Scarlett "Red" Valenti's POV
New York City pulses like a living beast, its skyscrapers clawing at the sky, each one a monument to ambition and greed. I stand at the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse office, fifty stories above the chaos, watching the city glitter like a diamond-studded trap. My reflection stares back red hair pinned in a sleek chignon, emerald eyes sharp enough to cut glass, and a black tailored suit that screams I own this world. I've fought for every inch of it, tooth and nail, in a city that chews up dreamers and spits out their bones. But I'm no dreamer. I'm Scarlett Valenti, and I don't break.
My phone buzzes on the glass desk behind me, Lila's name flashing on the screen. I snatch it up, already braced for her usual mix of sass and urgency. "What's the crisis now, Lila?" I ask, my voice crisp, betraying none of the exhaustion from last night's sixteen-hour deal prep.
"Girl, you're gonna want to sit down for this," Lila says, her voice dripping with that lawyerly tone she uses when shit's about to hit the fan. "The city just dropped a bomb on the waterfront deal. They're not picking a winner. They're forcing a joint venture. You and Knight."
My stomach lurches, but I keep my tone steady, sharp as a blade. "Julian Knight? The arrogant prick who tried to tank my Hudson bid last year? You've got to be kidding me."
"Nope. City hall's orders. They want Valenti Properties and KnightTech to play nice and split the waterfront project. Papers are already drafted. Meeting's tomorrow, 9 a.m. sharp."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, a headache blooming behind my eyes. Julian Knight. The name alone is enough to make my blood boil. Billionaire tech mogul, face of every glossy magazine, with a smirk that could melt steel and an ego to match.
We've clashed before boardroom battles, public spats at charity galas, his cold gray eyes locking onto mine like he's sizing up prey. He's the kind of man who thinks the world bends to his will. Spoiler alert: I don't bend for anyone.
"Fine," I snap, pacing to the desk and grabbing my tablet. "Send me the details. I'll bury him in paperwork before he can open his smug mouth."
Lila laughs, a low, throaty sound. "That's my Red. Just… try not to set the room on fire, okay? We need this deal."
She's right. The waterfront project a multi-billion-dollar redevelopment of Manhattan's west side is my ticket to cementing Valenti Properties as untouchable. I've spent years building this empire from nothing, clawing my way past men who thought a woman like me belonged behind a desk, not owning it. This deal is my legacy. And I'll be damned if Julian Knight screws it up.
I hang up and toss the phone onto the desk, my mind already racing through strategies. I need to be sharp tomorrow, sharper than him. I open my tablet, pulling up every file I have on KnightTech.
Financials, press releases, even a grainy photo from last month's tech summit where Julian's staring down a reporter like he's about to eat them alive. God, that jawline. Chiseled, infuriating, and—nope. Not going there. He's the enemy, not eye candy.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. "Come in," I call, expecting my assistant with the coffee I desperately need. Instead, the door swings open, and there he is. Julian Knight, in the flesh, striding into my office like he owns it. Six-foot-three of tailored arrogance, his dark hair swept back, gray eyes glinting like a storm about to break. His navy suit hugs every line of his body, and I hate how my pulse kicks up a notch. Traitorous biology.
"Valenti," he says, his voice a low, velvet rumble that somehow makes my name sound like a challenge. "We need to talk."
I lean back against my desk, crossing my arms, my red nails tapping against my sleeve. "Knight. Last I checked, breaking and entering isn't your style. What do you want?"
His lips twitch, not quite a smile, more like he's amused I have the audacity to exist. "I heard about the city's little stunt. Joint venture. You and me." He steps closer, his presence filling the room like a damn black hole. "I'm here to set ground rules."
I laugh, sharp and cutting, stepping forward to meet him head-on. "Ground rules? You don't get to waltz into my office and dictate terms, Knight. This is my deal. You're just the unwanted baggage."
His eyes narrow, but there's a flicker of something—amusement? Respect? Whatever it is, it's gone in a second, replaced by that infuriating arrogance. "Your deal? Cute. KnightTech's been positioning for this project for years. You're the one crashing my party."
I step closer, close enough to catch the faint cedarwood scent of his cologne. "If you think I'm some rookie you can steamroll, you're dumber than you look. I've eaten men like you for breakfast."
His gaze drops to my lips for a split second, and my stomach does a traitorous flip. "Careful, Scarlett," he murmurs, my first name rolling off his tongue like a caress. "Keep talking like that, and I might enjoy this partnership."
I open my mouth to fire back, but the door swings open again, and Ethan Blackwood strolls in. Julian's best friend and business partner, all tousled blonde hair and warm brown eyes, looking like he just stepped off a yacht. "Whoa, am I interrupting a cage match?" he asks, grinning, his easy charm cutting through the tension like a knife.
"Ethan," I say, forcing a smile, grateful for the distraction. "Did you get lost on your way to the grown-up table?"
He laughs, unfazed, and leans against the doorframe. "Just here to make sure you two don't kill each other before tomorrow's meeting. Red, you're looking particularly lethal today."
I roll my eyes but can't help the smirk. Ethan's always been the softer edge of their duo, the one who disarms with a smile instead of a glare. He's dangerous in his own way, but I can handle him. Julian, though? He's a different beast.
"Save your charm, Blackwood," I say, turning back to Julian. "And you—get out of my office. We'll talk tomorrow when I'm contractually obligated to deal with you."
Julian's jaw tightens, but he doesn't move. For a moment, we're locked in a silent standoff, his eyes searching mine like he's trying to crack a code. Then he steps back, adjusting his cufflinks with deliberate calm. "Tomorrow, then. But don't think you're running this show, Scarlett. You're playing in my league now."
He turns and strides out, Ethan following with a mock salute and a "Good luck, Red." The door clicks shut, and I exhale, my hands curling into fists. My office feels too small, too hot, like Julian's presence lingers in the air. I hate him. I hate how he gets under my skin, how his voice sends a shiver down my spine even as I want to slap that smug look off his face.
I sink into my chair, pulling up the waterfront project files again. This deal is my everything, and no one—not Julian Knight, not his charming sidekick, not even my own stupid heart—is going to derail me. I'm Scarlett Valenti. I don't just play the game. I win it.
But as I stare at the screen, Julian's gray eyes flash in my mind, and I know this partnership is going to be anything but simple.
Game on, Knight. You have no idea who you're dealing with.