The glass doors of Sinclair Enterprises gleamed under the morning sun, reflecting the towering skyline of New York City. Isla Carter stepped out of the sleek black town car, adjusting the strap of her leather handbag. The sharp click of her heels against the marble entrance echoed with confidence—at least, that's what she wanted everyone to believe.
This wasn't just another consulting job. This was war.
She had been hired to fix Sinclair Enterprises—one of the most powerful corporate empires in the country. On the surface, it was a billion-dollar kingdom, an untouchable giant. But inside? It was a mess of internal rivalries, failing investments, and power-hungry executives waiting to tear each other apart.
And at the center of it all?
Grayson Sinclair.
The arrogant, sinfully rich, dangerously charming CEO who had no interest in being saved.
A man who built an empire with his bare hands. A man who never let anyone tell him what to do. A man who, from all reports, would be her greatest challenge yet.
Isla's heels clicked against the marble floors as she walked into the building, past the sleek reception desk. Employees whispered as she passed—curious glances, barely concealed stares. They already knew who she was.
The woman hired to fix what their powerful CEO wouldn't admit was broken.
She ignored them, stepping into the private elevator that led to the top floor. The moment the doors slid shut, she inhaled deeply, steadying herself.
She had read everything about Grayson Sinclair.
Ruthless in the boardroom. Impossible to control. A man who made deals with a smirk and destroyed his enemies with a whisper.
Oh, and let's not forget the countless scandals—his name splashed across business headlines, his affairs with supermodels and socialites turning him into a legend.
But Isla wasn't here to play his games.
She was here to win.
The elevator glided open with a soft chime, revealing an expansive office—all sleek modern furniture, dark leather, and floor-to-ceiling windows that stretched across the skyline. The scent of expensive cologne and power filled the air.
And then, she saw him.
Grayson Sinclair.
Standing near the window, hands tucked into his pockets, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that fit his tall, broad frame with effortless precision. His sharp gray eyes flicked over the city before shifting to her, slow and deliberate.
The moment their gazes met, the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
A collision of fire and ice.
Grayson studied her, amusement flickering in his eyes—as if he already knew he would break her.
Isla lifted her chin, refusing to blink first.
His smirk deepened. "So, you're the board's latest mistake."
Her lips curled slightly. Oh, he was going to be fun.
She stepped forward, extending her hand. "Isla Carter. The woman who's about to save your company."
He didn't move. Didn't reach for her hand. Instead, he leaned against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I don't recall needing saving."
"Of course not." She dropped her hand, unfazed. "Men like you never see the storm until you're drowning."
A flicker of something dark passed through his gaze—annoyance, interest, or both.
Grayson exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "You've got a sharp tongue, Miss Carter."
"And you've got an empire on the verge of crumbling," she countered smoothly. "But don't worry—I'll make sure you don't go down with it."
Silence stretched between them, thick with undercurrents of challenge and something far more dangerous.
Then, slowly, deliberately, Grayson pushed off his desk, stepping toward her.
He was tall—too tall—and when he stopped a breath away, Isla refused to back down.
"Tell me," he murmured, his voice low and laced with amusement. "Are you always this confident, or is this just for my benefit?"
She met his gaze, steady. "Confidence isn't a performance, Mr. Sinclair. It's a fact."
Something flickered in his eyes—a warning. A dare. A promise.
Then, after a long pause, he smirked. "We'll see."
And just like that, the battle lines were drawn.
Game on.
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