Ross leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight.
His eyes roamed her figure without shame, every second feeling like a deliberate power play.
"I love dealing with smart women," he said, his voice smooth as silk yet heavy with arrogance.
"You're quick to understand the game. So how about it, Miss Johnson? Want to be my next wife?"
Lois's jaw tightened. The audacity in his tone made her skin prickle.
"Dream on." Her voice sharpened like a blade.
"I quit." She turned on her heel, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her face a second longer.
Her heels clicked against the polished floor, each step fueled by anger.
She reached for the door, her hand brushing the cold metal of the handle, when his voice followed—calm, unhurried, and far too certain.
"I guess I'll buy the rest of the news broadcast companies in the country, then," Ross said, as if talking about picking up groceries. "I'll see you soon, Miss Johnson."
