Chapter 2
AURELIA
You’re mine.
I smiled prettily at the man across the table from me in a private room at a swanky restaurant. He was a little scrawny, his hair falling into his eyes and his shirt wrinkled like he’d rolled straight out of bed and into this crisis.
“I just, uh, I don’t know,” he stuttered, dabbing at his sweaty brow with an embroidered handkerchief. The embroidery was fraying though, letting me know how old and used up even his handkerchief was.
His lawyers, thin, wiry men with glasses sharper than their spines, kept bending their heads closer to him, probably whispering advice I doubted he’d take.
I didn’t even know why he’d brought them along.
He either didn’t listen to them, or they were useless at their jobs. We wouldn’t have been here otherwise.
“That’s so totally understandable. You did the right thing today, meeting with me. I know how difficult this is, but I’m here to help.”
I leaned in just slightly, widening my smile and deliberately softening my eyes.
Looking at him like I was the only person in the room who didn’t see him as a disappointment.
Pretending like I wasn’t here to strip him of what little dignity he had left in exchange for his signature on a dotted line.
And it was working.
His gaze held mine like I was the flame and he was the moth. A pathetic, broke little moth clinging to the last vestiges of his family’s former fortune, but this was the part I’d been born for.
Being pretty. Unnaturally gifted in the art of persuasion. When I wanted it to happen, people were inclined to say yes to me before I’d even asked the question.
My family had always known how to use that gift to their advantage. Van Alen & Associates had practically built their reputation on it, but this? This was different.
“Fifty million dollars.” The number rolled off my tongue like honey, and I paused to let it sink into the very molecules of air surrounding us.
The heir blinked, his mouth falling open. I could practically see the moment his pride collapsed, giving way to desperation and perhaps offering a flash of the greed that had gotten him into this position to begin with.
Hope surged through me. If I closed this deal today, convincing this heir to hand over their billion-dollar portfolio to me instead of any of the other sharks circling him, I’d finally have the leverage to break free.
To stop working under the Van Alen name.
To stop dancing to their tune and start my own acquisitions firm.
My own name. My empire. My rules.
I tilted my head and lowered my voice until it was softer and a lot more coaxing, making it sound like I was a dear friend. I meant every word I said. “I know how overwhelming this must be, but I promise that if you decide go with me, you’ll be protected. Safe. No one else will offer you that.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed and I bit back a victorious smile. This deal was as good as mine.
He swallowed hard, then opened his mouth to say yes. I knew it was coming, but I waited with bated breath for it to happen anyway.
Then the door to our private room swung open. The sound of it banging against the wall cracked through the air like a whip, and every head turned to face one of the last people I would have expected to barge into my meeting today.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
A freaking Westwood.
I didn’t know which one. There were too many heirs to that particular throne. All four of them richer than oil barons, more gorgeous than demigods, and absolutely bloody insufferable, but the family resemblance was unmistakable.
The man standing in the doorway right now was definitely a Westwood. He had the sharp jawline, sharper eyes, and that undeniable aura of old money and too much power.
Whichever one of the infamous Westwood boys this was, he was tall, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. He wore an expensive suit like a second skin and a casual smirk, moving with the kind of confidence that said he’d never been said no to once in his life.
Not good. Not good at all.
The client’s lawyers immediately sat up straighter, and my eyes narrowed. Oh no, you don’t. Not today, buster.
I rose smoothly, plastering a smile on my face before I excused myself. My heels clicked against the polished floor as I stalked across the room, my eyes locked firmly on his, not wavering even once I got close enough to see that they were a truly intriguing hazel.
Almost completely ice-blue, his irises held a captivating undertone of green, shards of crystallized honey scattered in across them. No. Absolutely not, Aurelia.
I felt my features dropping into a scowl that was probably sharp enough to cut glass, but the Westwood didn’t flinch.
He just leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, watching me approach like I was part of the day’s entertainment.
I stopped in front of him, tilting my chin up to keep looking directly into his eyes.
“You’re late,” I hissed under my breath, keeping my lips curved in a social smile for the sake of our audience.
He arched a dark eyebrow, clearly amused. “Funny. I don’t remember getting an invite.”
Cocky bastard.
My mother’s voice hummed through my head, but it wasn’t her actual voice that rang the loudest. It was the disdain in it whenever their last name came up. They think they’re untouchable. Too good for us.
She wasn’t wrong. The Westwoods had been snubbing the Van Alens my whole life.
Everyone in our social circles were invited to CC Westwood’s glittering soirées, but not us.
They never acknowledged our deals or professional achievements in the press the way they did with other notable rivals.
We never got any nods across charity galas.
My mother hated them for it and now, one of them had just waltzed into my meeting like he was entitled to be here. He looked right at me, then he smiled one of those infuriating grins that men like him perfected before they were even old enough to drive.
“What exactly is your role here?” he asked slowly, his voice more of a lazy drawl than an actual, professional inquiry. “Are you his assistant? Secretary? Why am I late?”
I blinked hard. “Excuse me?”
His gaze dragged over me in a way that would’ve been insulting if he wasn’t so obviously entertained by all of this. “You’re fetching coffee, right? Or is it notes? You look like you keep excellent notes.”
Heat pricked my cheeks, but I managed to keep my sweet, practiced, and very fake smile firmly on my lips. “Try again.”
He tilted his head, eyes twinkling like he was delighted about me playing along with his ridiculous game. “Maybe you’re the distraction. They bring you in to rattle the competition, right? You bat your lashes to throw us off balance? It’s effective. Well, almost.”
Frustration tightened my gut. I’d only just met him and already, I wanted nothing more than to slap the grin right off his face. “I am not anyone’s assistant.”
“Of course not.” His lips twitched as he let his gaze wonder over me again, slow and deliberate. “You’re very professional.”
The air between us crackled. I could practically feel the client slipping away from me, but I was not going to let this man bulldoze me. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
Before I could say anything else though, one of the attorney snapped his folder shut and from the corner of my eye, I saw them beginning to stand. One, the head honcho, looked at me, shooting me an apologetic smile.
“Perhaps we should reconvene after my client has had more time to consider the offer.”
The others murmured their agreement, gathering their papers and within seconds, they were on their way to the door. “Gentlemen, wait.”
The sound of the Westwood’s voice froze the attorneys mid-step and he hadn’t even raised it. One of his hands was tucked casually into the pocket of his tailored slacks, the other holding a sleek black folder.
As much as I hated to admit it, even to me, it looked like he’d been born to be here. Like this wasn’t a negotiation so much as a foregone conclusion. “One hundred million. Cash.”
Everyone in the room stopped breathing—myself included. Westwood’s grin widened, as if he knew he was about to deal the death blow to my offer. “If you drag this process out, trying to sell it all piece by piece, it’ll take years.”
He took a step closer to the client, his voice filled with faux sympathy and understanding when he focused his gaze on the scrawny little man.
“You’ll have attorneys’ fees coming out of your ears, be stuck in endless due diligence, and that’s not even to mention the tax complications.
It’s a nightmare, trust me. I’m here to make this easy.
It can all be over today. Right now, infact.
” His smile broadened into one that was downright charming.
“Just one signature and you walk out of here with more money than you’ve seen in your entire life. ”
He held out the glossy folder, slipping it to the client who had been my ticket to freedom, and I saw red. In that moment, I could’ve strangled him with my bare hands.
One hundred million. Just like that. He hadn’t even flinched, but he’d definitely ripped the deal right out from under me like it didn’t mean a thing.
The attorney escorted the client out without saying the word, but I saw the way the man hugged that file. There was no way he was taking my offer.
Even so, I forced my fake smile to hold until the door clicked shut behind them, then I huffed out a breath, spun around, and strode out of the restaurant with my heels striking the marble floor like gunshots.
My pulse roared as I climbed into my car and peeled out of the hotel parking lot, but when I reached the Van Alen high-rise, the familiar sight of our building steadied me.
This was my territory. My father’s empire sat twenty-five floors above the city, our crest etched in brass at the lobby entrance, and our name woven into the strands of San Francisco banking history. Like the Westwoods, the Van Alens were old money. Respectable money.
Despite my loss to that asshole, I strode through the revolving doors with my chin held high.
I’d been running my dad’s acquisitions and investment department since I’d graduated from Yale Business three years ago, and even though no one in my family seemed to want to give me any credit, I’d built that department—my department—into the powerhouse it was today.
By the time I climbed off the elevator and walked into the Van Alen & Associates executive suite, my breathing had returned to normal, and my brain was functioning a little more clearly again. Despite the astronomical amount Westwood had offered, the client hadn’t accepted just yet.
I still had a chance and I was going to figure out a way to take it. Allowing determination to soothe me, I was doing fine until the first voice I heard was my brother, Scott’s.
“Hey, Aurelia,” he called without even looking up from his phone. “Be a doll and run down to the café for me, would you? Large Americano, extra shot.”
My jaw locked. How hard would I have to work before he stopped treating me like an errand girl?
“Sure,” I said sweetly, because I couldn’t really say anything else. Arguing would only end with him pleading with me to caffeinate him. The thought of running down to the cafe himself would never even cross his mind. “I’ll be back with that soon.”
Instead of heading to the cafe, I walked right back to my car. If there was one thing today had reminded me of, it was that my father was preparing to retire, and he was going to hand his kingdom to my twin brothers—Scott and Daniel—without a second thought.
Just like Scott would never fetch his own coffee, Richard Van Alen would never hand over to the reins to his daughter.
That was why today had been so damn important to me.
I needed to find a way out, because I was not spending the rest of my life fetching coffee for my brothers simply because they’d been born with penises, only a few years before me.
Screw. That.