Alexander shifted his gaze from his system back to the members of the board.
"Where is the quarterly report I requested yesterday?"
His voice was calm. Measured.
Deadly.
The boardroom went unnaturally still.
Twenty executives sat around the long glass table, the city skyline looming behind them like an audience to their distress. Laptops were open. Tablets gleamed. Pens froze mid-note. No one dared to speak.
Alexander's gaze swept the room slowly, deliberately. He didn't rush silence. Silence worked for him.
"Well?" he pressed.
At the far end of the table, a man in a tailored navy suit shifted in his chair. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he cleared his throat.
"S–Sir, finance is still reviewing the final projections," he stuttered.
Alexander leaned back slowly, clasping his hands together, elbows resting on the chair's armrests.
His expression didn't change. That was what made it worse. He stared at everyone like he was going to devour them soon.
"Reviewing," he repeated gently.
The word hung in the air like a hazard.
Everyone in the room knew that tone.
Calm was never a good sign.
"I don't pay people to review," Alexander said evenly. "I pay them to deliver.
On time. Ideally, before I ask."
The man swallowed hard. "It will be ready by noon."
Alexander tilted his head slightly. "It was due at eight."
Silence.
No excuses followed. None dared.
"You see," Alexander continued, rising from his chair, "delays cost money. They cost confidence. They cost reputation."
He straightened his suit jacket, movements precise, every gesture controlled. He didn't raise his voice. He never had to.
"If any of you cannot keep pace with this company," he said coolly, "then Reid Holdings is not the place for you."
A collective inhale rippled through the room.
"Yes, sir," the man muttered.
Alexander nodded once. "Meeting adjourned."
The scrape of chairs echoed sharply as people rose, gathering their things with hurried efficiency. Discussions were hushed. Eyes stayed down. No one lingered.
Fear followed Alexander as he strode toward the exit, an invisible force tightening spines and quickening steps.
Outside the boardroom, his assistant Clara fell into step beside him, tablet clasped to her chest.
"Mr. Reid, your ten o'clock meeting with the investors has been moved forward," she said briskly as she struggled to keep up with his pace.
"Of course it has," he muttered.
She hesitated, then added, "Your father also called."
Alexander stopped abruptly.
Clara nearly collided with him.
"No."
"He said it's urgent."
"It's always urgent," Alexander replied coldly. "Ignore it."
He resumed walking, irritation steaming beneath his composed surface.
The elevator doors slid shut, sealing him inside a box of mirrors.
His reflection stared back at him, perfectly groomed, impeccably dressed, untouchable. Not a hair out of place. Not a crack in the armor.
Alexander exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand over his jaw.
And then, uninvited, unwelcome
Her face twinkled through his mind.
Flushed cheeks. Messy hair. Eyes too honest for someone drowning in liquor.
That reckless laugh, sharp, raw, and unguarded.
His jaw tightened.
"Enough," he muttered to the empty elevator.
He hadn't thought of her since yesterday morning.
Except he had.
More than twice.
The way she'd frozen when he tossed the money onto the bed. The way her chin had lifted, pride blazing through humiliation.
She hadn't taken it.
No one ever refused his money.
The elevator chimed.
Alexander stepped out, posture straightening instantly as the familiar mask slid back into place. Power. Authority. Control.
His office occupied the entire top floor, glass walls framing Manhattan as it belonged to him. Sunlight reflected off steel and glass, the city alive beneath his feet.
He dropped into his chair, opened his laptop, and began scanning reports.
Numbers blurred together.
Focus.
Clara's voice filled the room as she outlined his schedule, but her words faded into static.
Instead, another voice surfaced.
"You're quiet," she had slurred, eyes glinting with challenge. "That makes you dangerous."
Alexander snapped his laptop shut.
Clara jumped. "Sir?"
"Coffee," he said sharply. "Now."
She hurried out.
Alexander leaned back, gazing at the ceiling.
He had slept with countless women.
Models who posed and preened. Escorts who understood the rules. Socialites who estimated the worth of a night before dawn ever broke.
None of them stayed in his thoughts.
None of them counted.
So why—
He stood suddenly and walked to the window, bracing his hands against the glass.
Why had that night felt different?
It had been messy. Unplanned. No expectations. No negotiations.
She hadn't tried to impress him and hadn't judged him and hadn't clung to him like opportunity wrapped in perfume.
She had challenged him.
"You were drunk," he told his reflection.
So was he.
And yet his body recalled her too clearly, the way she reacted to him, the way she suit against him as if she belonged there. Like she hadn't been pretending. Like she hadn't been performing.
His phone whizzed on the desk.
He ignored it.
Clara returned with the coffee, setting it carefully beside him.
"The investors are waiting, Sir."
He nodded, lifting the cup.
The call was ruthless.
By the time the call ended, the contract was sealed.
"Well done, Mr. Reid," the other person on the other end of the call said.
Alexander ended the call without responding.
Praise meant nothing.
The silence returned.
And with it, her.
The way she'd wandered his apartment that morning, baffled and weak. Nude. Real.
He took a sharp sip of coffee, scalding his tongue.
"You don't care," he told himself.
He didn't even know her name.
Didn't want to.
And yet, the memory of her walking out, rejecting his money, refusing him
It chomped at him.
He pressed his fingers to his temple.
The thought surfaced, and stayed.
It unsettled him.
He had never thought that about anyone. Never allowed himself to.
And yet, one nameless woman had slipped through his fingers and lodged herself beneath his skin.
His phone buzzed again.
His father's name appeared on the screen.
He stared at it, irritation flickering.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he set the phone down slowly, decisively.