Chapter 3

Pushing open the conference room door, I collided face-first with a solid chest.

A faint scent of oud mixed with tobacco instantly invaded my nostrils.

I stepped back half a step and looked up.

The man wore an impeccably tailored black custom suit, tall and straight with broad shoulders and a narrow waist.

One hand was tucked in his pocket, the other playing with a pure black Zippo lighter.

His features were sharp and striking, his jawline cutting like a blade, and a pair of dark eyes were watching me with an ambiguous smile.

Jackson Cross.

The youngest capital shark in the elite circles, head of Daybreak Capital.

Also the top-tier investor Richard had been groveling to like a dog lately, trying to court.

And the client on the other side of that "lost" ten-million-dollar contract.

"Miss Clarke, quite the temper."

Jackson's thin lips parted slightly.

He'd obviously been standing outside the door listening to everything.

I looked directly into his eyes without any trace of retreat.

"Mr. Cross, have you enjoyed the show?

If not, there are still three clowns performing inside."

Jackson raised an eyebrow.

The lighter spun once around his fingertips and snapped shut.

"Do you know that the mess you just took the fall for involves my project?"

He stepped closer, his imposing height forcing me to tilt my head back slightly.

"I know."

I met his gaze without flinching, my eyes sharp and aggressive.

"So let me warn you now, Mr. Cross—this company is rotten to the core.

Your money won't even make a splash here."

Jackson laughed softly, his chest vibrating.

He leaned down close to my ear, warm breath brushing my earlobe.

"Oh?

What about investing in you?"

"Guaranteed profit."

I answered without hesitation.

He straightened up, gave me a long look, then drew a gold-embossed black business card from his inner suit pocket, holding it between his slender fingers and extending it toward me.

"I'll be watching."

I took the card, my fingertips deliberately brushing across the back of his hand.

His eyes darkened, but I had already turned away, walking toward the office area in my four-inch heels without looking back.

Behind me, the conference room door opened.

Richard's obsequious voice came through.

"Oh, Mr. Cross!

You came personally!

Please, come in, come in..."

I sneered and returned to my private office.

According to labor law, I had three days for the transition.

In my past life, I spent those three days with swollen eyes from crying, begging everyone I could find to prove my innocence, pathetic as a homeless dog.

This life, these three days would be enough for me to strip this company to the bone.