"Don't bother, Mr. Kane." Bernard cut him off, shaking his head with finality. "I fear we may have come all this way for nothing." He pushed his chair back slightly.
"Not exactly." Mr. Martin, another investor, interjected smoothly. He looked around at his colleagues before turning his gaze back to Winn. "We are yet to see Everest's proposal."
Winn's head snapped toward Martin, eyes narrowing dangerously. "You are going to see Evans while in town?"
Evans, the CEO of Everest Holdings. The man Winn's girlfriend had cheated on him with years ago. The betrayal still clung to his bones, festering in his veins.
"Yes, he called us a few days ago. Said he had this amazing idea," Mr. Martin replied smoothly, sipping from his glass of water. Winn's molars ground together. Evans. Always Evans.
First, the woman he loved had slipped through his fingers into Evans's bed, and now, Evans was still circling his deals, waiting to swoop in and feast.
Great. Just fucking great.
"Do you have any idea how hard it is for expats to get access to some items and brands they are used to?" Winn said suddenly. He didn't even think—he just spoke. And then he froze for a fraction of a second, realizing what had just left his mouth. That was Ivy's fucking idea.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her fingers falter against the laptop keys, the barest stutter of surprise before she smoothed it away and kept typing. But he had seen it.
"Yes," he pressed on quickly, disguising the crack in his pride with sheer dominance of the room. "This mall serves as the one place they can get everything they need." His baritone thickened with conviction, as if this had always been his genius.
"Imagine the market we will be tapping into—importation alone would generate streams of revenue. Not to mention the awareness it will bring to House of Kane. Picture it: a cultural hub where expats and wealthy elites mingle, exchange, network. A hive of commerce and socialization."
Now he had their attention. The investors leaned in, murmurs rippling. Bernard no longer looked so smug, Martin's eyes gleamed with interest, and Winn basked in the subtle shift of power back into his orbit.
He droned on, painting the vision bigger, brighter, more irresistible—skyscraper-high promises spilling smooth as whiskey. But beneath the swagger, his chest tightened with a quiet, private shame.
Around 8pm, the long day of negotiations finally reached a lull. The investors—jet-lagged but still sharp as knives—were ushered into the executive lounge.
Winn leaned against the wall, jacket unbuttoned, fatigue tugging at his shoulders, but his gaze never strayed far from Ivy. She was a vision moving between men twice her age, her smile warm enough to soften even Bernard's perpetual frown.
She balanced trays with an easy grace, laughed lightly at a dry Dutch joke she probably didn't fully understand, and managed to wink playfully at one of the older investors in a way that was both disarming and professional. Winn felt a hot knot twist low in his gut.
She was supposed to be just a temp, a nobody with a flimsy résumé. And yet, here she was, salvaging his business deal. Her idea had saved the day. An idea he had dismissed—no, worse—an idea he had scolded her for.
The sting of guilt sat heavy on his tongue.
By the time the clock struck 10pm, the air in the boardroom had turned almost celebratory. Winn shook each investor's hand firmly, masking exhaustion with his usual effortless confidence. Their goodbyes were cautious but promising. They would deliberate, they said.
He would hear from them in a week. Winn didn't miss the sidelong glances they exchanged with Ivy as she escorted them out. Ivy walked them down to the waiting cars.
Back in his office, silence greeted him. He dropped into his chair, loosened his tie, and pulled her employment contract toward him. He stared at the papers for longer than necessary. The résumé was laughable by Kane standards: dropout, barista, part-time usher.
And yet today she had done what none of his Ivy League-educated assistants had managed. With a slow, resigned sigh, Winn picked up his pen and signed.
Briefcase in hand, Winn left the office, his body dragging but his mind wired. His car purred at the ready, driver waiting by the door. He'd just slipped into the back seat when his phone buzzed. One glance at the caller ID made him curse under his breath. Mother. Of course.
He had promised to join his parents for dinner. He imagined his mother already pacing the dining room, wine glass in hand, rehearsing accusations about neglect and abandonment. Winn rubbed at his temple.
When he picked up the call, his mother didn't disappoint.
"Mom, I had to work late… I told Dad I had a meeting. I promise, this weekend, I'll be there." She scoffed so hard he could practically feel it through the phone. A few more threats from her and he hung up with a goodnight.
He tossed the phone aside and signaled to Reese, his driver. The car rolled out of the underground garage, headlights cutting through the night as they approached the gate.
That's when he saw her—standing by the curb under the dim glow of a streetlamp, hugging her bag to her chest. Her hair had come loose from the bun she'd forced it into all day, strands brushing her cheek, making her look softer.
"Reese? Pick her up."
"Yes, sir." Reese eased the car to the curb. The tinted window slid down with a hum, and Winn leaned forward. "Get in."
For a split second, he thought she might refuse. Her lips parted, her brows drew together, and he saw hesitation flash across her face.
But when Reese stepped out and pulled the passenger door open, she obeyed, slipping inside. Winn's gaze dragged over her as she settled into the seat.
"Where are you headed?" Reese asked politely from the driver's seat.