"I prefer the term 'strategic positioning.'" His mouth curves into something that's not quite a smile. "I wanted to see what kind of woman inherited Richard Whittington's empire before I made my move."
"And?" I raise an eyebrow. "What's your assessment?"
His eyes rake over me. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he's cataloging every detail.
"You're sharper than I expected." He leans back in the chair, somehow making the movement look both casual and predatory. "More observant. Less…"
"Stupid?" I finish for him. "Less naïve? Less like the pampered princess you assumed I'd be?"
"Yes."
At least, he's honest.
"Well, Mr. Hamilton." I stand, moving around my desk until I'm leaning against the front of it. Closer to him now. Close enough to see the gold flecks in his eyes. "Now that you've made your 'assessment,' let me give you mine."
I cross my arms.
"You're angry. You have a legitimate grudge—I don't know the details yet, but I will. You're methodical. Patient. You've been planning this for a while." I pause. "And you're arrogant enough to walk into my office after following me through the street because you think I'm going to be easy to manipulate."
His eyes narrow.
"Am I close?"
He stands, and suddenly, he's towering over me again. All that height and muscle and barely contained intensity. "You missed one thing."
"What's that?"
He leans down and slaps his hands on the desk, bracketing me. His scent wafts over me, something dark and expensive. He’s so close, his body heat washes over me. I feel like I’m standing in front of a wood fire. He smells woodsy. The sparks in his eyes like those in a hearth.
Once more, I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.
"I don't think you'll be easy to manipulate." His voice drops lower. "I think you'll be a worthy opponent. Which is exactly why this is going to be interesting."
Heat floods my face. From anger or attraction, I genuinely can't tell.
"Get out of my office."
"Gladly." He straightens, adjusting his suit jacket. "But I'll be back. We have unfinished business, you and I."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise." He heads toward the door, then pauses. He looks back over his shoulder. "Oh, and Ms. Whittington, consider this your first and last warning. I am coming for your firm, and I will not stop until I own it."
To find out what happens next, read Tristan and Opal’s story inan Age Gap, father’s best friend, christmas romance - The Frosty Fiancée here
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