The boardroom was a wall of glass and judgment.
At exactly 8:59 AM, Arielle pushed through the doors in a sharp navy dress that clung to her like confidence had been stitched into every seam. Her heels echoed across the floor as she approached the long, polished table where half a dozen stone-faced executives sat, murmuring over papers and steaming coffee.
Dominic was already seated at the head of the table.
He didn't look at her. Not at first.
But he felt her enter. Just like gravity feels the moon.
She took her spot near the screen, placed the tablet in front of her, and exhaled slowly.
"You ready?" Dominic asked quietly, his voice low, unreadable.
She turned to him with a sharp smile. "Born ready."
He finally met her gaze—and for a second, something flickered behind his eyes. Not approval. Not yet. But something… closer than before.
"Gentlemen," Dominic said to the table. "This is Arielle Sinclair. She'll be walking you through the market projections and proposed strategy updates for Q3."
One of the older men raised a brow. "Her?"
Arielle didn't flinch.
"Yes. Me," she said, smiling sweetly. "Try to keep up."
There was a pause—half stunned, half amused—and then, silence
She launched into her presentation.
And she nailed it.
Clear. Sharp. Confident. She wasn't just parroting facts; she owned the numbers. Her explanations were quick, her slides precise, and her delivery unapologetically fierce.
For the first time, they weren't looking at her legs or her lipstick.
They were looking at her mind.
And Dominic?
He watched every second like a man watching a match ignite in a room full of gas.
At one point, their eyes locked—and she saw it.
A crack in his armor.
Not desire.
Not annoyance.
But something like… respect.
And it made her stomach flip in a way no designer bag ever had.
When she concluded with a succinct, "Any questions?" the room was quiet. Then, one of the board members nodded.
"Well done, Miss Sinclair. Concise and well-structured."
Dominic didn't say a word. But his fingers drummed once against the table. A silent approval.
The meeting ended.
As the board members filed out, Dominic remained seated, watching her.
She turned to him slowly.
"Well?" she asked.
He stood, approached, and said nothing until he was directly in front of her.
"You surprised them."
"And you?"
His gaze dropped to her lips for a split second before meeting her eyes again. "I don't surprise easily."
She stepped closer. "You didn't think I could do it."
"I knew you could," he said, voice dark and steady. "I just didn't know if you would."
She tilted her head. "So what now?"
His eyes raked over her—not with lust, but with something more dangerous. Calculating. Hungry.
"Now," he said slowly, "I stop holding back."
She inhaled sharply. "What does that mean?"
"It means if you're staying in this game, you better be ready to lose sometimes."
She licked her lips. "I never lose."
He smirked—slow, wolfish. "We'll see."
And he walked out first.
But this time?
She followed with her chin high, her stride proud, and fire crackling in her chest.
She hadn't just passed the test.
She'd lit the room on fire.
The hallway was quiet after the boardroom storm, but Arielle's heels still echoed like a victory march.
She was glowing. Not just from the adrenaline of her flawless presentation, but from something else—something hotter, deeper. The way Dominic had looked at her afterward wasn't just professional respect.
It was a crack in his walls. And she intended to widen it.
She pressed the button for the elevator, and just as the doors slid open, a shadow fell over her shoulder.
Dominic.
Of course.
He stepped in beside her without a word, towering, silent, composed.
The doors closed.
Silence.
Tension.
Air that thickened with each passing floor.
She stood beside him, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat rolling off his body. Close enough to catch a whiff of his cologne—clean, dark, devastating.
"So…" she drawled, casually tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "are all your employees terrified of you, or just the pretty ones?"
He didn't look at her. "I don't play favorites."
"Could've fooled me." She turned slightly, facing him, eyes dancing. "You've been awfully… attentive lately."
"I don't tolerate mediocrity," he said evenly. "You proved you weren't mediocre. That's all."
"That's not all." She leaned closer, her voice a purr. "You look at me like I'm a risk you want to take."
His jaw tightened. Still, he didn't look at her.
She smirked. "Scared of being tempted?"
"Temptation is only a problem if I act on it."
"Oh?" She inched even closer. "And what happens when you do?"
His eyes snapped to hers. The elevator stopped at the 24th floor—but no one entered. The doors closed again.
Then something shifted.
He backed her into the wall with one smooth step. His hands never touched her—but his presence caged her in completely.
"You think you're clever," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, his face just inches from hers. "But you don't know what you're playing with."
"Try me," she whispered, not backing down.
He leaned in, so close their lips nearly brushed. Her breath hitched.
Then he spoke.
"You want me to crack. You want me to lose control." His breath was hot against her skin. "But trust me, Arielle… you wouldn't know what to do if I did."
The elevator dinged.
The ground floor.
He straightened, cool and in control again, stepping back like nothing had happened.
She stood frozen, pulse racing, lips parted.
As he walked out, he didn't turn back. "See you tomorrow, Miss Sinclair."
And just like that, he left her breathless.
Burning.
And wanting more.
The elevator ride had ended, but Arielle's pulse hadn't slowed.
Not even close.
She stepped out of the building into the crisp afternoon air, her heels hitting the sidewalk like thunderclaps—louder, faster than usual. Her head was high, her lipstick untouched, her designer bag swinging from her shoulder like a weapon.
But inside?
A storm was brewing.
What the hell was that?
Dominic Raine wasn't supposed to get under her skin. He wasn't supposed to make her feel things—heat, challenge, that strange flutter that wasn't quite fear and wasn't quite thrill.
And he definitely wasn't supposed to get that close without touching her and still leave her breathless.
No man had ever done that.
No man had dared.
Until now.
Later that day, she returned to the office to grab her tablet—she'd left it charging on the corner of her temporary desk. Most of the floor had gone quiet, the hum of business fading into a soft buzz of air vents and distant typing.
She was nearly at her desk when she heard it.
Voices.
Muffled, low—but not low enough.
She paused outside the conference room. The door was slightly ajar.
"…I don't see why we're wasting resources on her," one man muttered.
"She's not here to stay," another replied. "It's a PR play. Get the media talking, show the Sinclairs are still involved without giving her actual power."
"And Dominic? He's playing along?"
"Raine does what's best for the company. He's got her on a leash."
Arielle's blood went cold.
Leash?
PR play?
She stepped back like she'd been slapped. Her fingers clenched into fists before she could stop them.
They thought she was a joke. An accessory. A distraction.
And worst of all… that Dominic was in on it.
Was he?
Was every glare, every push, every test just part of some calculated babysitting gig? A performance for the board while she danced on command?
Her cheeks burned—but not with embarrassment.
With fury.
Back in the car, she stared out the tinted window as the driver pulled into traffic. Her thoughts churned.
Maybe she had walked into this job thinking it was temporary.
Maybe she had flirted and rebelled and treated it like a joke at first.
But she wasn't laughing now.
Now, it was war.
If Dominic Raine was using her?
He had no idea who he was playing with.
And if he wasn't?
If he was caught in this mess just like she was?
Then he'd better make it very, very clear.
Because Arielle Sinclair didn't do leashes.
She snapped them.