Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Run her numbers again.”
Knox snorts. “You’ve got them memorized.”
“Humor me.”
He flicks through the file on his iPad. The security feed shows Sloane at her desk, lost in her work. Even with Moth to the Flame’s garbage cameras, I can see the moment inspiration hits.
“All right,” Knox says. “Graduated top of her class at Parsons. Sells more than anyone else at her level but keeps getting passed over. Went to Moth to the Flame thinking she could push their look.” He looks up from the iPad. “But they’ve got her making the same cookie-cutter crap as everyone else.” A pause. “You know, this is usually where you tell me how you’re going to prove the bank wrong. But that’s not what this is, is it?”
I pull up her latest design. “Take a look.”
“Jesus.” Knox leans in. The necklace on-screen is all sharp angles and fractured metal. “It’s not your average necklace. I’ll give you that.”
“This is what they’re too stupid to understand.” I zoom in on the detail work. “Everything else this company makes belongs on a grandmother.”
“And Chase won’t touch it.” Knox hands me a drink and tops off his own. He’s been with me through enough deals to know where this is going. “Bet that just makes you want it more.”
I just raise an eyebrow. Knox knows me too well for lies.
“There’s more than just profit riding on this investment,” I say, studying the lines of her newest sketch. “If Sloane’s designs are as revolutionary as I think they are, they’ll completely overshadow anything Julian launches.”
“And that’s why we’re keeping this so quiet?” Knox asks. “The confidentiality agreements, the security protocols?”
“Julian has sources everywhere. If he gets wind that I’m backing a competing line—”
“He’d do what he always does,” Knox finishes. “Find a way to destroy it before it begins.”
“Their loss.” I turn back to the screens. “Banks keep making the same mistakes. Makes my job easier.”
“Sure.” Knox’s voice is dry. “That’s why you hacked every camera in the building. The camera in her apartment building, and her computer. Because it makes your job easier.”
On-screen, Sloane runs her hands through her hair in frustration, destroying her usually neat bun. She does this when her boss shoots down her ideas. I’ve cataloged all her tells by now. The way she talks to herself while working, how she sketches on cocktail napkins at bars when she thinks no one’s watching, her secret stash of peppermint tea hidden in her desk drawer.
“The arrangements at Tonic tonight?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Everything’s set. Though I still think staging a collision is overthinking it. You could just approach her like a normal person.” Knox’s tone suggests he knows exactly how likely that is. “But since you’re determined to be extra about this, the bartender will direct her to the right spot, your scotch will be perfectly positioned, and your ridiculously expensive suit is ready to be sacrificed to the cause.”
I check my watch. Through the cameras, I see Sloane pack up for the day. She also reaches for a sweater she had delivered to her office a couple of days ago.
“So she’s still wearing that sweater tonight? Christ, it’s got actual antlers,” Knox says.
“Battery-powered lights too.” I don’t mention how I know this. That I watched her open the package, saw her face light up like the ridiculous sweater itself. “Cost her nearly a day’s pay.”
“How would you even know—” Knox stops himself.
“Annual tradition with her friend Chloe.” I tap the screen where Sloane’s grinning at the sweater. “They hit Tonic every December. Ugly sweaters, expensive drinks they can barely afford. Been doing it since college.”
“You could’ve just followed her Instagram and saved all this stalking time.” Knox scrolls through his phone. “Look, there they are last year. Same bar, same ridiculous sweaters.”
“That’s the cleaned-up version.” I turn back to the feed where Sloane’s now shoving prototypes into her bottom drawer. The ones her boss would hate. “People show what they think others want to see. She’s guilty of that.”
“And you prefer the unfiltered version.” It’s not a question. Knox has watched me build and break enough empires to know how I operate.
Knox sighs, the sound of a man who’s seen me go down obsessive rabbit holes before, but never on one person. Never like this.
“There’s something about her that’s already getting under your skin.”
He’s right, though I’m not ready to examine why. I’ve built my empire on finding undervalued assets, on seeing potential others miss.
But Sloane . . .
“Time to go,” I say instead of answering, standing to adjust my cuffs in the window’s reflection. The Manhattan skyline spreads out behind me, a glittering empire of steel and glass. “The scotch needs to hit my suit at precisely the right moment.”
“You know normal people just ask women out for coffee, right?” Knox follows me through my office, past walls of awards and acquisitions that suddenly seem meaningless compared to the portfolio Sloane carries everywhere. “They don’t orchestrate elaborate meet-cutes involving property damage.”