Isabella POV
The Whitmore Group headquarters felt like stepping into pharmaceutical royalty, all polished marble and family portraits that spoke of four generations building something they considered irreplaceable. I sat across from Margaret Whitmore in her corner office overlooking Manhattan's East Side, watching the most difficult negotiation of my career unfold with unexpected personal complications.
"Ms. Cross," Margaret said with the kind of cool politeness that barely masked hostility, "I appreciate Cross-Sterling's interest in Whitmore Group, but I'm not convinced that acquisition serves our family's best interests."
The words were professional, but her eyes kept drifting to Damien with the kind of attention that had nothing to do with business negotiations. Margaret Whitmore was beautiful in the way that money and breeding produced - elegant bone structure, perfectly styled blonde hair, and the confidence that came from never doubting your place in the world.
