The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Cross Financial Group as I stepped out of the executive elevator on the forty-second floor, my heels clicking confidently against the polished marble. Today marked my first official day as Damien Cross's Senior Executive Assistant – a position that would give me access to every dirty secret, every vulnerable business deal, and every opportunity to systematically destroy the man who had murdered my father and betrayed my trust.
I'd spent the weekend since the charity gala preparing for this moment. While Adrian Nightshade's business card burned like a brand in my purse – I'd stared at it for hours, remembering the heat of his touch and the promise in his storm-blue eyes – I couldn't let myself be distracted by impossible attractions. I had work to do.
Revenge work.
"Ms. Sterling!" Damien's voice carried across the executive floor as he emerged from his corner office, looking every inch the successful CEO in his tailored Armani suit. "Welcome to your first day. I trust you're ready to dive right in?"
I smiled the kind of smile that had been making him lose focus during our meetings for the past three weeks. "I'm ready for anything, Mr. Cross. I do hope you'll find me... thoroughly satisfying."
The double entendre hit its mark. I could smell the spike of arousal in his scent, see the way his pupils dilated slightly as his body responded to the supernatural pheromones I was deliberately releasing. Poor Damien had no idea that his new assistant was designed to be irresistible to him – or that every moment of attraction he felt was another thread in the web I was weaving around his throat.
"Excellent," he said, his voice slightly rougher than it had been a moment before. "Let me show you to your office."
My new workspace was impressive – a corner office with glass walls that gave me a perfect view of both the executive floor and Damien's private office. The desk was sleek black marble, the chairs Italian leather, the computer system state-of-the-art. It was the kind of setup reserved for the most trusted and valued employees.
If only he knew how thoroughly he'd been played.
"You'll have access to my calendar, my emails, and all client files," Damien explained, standing close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. "I'm expecting you to be my right hand in everything – meetings, negotiations, strategic planning. Think you can handle that level of responsibility?"
"I've never met a challenge I couldn't master," I said, settling gracefully into my chair and crossing my legs in a way that made his eyes follow the movement. "Though I do have one small request."
"Anything," he said immediately, and I had to hide my satisfaction at how eager he was to please me.
"I'd like access to the trading floor data feeds. In my experience, the best strategic decisions are made with real-time market information." I tilted my head innocently. "Unless that's too sensitive for a new employee?"
It was absolutely too sensitive for a new employee. The trading floor data feeds contained information that could move markets, make or break deals, and in the wrong hands, cause significant financial damage to Cross Financial Group. Any reasonable CEO would have refused immediately.
But Damien wasn't being reasonable. He was being seduced by a woman whose supernatural allure was specifically designed to cloud his judgment and make him desperate to impress her.
"Of course," he said, pulling out his phone to text someone. "I'll have IT set up your access within the hour. Though I should warn you, some of that information is extremely confidential."
"Your secrets are safe with me," I promised, and the irony of those words was so delicious I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
Within thirty minutes, I had complete access to Cross Financial Group's internal systems. Within an hour, I'd identified three major vulnerabilities in their current investment positions. Within two hours, I'd placed a series of carefully orchestrated anonymous trades that would exploit those vulnerabilities and cost the company exactly five million dollars.
It was beautiful in its simplicity. Cross Financial had taken a massive position in Meridian Industries based on insider information that a merger was imminent. What they didn't know was that the merger was going to fall through – information I'd acquired through Elena Sterling's carefully cultivated network of contacts. A few well-timed short positions and some strategic rumor-mongering, and Cross Financial would be holding worthless stock while the market crashed around them.
The best part was that it would look like a completely legitimate market loss. No illegal activity, no obvious sabotage, just the kind of bad luck that happened to investment firms every day. Except this wasn't luck at all.
This was war.
"Elena?" Damien's voice from his office doorway interrupted my contemplation of his impending financial doom. "Could you come in here for a moment?"
I saved my work and walked into his office, noting the tension in his shoulders and the slight frown marring his handsome features. "Is everything alright?"
"I'm getting some concerning reports from the trading floor," he said, gesturing to the multiple monitors displaying real-time market data. "It looks like the Meridian Industries position might be in trouble."
I moved to stand beside him, close enough that our arms brushed as I leaned forward to study the screens. His sharp intake of breath told me he was acutely aware of my proximity, just as I'd intended.
"These numbers don't look good," I said with perfectly calculated concern. "The merger speculation seems to be falling apart. Have you considered cutting your losses before it gets worse?"
"We're in too deep," he muttered, running a hand through his golden hair. "If Meridian collapses, we're looking at massive losses. The board is going to have my head."
As if summoned by his words, his secretary knocked on the door. "Mr. Cross? The board of directors is requesting an emergency meeting. They want to discuss the Meridian situation."
I watched the color drain from Damien's face with deep satisfaction. This was what I'd been working toward – seeing him sweat, seeing him panic, seeing him realize that his perfect life wasn't as secure as he'd thought.
"Tell them I'll be right there," he said tightly, then turned to me with an expression that was part desperation and part hope. "Elena, I know this is your first day, but I could really use your insights in this meeting. You have a fresh perspective that might help us find a solution."
Perfect. He was so desperate for help that he was willing to bring his brand-new assistant into a board meeting. It was exactly the kind of access I needed to gather more intelligence and plant more seeds of destruction.
"Of course," I said graciously. "I'm here to help however I can."
The boardroom was a temple to corporate power – mahogany paneling, leather chairs that cost more than most people's cars, and a table that could seat twenty of New York's most ruthless business minds. As we entered, I could feel the tension crackling in the air like electricity before a storm.
The board of directors was not happy.
"Damien," said Harold Morrison, the silver-haired chairman who'd been questioning Damien's leadership for months, "we need to talk about this Meridian disaster. How did we end up so exposed to a merger that was clearly unstable?"
"The intelligence we received indicated that the merger was a certainty," Damien replied, but I could hear the defensiveness in his voice. "Every analyst agreed that—"
"Every analyst was wrong," interrupted Sandra Chen, a sharp-faced woman who controlled a significant block of shares. "And now we're looking at losses that could cripple our quarterly performance."
I sat quietly in the corner, ostensibly taking notes but actually studying each board member's reactions and filing away information about their concerns, their alliances, and their vulnerabilities. Knowledge was power, and power was what I needed to bring this entire company to its knees.
"The question," said Morrison, his cold eyes fixed on Damien, "is whether this represents a failure of leadership or simply bad luck. Because if it's the former, we may need to consider making some changes."
The threat was clear. Damien's position as CEO was being called into question, and the vultures were already circling. I felt a warm glow of satisfaction watching him squirm under their scrutiny.
"Gentlemen, ladies," I said quietly, and every head in the room turned to look at me. "If I may offer an observation?"
Damien nodded eagerly, clearly hoping I had some miracle solution that would save his reputation.
"From an outsider's perspective, it seems like the real issue isn't the Meridian position itself, but the lack of diversification in your risk management strategy," I said, my voice carrying just enough authority to command attention. "Cross Financial has been making increasingly aggressive bets based on single sources of intelligence, rather than building a portfolio that can weather unexpected market volatility."
There were murmurs of agreement around the table. I was telling them exactly what they wanted to hear – that the problem wasn't just bad luck, but systemic issues with Damien's leadership style.
"That's an astute observation," said Morrison, looking at me with new interest. "And you are?"
"Elena Sterling, Mr. Cross's new Senior Executive Assistant," I replied smoothly. "I have extensive experience in risk management and strategic planning."
"Ms. Sterling raises an excellent point," said Chen, her eyes gleaming with the kind of predatory interest that suggested she was already calculating how to use this information against Damien. "Perhaps we need to implement some new oversight procedures to prevent this kind of exposure in the future."
The meeting continued for another hour, with the board members taking turns to subtly criticize Damien's recent decisions while I sat in the corner, offering occasional insights that made me look brilliant and him look reckless. By the time we left the boardroom, Damien's authority had been significantly undermined, and several board members had made it clear that they would be watching his performance very closely.
"Thank you," Damien said as we walked back to his office, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "Your input in there was invaluable. I don't know what I would have done without you."
"That's what I'm here for," I said warmly, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "We're a team now, Damien. I'll always have your back."
The lie rolled off my tongue so easily it was almost artistic. In truth, I was the one slowly sliding the knife between his shoulder blades, and he was thanking me for the privilege.
Back in my office, I made several phone calls to my network of contacts, setting up the next phase of my plan. Elena Sterling had cultivated relationships with some very useful people over the past six months – journalists who could be fed selective information, rival executives who would be happy to poach Cross Financial's clients, and most importantly, a shell company that had been quietly accumulating Cross Financial Group stock.
By the end of the day, I owned three percent of Cross Financial Group through various anonymous holding companies. It wasn't enough to control the company, but it was enough to have a voice in shareholder meetings and access to information that could prove very useful in the future.
"Elena?" Damien appeared at my desk as I was preparing to leave for the day. "I was wondering if you'd like to grab dinner tonight? I know it's your first day, but I feel like we should celebrate our partnership."
I looked up at him, noting the hope in his eyes and the way he was trying to play this as a professional invitation rather than the personal one we both knew it really was. Poor Damien. He was so desperate for the affection he'd thrown away when he'd chosen Vivian over me that he was practically radiating need.
"That's very kind," I said, gathering my purse and noting the way his eyes followed the movement, "but I actually have plans tonight."
His face fell slightly. "Oh. Of course. Maybe another time?"
"I'm sure we'll find an opportunity," I said pleasantly, then paused as if struck by a sudden thought. "Although, if you're not too busy this weekend, I'm having a small gathering at my apartment. Just a few friends, nothing fancy. You and your wife would be very welcome."
The invitation was calculated cruelty disguised as kindness. I wanted to meet Vivian face to face, to see what my sweet sister had become in the three years since she'd helped murder me. More importantly, I wanted to see how Damien reacted to having his wife and his object of desire in the same room.
"That sounds wonderful," he said, though I could smell the anxiety spike in his scent. "I'll check with Vivian and let you know."
"Perfect," I said with a smile that would have looked innocent to anyone who didn't know what kind of predator was wearing it. "I'm looking forward to meeting her."
As I walked toward the elevator, I felt Damien's eyes following me, felt the weight of his desire and confusion and growing dependence on my approval. It was intoxicating, knowing that I had this kind of power over him, that every day I could twist the knife a little deeper and watch him bleed.
But as the elevator doors closed and I caught sight of my reflection in the polished steel, I was surprised by what I saw there. Instead of the satisfaction I'd expected, there was something hollow in my eyes, something that looked almost like sadness.
I pushed the feeling away. I didn't have time for regret or second thoughts. Damien had made his choices three years ago when he'd decided that power was more important than love, that convenience was more valuable than loyalty. Now he was going to live with the consequences.
My phone buzzed with a text message, and I glanced down to see an unknown number: "How was your first day at the office, Moon Queen?"
My blood turned to ice. Only one person could know both my new identity and my supernatural nature. Adrian Nightshade.
Another message appeared immediately: "We need to talk. Tonight. The address I'm sending you. Come alone."
A third message contained an address in Tribeca that I recognized as one of Manhattan's most exclusive residential buildings. The kind of place where privacy was guaranteed and questions were never asked.
I stared at the messages, my heart racing with a combination of fear and anticipation. I'd hoped to have more time before dealing with the Adrian situation, more time to figure out how to handle the impossible attraction between us and the deadly complications it represented.
But apparently, time was a luxury I didn't have.
As my car pulled away from Cross Financial Group, I made a decision that I knew was probably stupid and definitely dangerous. Instead of giving the driver my apartment address, I gave him the Tribeca address Adrian had sent.
If Adrian Nightshade wanted to play games, then I would show him exactly what kind of opponent he was dealing with. After all, I'd just spent an entire day systematically destroying a man who'd once claimed to love me.
What was one more enemy?
Though as I remembered the heat of Adrian's kiss and the hunger in his storm-blue eyes, I had to admit that he felt like something much more dangerous than an enemy.
He felt like temptation itself.
End of Chapter 4