Page 7 of After-Hours Heir

When he smiled, she thought of a shark. There was nothing comforting about it.

But it wasn’t just his beauty that disturbed her. It was the wrenching, physical response that she’d had every time she had ever encountered him since she was seventeen years old.

The only thing that could ever come close was her text relationship with a man she had never even seen.

Usually, that cheered her. The idea that she could make a connection with a nice man, and have it be entirely separate to this nightmarish physical response she had with Christos.

But right now, with the X-rated conversation still creating need inside of her body, it was only a bad thing.

Very, very bad.

“Good morning, Miss Jones,” he said, his voice dark, smooth.

He was a man known for his ruthlessness. How cold he was. He had not tried to fashion himself into something more palatable in a world where rich people were often hated for their bank balance, no matter how nice or kind they were.

He wore the mantle of villain comfortably.

He did not pander to a social media–driven world. A world where people often wanted corporations to function as a reflection of their own conscience.

His media conglomerate destroyed smaller, independent news outlets, magazines, publishers, TV channels all the time.

And he seemed to wear it with pride. Like a warrior from ancient days, his body might be painted with the blood of his enemies.

There was nothing modern about him. Nothing remotely accessible.

For a moment—a strange, searing moment—sheenviedhim.

She was a young female CEO, and she needed to belikable. People needed to be able to connect with her, to find her relatable. Who she was mattered to people who bought books from the publisher. What she did, how palatable she might be.

Nothinghe did mattered. He succeeded regardless of whether or not anyone like him, approved of him. He was a man, and he was interesting. He didn’t have to be good.

Shehad to be good.

“I didn’t expect you so early,” she said.

“Well, I have other things to do.”

Somehow, his early arrival to the meeting made him seem less interested, made the meeting seem insignificant. She worried if she showed up too early to a meeting she’d seem eager.

“I’m not sure what you hope to accomplish with this meeting, Mr. Onassis.”

“The thing is, Miss Jones, I don’t have to accomplish anything. I am here to have a look at the building. I’d like to have a conversation about the financials.”

“Perhaps I don’t want to have that conversation with you.”

“That’s just fine since I don’t need to have it with you. I’m meeting with your board later.”

Terror clawed at her stomach.

“The wheels are set in motion. RedMedia will be acquiring Jones & Abbott. I hope you are prepared for that.”

She felt like she’d been punched in her stomach. “Why? You don’tneedit.”

“I don’t need it. You’re correct.” He moved toward her and paused at the edge of her desk and touched a clear glass paperweight. He moved it, one inch to the left. “I want it, though.” He looked up at her, his eyes black holes. “And I get what I want.”

Her body went rigid. “It doesn’t mean anything to you,” she said.

This man was an emblem of everything that had ever gone wrong in her life. His ruthless sabotaging of that merger had sent her father’s health into a spiral.