What Comes Around (The What Goes Around Duet #2)

Chapter 1 The First Meeting

As we entered, Knox Sinclair rose from behind his desk and in the corner of the office, a massive black dog lifted his head from a plush bed.

The dog stood slowly, power coiled beneath his short coat, his full attention locking onto me the second I crossed the threshold.

A Cane Corso. Easily over a hundred pounds. All muscle.

“Titan, stay,” Knox said calmly.

The dog obeyed instantly, lowering himself back onto the bed, though his eyes never left me.

Neither did his owners.

I understood immediately why they suited each other.

Knox Sinclair was just as huge.

6'6 at least. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long powerful legs. Arms that stretched the fabric when he moved. The suit did not soften him, it emphasized him.

His gaze swept briefly over Ms. Carter before settling back on me.

And when our eyes met, something in my chest shifted.

“Ms. Carter, you may return to your duties,” he said calmly. “I will see Miss Richards out myself.”

His voice.

Deep. Smooth. Controlled. With something rough beneath it. The kind of voice that did not need to raise itself to command a room. It vibrated low, steady, confident.

Stacy nodded and left quietly.

Knox kept his eyes on me.

I knew I looked professional. My makeup was light, fresh. Nothing dramatic. I wore a black knee length pencil skirt tailored close to my hips, black heels that added confidence more than height, and a crisp white blouse tucked neatly at my waist. My hair was braided back into a controlled up-do.

Polished. Composed.

I had chosen every detail deliberately. Just as deliberately as I had studied him.

Knox was 38 years old, 12 years older than me. A former professional football tight end, ten years out of the league after an injury. Built an empire faster than most men built families. Ruthless in business. Strategic in acquisitions. Known for turning unstable ventures into profit machines.

He was never married. Never publicly attached himself to anyone long term.

He was not conventionally handsome. His features were too strong, too intense. But he was compelling in a way that had nothing to do with softness. A sharp jaw. A heavy brow. Hunter’s eyes. A mouth that rarely smiled in photographs.

His hair was dark brown, nearly black in the light. But his eyes were what held me.

One was a deep navy blue.

The other a vivid green.

Cold. Alert. Unforgivingly observant.

They studied me without apology.

He said nothing for a moment.

Neither did I.

Then he stepped out from behind the desk and walked around to the other side. He leaned back against it, settling his weight on the edge as if his size did not dominate the room by default.

Relaxed.

But in complete control.

His eyes never left me.

“Miss Richards.”

“Mr. Sinclair,” I replied.

“Welcome to Sinclair Enterprises,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“I trust your relocation went smoothly?”

“Yes. Your people made it very easy,” I answered honestly.

One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. Not quite a smile. More like recognition.

“Good,” he said. “They were instructed to.”

He studied me again.

“You know why you’re here.”

“Yes.”

“Say it anyway.”

“You wanted me,” I replied.

A pause.

One brow lifted slightly.

“Correct.”

He uncrossed his arms.

“I saw you six months ago in New York,” he said. “Development Analytics Panel. Third speaker. You dismantled a billion-dollar casino expansion with three charts and one sentence.”

I remembered.

“You said numbers don’t lie. People do.”

I nodded once.

“That sentence cost two executives their jobs,” he added calmly. “And saved three companies from bankruptcy.”

I didn’t react.

“I asked who you worked for before you finished speaking,” he continued. “And by the time the panel ended, I knew I wanted you working for me.”

“So you had Sinclair acquire me,” I said.

“Yes.”

No apology. No hesitation.

He straightened slightly.

“Your role here is simple in theory and brutal in practice,” he said. “You exist to tell me no. You exist to stop my company from bleeding money on ambition disguised as vision. You will challenge people who earn seven times your salary.”

I nodded once.

“What are your expectations of me?” I asked.

“Precision. Integrity. Independence. If you agree with everyone in a room, you are useless to me. I am a perfectionist with little tolerance for emotional inefficiency. I need someone who does not require reassurance, supervision, or approval.”

“And if I disagree with you?”

His eyes sharpened.

“Then you better be right.”

Fair.

“And what can I expect from you?” I asked.

A flicker of interest passed through his eyes.

“I protect what I invest in,” he said. “And I always get what I want.”

Then a sound cut through the silence.

A low, heavy snort.

I glanced toward the corner.

The massive Cane Corso had shifted on his plush bed, releasing a slow, almost bored exhale before resettling his head against his paws. His eyes slid shut again, body relaxing as if he had already decided I was irrelevant to his threat assessment.

Knox followed my gaze.

“This is Titan,” he said calmly.

I looked back at the dog. “He doesn’t seem particularly curious.”

“He isn’t,” Knox replied. “If he stayed awake, you’d have a problem.”

A corner of my mouth twitched despite myself.

“Nobody is permitted to give him any food or treats,” he added.

The instruction landed abruptly.

I nodded once. “Is he friendly?”

“No,” Knox replied. “He’s a highly trained security tool. He won’t attack without being provoked.”

I believed him.

He stood from the desk and stepped closer, stopping at a respectful distance. I was not easily intimidated. But standing in front of him, even in heels, I only reached his chin.

“You will report directly to me. I don’t micromanage, but I do observe. If I stop observing you, it means you failed.”

I nodded.

“Welcome to Sinclair Enterprises, Ashley.”

He used my first name deliberately.

“I expect great things from you.”

I met his gaze steadily.

“You won’t be disappointed, Mr. Sinclair.”