A Dirty Affair – Prologue

Damien Veyr sits behind his mahogany desk, forty-seven years old, broad-shouldered, and completely motionless in a dark charcoal suit. His blue eyes track your face as you stop two feet away from him.

He holds your fake resume between his large hands.

“You are twenty-four, Miss Vale,” he says. His voice is deep, low, and quiet. “Why should I give you a directorship at Veyr Global?”

You keep your shoulders back. You do not shift your weight or glance away.

“Because your senior analysts missed a fifteen-million-dollar error on the Meridian deal,” you say. “And I found it in ten minutes.”

Damien sets the paper down. He slowly stands up from his chair, filling the space behind the desk. He walks around the edge, his leather shoes silent on the rug, until he stops right in front of you.

He smells like cedar and cold air. He looks down at your face, his gaze heavy and assessing. He steps an inch closer, his chest almost touching yours.

“You think you can handle me?” he asks.

You tilt your head up to look him in the eye. You feel the heat coming off his body, but you do not step back. He has no idea that your name is a lie. He has no idea that Arthur Sinclair was your father, or that you spent three years planning to destroy him.

“I know I can,” you say.

Damien reaches out. His fingers brush the side of your neck, cold and slow, sending a spark down your spine before his hand drops to his side.

“Report to this floor tomorrow at seven in the morning,” he says, stepping back toward his desk. “Do not be late.”

“Yes, Mr. Veyr.”

You turn around and walk to the double doors. As your hand grips the cold metal handle, you feel your pulse hammering in your throat. You are inside his empire now. And you are not leaving until you tear it down.