed the room, a striking sapphire that might freeze to glacial ice or warm to a summer sky. "The Apex agreement has ended. Set the files on fire. By 8 a.m. tomorrow, I would like a fresh proposal on my desk. One in which, rather than holding Apex's hand, we eat it for breakfast. Does that make sense?

Around the table, there was a chorus of subdued "Yes, Ms. Prescott."

Cassidy Vale, Sloane's executive assistant, entered quietly as the heavy doors opened. Her emerald eyes flashed with urgency, a break in her usual composure. As the reprimanded executives gathered their things and hurried out, Cassidy moved close to Sloane with smooth, almost unnoticed precision.

Cassidy spoke in a low, personal whisper that was only intended for Sloane to hear as she leaned closer. Her jasmine perfume smelled familiar and comforting.

"He is present," Cassidy exhaled.

Sloane did not move. Her face remained an expressionless, sculpted alabaster mask. Deep inside, she felt a chill tighten, but she let no one see her reaction.

"Who?" Even though Sloane already knew, she inquired. The air itself was different.

Cassidy was almost kissing her ear. Kingman, Rhett. He is within the structure.

Prescott Global's foyer, with its lofty ceilings, minimalist artwork, and the quiet respect of those who understood power, was a shrine of commerce. Rhett Kingman was in the middle of it, ruling as though he owned the marble that was underfoot.

He was a manifestation of disturbance. He exuded a warm, wild vitality that contrasted with the calm, controlled surroundings of Prescott. As he captivated a group of young analysts who ought to have been at their desks, his open collar, his confident, even lazy sprawl, and his immaculately cut suit couldn't quite control the cowboy feel he'd been brought up to be.

"So you see," he said, his voice a deep baritone from Texas that reverberated throughout the large room, "disruption isn't about a bigger hammer." Finding the fault line that everyone else is ignoring and tapping into it is the goal. A cute, self-deprecating smile played on his lips as he showed with a flick of his wrist. "The entire wall just falls down sometimes."

There was something all too visceral about his handsomeness. A jawline that seemed capable of breaking glass, eyes the color of aged whiskey that seemed to see everything, and brown hair streaked with sunlight. He had a relaxed, personable confidence that contrasted sharply with Sloane's cold authority. He was the type of man whom others aspired to emulate and who was pleasing to others. sort of man who, with a handshake and a smile, could ignite a revolution.

Sloane watched him from the elevator bank, having taken the elevator down to assess the threat. As she walked closer, her heels clicked a purposeful rhythm across the floor. The crowd around Rhett parted quickly as she approached.

She threw a single word between them like a gauntlet. "Kingman. This is unexpected. Your appointment request must have been misplaced by my secretary."His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he turned that heartbreaking smile on her. It didn't quite reach them. "Sloane. You continue to be a vision. I was in the local area. The crown jewels were something I wanted to see for myself." He looked her over with keen, critical admiration, more intrusive than lechery. "Your fingerprints are all over the place. Chilly. Flawless and impenetrable."

"We appreciate accuracy," she said in a level tone. "An idea that your venture capital circus finds charming, I'm sure."

His laugh was warm and low. "Awful. Darling, you always knew how to throw a punch." As a matter of policy, she kept a substantial amount of personal space. He stepped into it. He had the distinct, vehemently masculine scent of clean air and pricey whiskey. "For watchmakers, precision is essential. I work in the earthquake industry."

"Then I advise you to move your seismic operations to another location. Here, the foundations are really strong.

He lowered his voice and became conspiratorial as he said, "Are they?" "Sloane, I have been examining your numbers. Not the ones you display on the board. the actual ones. Wasn't that Apex deal a Hail Mary , a last-ditch effort to stop a leak before someone notices you're absorbing water?

She felt a slight, quite undetectable tremor. How was he aware of that? The Apex talks were as tightly sealed as a coffin.

With her disguise perfect, she countered, "You're speculating. You're also squandering my time."his eyes met hers, and he said, "Time is the one thing you might be running short on." The lobby and the staring staff vanished for a stunning moment. They were alone, seven years of history and animosity smoldering between them. She saw the kid she had left behind, and he saw the girl she had been. In the air hung the ghost of another life.

His breath moved the hair at her temple as he leaned in so close. "Don't you think the crown is heavy, Amina?" he whispered. His name was said so quietly and personally that it was hardly audible. She had buried that name deep and dark. It was a deceased girl's name.

Sloane's blood ran cold. Her carefully maintained poise wavered for a moment as she sharply stepped back, unable to control the instinctive reaction to his words.

Rhett only grinned, like a predator who sees his victim wince. He saluted the astonished onlookers casually and with two fingers.

Gentlemen, ladies. A joy. With a long, smooth stride, he turned and started to leave. He stopped at the enormous glass doors and looked back over his shoulder at her, his face unreadable.

Then he was gone, leaving behind a surprised and hushed lobby.

The sound of that forgotten name echoed in Sloane's ears as she stood motionless. Her flawless universe had not simply had its foundation tapped. He had rammed a wrecking ball through it.