Carl Harris never waited for anyone.
Yet here he was, leaning against the tinted windows of his penthouse office, watching the clock tick toward 9:00 AM. Kathleen Palmer was due in the conference room downstairs in seven minutes.
His CFO, Hansen Leroy, cleared his throat. "The proxy team's ready. They'll make the offer sound like a partnership, not a takeover."
Carl didn't turn. "She won't bite."
"Then we pivot to Plan B. Buy out her investors. Force her hand."
A muscle twitched in Carl's jaw. Last night's conversation played on a loop in his mind—*SafeHaven isn't just a firewall. It's a promise.* Kathleen's voice, steady as a blade.
Hansen smirked. "Unless you're having second thoughts?"
Carl finally faced him. "Send the offer. But keep my name out of it."
Hansen's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Of course, sir."
The door clicked shut. Carl exhaled, rolling his shoulders against the weight of the lie.
*Acquisitions.*
Such a clean word for what he was about to do.
---
Kathleen Palmer was ten minutes late.
Carl watched through the security feed as she strode into the lobby, Ava Lopez trailing like a shadow. She wore another black ensemble—blazer, slim trousers, that damn pin over her heart—as if armor were her default.
His phone buzzed. **Proxy Team:** *She's here.*
Carl swiped the notification away. He shouldn't be watching. Shouldn't care.
He zoomed in anyway.
On-screen, Kathleen tilted her head at something the receptionist said, her laugh sharp as broken glass. Carl's thumb hovered over the screen, tracing the curve of her neck.
*Focus.*
He switched off the feed.
---
The conference room smelled of expensive coffee and desperation.
Kathleen sat across from the three men representing "Triton Ventures"—a shell company Carl had created for this exact purpose. Their pitch was flawless: funding, resources, global reach.
All she had to do was surrender control.
"We'd want you as CEO, of course," said the lead proxy, a silver-haired shark named Dresner.
Kathleen stirred her tea. "With a board seat?"
"Naturally."
"And final say on product direction?"
Dresner's smile tightened. "Within reason."
Ava kicked Kathleen's ankle under the table. A silent scream: *Trap.*
Kathleen set down her cup. "Here's the thing—SafeHaven's code is my life's work. I don't 'partner' with people who won't let me own it."
Dresner leaned in. "Ms. Palmer, be realistic. Scaling requires compromise."
"So does integrity." She stood. "Thanks for the coffee."
The proxies exchanged glances. *Plan B,* their silence said.
Ava waited until the elevator doors closed to explode. "They were lying through their veneers."
Kathleen stared at the descending floor numbers. "I know."
"Then why'd you stay so calm?"
"Because," Kathleen said softly, "I want to know who sent them."
---
Carl's office door slammed open.
Hansen stormed in, face flushed. "She walked."
Carl didn't look up from his screen. "Expected."
"We need to escalate. Leak rumors about her funding drying up. Pressure her backers—"
"No."
Hansen froze. "Sir?"
Carl finally met his gaze. "We wait."
"For what?"
*For her to break first.*
Carl's phone lit up with a notification—a calendar alert for tonight's rooftop charity auction. Kathleen Palmer was listed as a guest.
He pocketed the phone. "Cancel my afternoon."
---
The auction was Veloria's favorite sin: philanthropy as foreplay.
Kathleen sipped champagne near the terrace edge, the city sprawled below her. Ava had begged off, claiming a "strategic migraine." Translation: *I refuse to watch you flirt with corporate predators.*
A familiar voice cut through the chatter. "Fancy meeting you here."
Carl.
He wore a tuxedo tonight, the bowtie slightly undone. Shadows hollowed his cheeks, making him look more wolf than man.
Kathleen didn't smile. "Acquisitions expert or charity connoisseur?"
"Can't I be both?" He stepped closer, his cologne—smoke and bergamot—wrapping around her. "You left your meeting early."
Her pulse spiked. *How did he—?*
Carl read her silence. "Dresner's an old friend. He mentioned you."
*Liar.*
But the game was too delicious to quit. She tilted her head. "Small world."
"Or a small city." His knuckles brushed hers as he reached for her empty glass. "Let me get you another."
Kathleen let him. Let his fingers linger. Let the night hum between them like a live wire.
Across the roof, a photographer snapped a shot: the billionaire and the tech queen, framed by velvet and stars.
Tomorrow, it would trend online.
Tonight, it was just another move in a game neither was sure they wanted to win.