Page 88 of Power

Jace’s green eyes danced with something I couldn’t quiteplace. Excitement? Pride? He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a business card.

“I wanted to wait for the right moment.” He slid the card across the table toward me, his fingers lingering just a moment too long.

“What’s this?” I asked, curiosity piqued despite my best efforts. “If it’s another NDA printed in size two font, I should warn you, I’ll renegotiate that one too.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “Just read it.”

I smiled, but when I read the lines on the paper, my heart thudded like a drum, my mouth ran dry, and bile roiled around in my gut. On this business card was my name, embossed in elegant silver lettering, followed byVice President, Creative Development.

I tried not to vomit, clenching my chair until my knuckles turned white.

Jace’s smile faltered when he saw my reaction. “I thought you’d be happy. I heard you didn’t get the promotion you recently applied for.”

So, it was official then. I’d lost the promotion I’d earned, and even though Jace didn’t know why I’d lost out on it, he thought he could what … invent a consolation prize? How insulting.

“Do you know how many women get sexually harassed at work?” My voice came out steadier than I felt, and it took serious effort to not let it slip into a cutting edge. “None ofthemhave a rich boyfriend who owns the company to make it right for them.”

“Scarlett,” Jace started, but he cocked his head. “Wait, the incident involved your promotion?”

“When I get a promotion, it will be because I earned it.”

Jace’s eyes narrowed. “You did earn it. You spent years earning it, in fact, clearly robbed of the promotion you should have gotten. Which I’ll be circling back to, by the way. Meanwhile, consider this a way of correcting that awful bullshit.”

The waiter approached with a fresh bottle of wine, took one look at our faces, and wisely retreated.

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Did you even stop to thinkhow this sounds? I got passed over for a job because I wouldn’t do sexual favors for a guy, and then when I finally get it, it’s because I happen to be sleeping with the boss? Do you realize how devaluing that makes me feel?”

Jace’s eyes flashed with anger, hurt visible around the edges. “The boss? Is that all I am to you?”

“Do you not see why this would upset me?” I demanded incredulously.

“Honestly? No!” He leaned forward, his voice intense. “I’m trying to do the right thing here. And I thought this was something that would make you happy.”

“I want to be treated like everyone else.”

“Scarlett—”

“I have to go.” I stood up, grabbing my purse, my chair scraping against the floor. My heart hammered in my chest as tears threatened.No. I will not cry in this restaurant.“I respectfully decline the promotion.”

“Scarlett, wait?—”

“You want to know the real problem here?” I leaned down, palms flat against the table. “It’s about power. And who wields it. And maybe, just maybe, the person you supposedly loathe is a lot closer than you think.”

His expression shifted, confusion replacing anger. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Marcus. The name burned on my tongue, desperate to be spat out. I should say it. Tell him now. He’d believe me. He had to. My lips parted, the confession teetering on the edge of revelation, when the unmistakable electronic click of a camera pierced the moment. The sound hit me like a bucket of ice water, a stark reminder of my original plan to catch Marcus red-handed, to deliver indisputable evidence to Jace on a silver platter and finally be done with this whole twisted game.

I straightened, suddenly aware of our audience. Phone cameras flashed around us. Perfect. Corporate America’s favoritebillionaire playboy was creating a scene in public, and I was the unwitting costar in this tabloid drama.

“Wait!” Jace demanded.

As I dodged between tables, whispers and stares following in my wake, I heard the scrape of his chair, the rustle of bills being thrown carelessly onto the table. By the time I pushed through the restaurant’s heavy door, the rain had picked up, pelting the sidewalk in angry bursts that matched my pulse.

I made it three steps before his voice cut through the downpour.

“Scarlett.”

Just my name. Nothing else. But something in the way he said it—raw, demanding, stripped of all the polish that normally coated his words—made me freeze mid-stride.