CHAPTER 1
Cassie Kensington had run through this moment in her head a hundred times. None of those versions involved being ignored.
4.
She stepped into the boardroom, her heels making no sound against the polished floor, and instantly felt the tension in the air. A dozen men in suits turned toward her. But only one of them mattered.
Christian Masters didn't even look up.
Tall, dark-suited, a solid figure behind a wall of glass and silence. He flipped through a folder—hers, she guessed. Each second he didn't acknowledge her felt like glass scraping against her nerves.
"Cassie Kensington," he said, his voice flat—no greeting, no question. Just a statement. A verdict.
"Yes, sir." She stepped forward, extending the folder she'd been gripping so tightly her knuckles ached. Their fingers brushed—a fleeting contact, and she jolted. Not from electricity, but from how quickly he pulled away.
He still didn't look at her.
"You're late."
"There was traffic—"
"I didn't ask for excuses."
Cassie blinked. Her mouth snapped shut before she could give the explanation she'd rehearsed. Instead, she stood there, her spine straight, anger simmering in her gut. Not at him—at herself, for the way she'd reacted.
A cough from one of the board members, and Christian's gaze flicked toward the sound. Instantly, the room fell silent.
He stood without another word. "Follow me."
Cassie obeyed, trailing his long, deliberate strides through a hallway lined with glass and power. His office door closed behind them with a soft click, trapping her in a cathedral of order—sleek desk, monochrome art, floor-to-ceiling views of the skyline.
"Sit," he said.
She did. Upright. Still.
He leaned back in his chair, studying her. Really studying her. She resisted the urge to flinch.
"Top of your class. Harvard. Strategic planning experience." He tapped the folder. "Impressive on paper."
Something in his tone made her bristle.
"I won't just talk the talk," she said, meeting his gaze. "I came here to work."
A flicker of something crossed his face. Interest? Annoyance? She couldn't tell.
"I don't tolerate incompetence," he said flatly.
"I don't deliver it."
The silence between them felt like it could cut through steel.
For just a moment, his lips twitched—almost a smile. But it was gone before she could fully catch it.
"Good," he said, standing. "Your schedule is on the desk. Don't be late again."
Cassie stood, but didn't move. "Mr. Masters?"
He paused, turning slightly, waiting.
"You said I was late," she said, her voice calm. "But I was on time. Your assistant scheduled me for ten. It's nine fifty-eight."
His eyebrows lifted, just the slightest bit.
Then, a nod. "We'll call it even."
A small but satisfying rush of triumph slid into her chest. One inch of ground claimed.
Hours later, Cassie sat on the edge of her bed, arms crossed, heart still beating faster than usual.
She absentmindedly scrolled through old news articles—until one headline stopped her in her tracks.
"CEO Christian Masters Faces Criticism Over Acquisition Fallout."
She remembered that day. Sitting in the back of a crowded press conference, unimpressed by the man on stage, arrogant and unreadable. She'd muttered to a friend:
"Another CEO with a God complex and too much cologne."
Now, she realized—he'd been close enough to hear.
And now… she worked for him.
She didn't know if Christian remembered that moment. But she knew one thing: men like him didn't forget slights. Especially not from women who thought they were clever.
This job had come too easily. And if she wasn't careful, it might cost her everything.