Chapter Four Cole
T he Gulfstream’s engines hum steadily as Manhattan disappears beneath the clouds. Knox sits across from me, iPad in hand, monitoring our elaborate plan’s next phase.
“Whitmore’s through security,” he reports after hours of us working in silence, scrolling through real-time updates. “First class lounge at JFK. She’s been staring at her phone for twenty minutes, probably second-guessing everything.”
I swirl the scotch in my glass, remembering how it felt to orchestrate our “accidental” meeting. The way her eyes lit up when she spoke about her designs, that spark of defiance beneath her uncertainty. “Show me the surveillance.”
Knox taps his screen, bringing up the lounge’s security feed.
There she is, curled in a leather armchair, her ever-present portfolio clutched close.
No ridiculous sweater today. She’s dressed for business in a charcoal blazer that speaks of carefully curated professionalism.
Even through the grainy footage, I can see her nervous energy, the way she keeps checking her boarding pass as if reassuring herself this is real.
“You know,” Knox muses, “most people would consider flying to Switzerland just to arrive before someone else a bit excessive. Even for you.”
“Most people lack vision.” I set down my glass, studying the flight path displayed on my cabin screen. “Everything has to be perfect. The timing, the setting, the first impression of Asher Industries.”
“Because the first impression at Tonic wasn’t enough?” There’s a hint of challenge in Knox’s voice. “She’s already intrigued. Why not just—”
“Because Sloane Whitmore isn’t looking for a man,” I say and cut him off.
“She’s looking for someone who believes in her vision.
Someone who sees what those shortsighted banks missed.
” I stand, moving to the window. Below, the Atlantic stretches endlessly, a dark mirror reflecting the winter sky.
“The man she met at Tonic was a stranger who ruined her sweater. The CEO of Asher Industries is someone who can make her dreams reality.”
“And the fact that they’re the same person?”
“Is a detail she’ll discover when I choose.” I turn back to him, letting a rare smile surface. “After all, timing is everything.”
Knox sets down his iPad, leaning back in his leather seat. “Walk me through the Gstaad arrangements. And please tell me you didn’t book the entire hotel this time.”
“Just the east wing.” I return to my seat, pulling up the blueprints I’ve memorized. “The Alpina’s discrete enough for our purposes.” I chose it carefully. Old money, old walls, the kind of place where privacy is understood without being discussed.
Knox shakes his head, but I catch the glimmer of admiration in his eyes. “You’ve orchestrated this like a military campaign.”
“This isn’t war, Knox. It’s courtship.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” He swipes through another set of reports. “Security detail’s in place at the Alpina. And the jeweler’s workshop in your penthouse has been set up exactly to your specifications.”
I nod, satisfaction coursing through me. Every detail matters—the lighting, the tools, the rare gems I’ve sourced from across the globe. All arranged to show Sloane that someone finally understands what she sees.
“Jasmine Walsh did us a favor,” I say. “Every time she forced Sloane to compromise her vision, she only strengthened her resolve.”
“Speaking of Walsh,” Knox interjects, “our sources say she’s already trying to take credit for Sloane’s spring collection designs. Telling buyers it was all her all along.”
Something dark flashes through me. “Make a note. Moth to the Flame might need a change in leadership soon.”
“Already ahead of you.” Knox’s smile is sharp. “I’ve had our analysts reviewing their financials. Several... interesting discrepancies in their books.”
“Good.” I turn back to the window, watching clouds roll beneath us like waves. “What’s Sloane doing now?”
Knox checks the feed. “Still in the lounge, but she’s sketching now. That portfolio hasn’t left her hands since she arrived.”
I think of that portfolio, how she’d started to reach for it at Tonic before her friend interrupted. Soon I’ll see every design, every idea she’s poured onto those pages. But more than that, I’ll give her the means to transform them from paper into reality.
“Sir?” The pilot’s voice comes through the cabin speaker. “We’re beginning our approach to Zurich. Weather at Gstaad is clear for the helicopter transfer.”
I check my watch. Perfect timing. Sloane’s flight won’t leave for another hour. By the time she lands in Zurich, I’ll have everything in place at the Alpina.
“Knox,” I say, my thoughts turning back to business, “what’s our latest intel on Julian’s suppliers?”
“We’ve identified three key factories he’s contracted for the Claire collection. Two in Italy, one in Belgium. My contacts tell me he’s been meeting with high-end department store buyers, promising exclusivity.”
I nod slowly, pieces falling into place. “And Bergdorf’s? Are they still interested in our New Year’s reveal?”
“More than interested. Salivating is more like it.” Knox scrolls through his notes. “Their luxury division director called twice this morning asking for preview details. I stalled, as instructed.”
“Good. The less anyone knows about Sloane’s collection, the better. If Julian gets wind that I’m backing her—”
“He’ll try to destroy both of you,” Knox finishes grimly. “Which is why I’ve tripled security for this operation. No one—and I mean no one—sees those designs until the reveal.”
If everything goes according to plan, Julian’s “Claire” collection will be exposed for the fraud it is, and Sloane Whitmore will be the new star of the luxury jewelry world.
And Julian Voss will finally begin paying for what he did to Claire. Well... it will never be enough, but at least it’s something.
I check my watch, anxious for what’s to come. “Let’s focus on the penthouse renovations and how they’re progressing.”
Knox pulls up new blueprints. “They’re ahead of schedule. Top-of-the-line security system. Though I still think the surveillance coverage is excessive. Do you really need four different angles of her workspace?”
“Eight,” I correct, marking additional camera positions. “I want to see everything.”
“This is either going to be brilliant or disastrous.” Knox shakes his head, but he’s already noting the new locations. “Though I guess those are the same thing with you.”
“I need to understand her process. How she creates. What inspires her.”
“You know this is insane, right?” But he’s already pulling up the jet’s manifest, checking security protocols. “The whole thing—the surveillance, the manipulations, bringing her into your world when Julian’s circling...”
“Since when has ‘insane’ ever stopped me?”
The plane touches down in Zurich with characteristic precision. On the tarmac, a helicopter waits to take us to Gstaad. I check my phone one last time before we transfer. Sloane’s still in the JFK lounge, but she’s moved to the window now, watching planes take off into the winter sky.
“Final preparations at the Alpina?” I ask as we board the helicopter.
“Your suite has been prepared according to specifications. Security confirms the east wing is clear of other guests.”
“The dinner menu?”
“Chef Maurice is preparing a seven-course tasting menu. Wine pairings have been selected from the cellar.” Knox’s expression turns knowing. “Though I notice you’ve requested peppermint tea be available as well.”
I ignore his implied question. “And the weather?”
“Snow forecast for the evening. The kind that makes everything look like a fairy tale.” He pauses. “Or a trap, depending on your perspective.”
“It’s not a trap if she wants to be caught.” The helicopter lifts off, banking toward the mountains.
I watch the Alps grow larger, their snow-covered peaks piercing the clouds like nature’s own version of Manhattan’s skyline. “Most acquisitions don’t have Sloane’s potential, Knox. Speaking of... has her severance package been processed?”
“Along with some interesting adjustments to her final paycheck. Seems several unauthorized deductions were made.”
“Document everything. Add it to the file on Walsh’s creative accounting.”
The helicopter begins its descent into Gstaad, the Alpina’s elegant silhouette emerging through lightly falling snow.
In a few hours, Sloane will land in Zurich, still uncertain what she’s walking into.
By the time she reaches the Alpina, everything will be perfect—a stage set for the next act in our carefully choreographed dance.
“One last thing,” Knox says as we touch down. “The background check on her friend Chloe came back. She’s clean, but chatty. High risk for asking uncomfortable questions. She’s in a relationship with a firefighter who also checks out.”
“Leave Chloe alone,” I instruct. “Sloane needs at least one person in her life who isn’t part of this. Besides,” I add, “she makes Sloane happy.”
The helicopter’s rotors slow as we step onto the Alpina’s private landing pad. Snow swirls around us, transforming the world into something out of a winter’s tale. Soon, Sloane will see this same view, not knowing that every snowflake, every crystal of ice, has been arranged just for her.
“Sir?” One of the hotel’s staff approaches with a clipboard against his chest. “Everything is prepared according to your specifications. Would you like to see for yourself?”
I check my watch. Still hours before Sloane’s flight lands. Time enough to ensure every detail is perfect.
“Show me.”