Chapter 1 Tension on arrival
Vivienne Hart arrived at Wolfe Publishing ten minutes early, as always - hair perfectly pinned, heels clicking like gunshots across the marble floor.
She didn't believe in being late, or vulnerable, or anything less than immaculate.
Unfortunately, Damian Wolfe believed in chaos.
He was already sprawled across the conference table when she entered, sleeves rolled up, tie abandoned somewhere, expensive watch catching the light as he lazily scrolled through his phone.
And of course - that damn smirk.
"Well, well," Damian drawled without looking up. "Little Miss Perfect graces us with her presence."
Vivienne didn't miss a beat.
She smiled - sharp, sweet, and deadly.
"Some of us still believe in professionalism. Others clearly believe in... slumming it."
His eyes flicked up then - steel grey, edged with amusement and something sharper.
Something that made her stomach do a traitorous little flip.
She crushed the feeling immediately.
The conference room filled slowly with executives: high-ranking editors, marketing directors, the company's ancient CEO, Gregory Wolfe - Damian's uncle, though you'd never know it the way he treated the staff with equal parts disdain and indifference.
Today was the announcement.
The launch of the company's new high-profile imprint - a golden opportunity.
Only one editor would lead it.
And everyone knew it was down to Vivienne and Damian.
She sat directly across from him, smoothing her navy pencil skirt, pretending not to notice the way his gaze flicked over her legs before returning to his phone.
He tapped a lazy rhythm on the table. "You're tense, Hart," he said under his breath, low enough only she could hear. "Careful. Wouldn't want you cracking under the pressure."
Vivienne leaned in just a fraction, enough to let him catch the faintest whiff of her perfume - something dark and honeyed.
"I don't crack," she whispered back. "I break people who get in my way."
His slow, dangerous smile made heat lick up her spine.
For a heartbeat, the air between them shimmered - sharp, hot, electric.
Then Gregory Wolfe cleared his throat.
"Gentlemen. Ladies," he said in his gravelly baritone. "We're here to decide the future of Wolfe Publishing. And I intend to put it in the best hands possible."
Vivienne sat up straighter, heart pounding, refusing to glance at Damian.
She could feel him watching her though - could feel the weight of it.
Gregory continued, droning through the company's new direction: modern, risk-taking, aggressive expansion.
Vivienne's mind sharpened, already cataloging strategies.
Then came the blow.
"In the spirit of collaboration," Gregory said, "we've decided the new imprint will be co-led."
Vivienne blinked.
Co-led?
She risked a glance at Damian.
He looked as stunned as she felt.
Gregory smiled - a slow, shark-like thing.
"Damian Wolfe and Vivienne Hart. Congratulations. You'll be working together for the next twelve months to launch Scarlet Press."
There was a beat of absolute silence.
And then -
Vivienne's chair scraped back sharply as she stood. "Excuse me," she said crisply, marching out of the room without waiting for permission.
She heard Damian's chair follow a second later.
---
*****
Vivienne slammed the door to her office and whirled around, just in time to see Damian slip inside before it clicked shut.
"You can't be serious," she snapped.
He leaned against the door, crossing his arms casually over his chest.
"You think I planned this?"
"You must have," she accused. "You and your - your name and your legacy and your damn nepotism-"
Damian's eyes narrowed, the lazy amusement draining away.
"You really think I don't work for what I get?"
Vivienne took a breath, furious with herself for how breathless she sounded.
"I think you charm your way into whatever you want," she said, voice tight. "And people fall over themselves to hand it to you."
Damian pushed off the door and crossed the room in three long strides.
He stopped inches from her - close enough that she had to tilt her chin to meet his gaze.
"No one hands me anything, Hart," he said, voice rough. "And if you think you can outwork me, outfight me, or outlast me - you're welcome to try."
Vivienne's heart thundered against her ribs.
This close, she could see the faint stubble on his jaw, smell the clean, woodsy scent of his cologne.
This close, it would take nothing - nothing - to reach out, grab the front of his shirt, and...
No.
She squared her shoulders, shoving past him to open the door.
The brushed contact of her arm against his chest was brief, electric, and far too satisfying.
"Stay out of my way, Wolfe," she threw over her shoulder.
He laughed - low, wicked, promising things she refused to imagine.
"Not a chance, Hart," he said.
And as she stormed down the hallway, her heels clicking in fury, Vivienne knew two things for certain:
She hated Damian Wolfe.
And she was absolutely, dangerously screwed.
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