Bought By The Coldhearted Media Mogul

The Clemons Media Tower was a monolith of glass and steel that pierced the Manhattan sky. To Cinthia, standing at the base looking up, it looked like a giant, glittering cage.

She swiped her badge at the turnstile. Beep. It flashed green. Just like yesterday. The security guard, Ralph, 's eyes flickered up from his newspaper for a fraction of a second, a flicker of recognition-or was it confusion?-before he looked away, pretending he'd seen nothing.

"Morning, Ralph," she whispered. He didn't answer.

Sixty floors up, in the penthouse office, Adrian Clemons stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the ants crawling on the pavement.

"Notify the Board," he said, not turning around. "I'm married. The morality clause in the trust is satisfied. My voting rights need to be reinstated effective immediately."

Miles, who had just walked in, cleared his throat. "Sir, about... the lady..."

"Don't call her 'the lady'," Adrian snapped. "Or 'Mrs. Clemons'. It's a merger, Miles. A hostile takeover of a human asset. Nothing more."

He turned, his face tight with stress. "Darryl is buying up loose shares. If I don't lock this down today, he gets the Media division. I won't let that bastard dismantle my father's legacy."

"Understood," Miles said. He hesitated. "But sir, she-"

"Coffee," Adrian interrupted. "Black. Now."

Down on the 14th floor, Cinthia slid into her cubicle. Her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

"You're late, Wise."

Giana, the Senior Executive Assistant, dropped a stack of files onto Cinthia's desk. The thud made Cinthia jump.

"Sorry," Cinthia mumbled, keeping her head down. "Traffic."

"Whatever," Giana rolled her eyes. She was wearing a dress that cost three of Cinthia's paychecks. "The big boss is on a warpath today. He's already fired two interns. You better keep your head down."

If only you knew, Cinthia thought. I'm not just an employee anymore. I'm the liability.

The phone on Giana's desk rang. The red line. The one from the penthouse.

Giana answered it, her voice turning sugary sweet. "Yes, Mr. Clemons's office... Oh. Right away."

She hung up and turned to Cinthia, her face twisting into a sneer. "Sarah is in the bathroom and I'm busy with the quarterly reports. You take it."

Cinthia froze. "Take what?"

"The coffee. Top floor. He's screaming for it."

"Me?" Cinthia's voice squeaked. "Can't someone else-"

"Do you want to keep your job?" Giana hissed. "Go!"

Cinthia's hands trembled as she picked up the tray from the breakroom counter. The black coffee sloshed dangerously near the rim.

The elevator ride was agonizing. Every floor number that lit up felt like a countdown to execution. …55… 58… 60…

The doors opened.

Miles was at his desk outside the double oak doors. When he saw Cinthia step out holding the tray, his eyes widened.

"Ms. Wise?" he whispered. "What are you doing?"

"Giana made me," Cinthia whispered back. "She doesn't know."

"Coffee!" Adrian's voice roared from inside the office.

Miles winced. He gave Cinthia a look that was half pity, half good luck. He gestured to the door.

Cinthia took a deep breath. She pushed the door open with her hip.

Adrian was pacing behind his massive desk, phone pressed to his ear. "Tell Darryl if he even looks at the publishing arm, I'll bury him in litigation so deep he'll need a submarine to find a lawyer."

Cinthia walked softly across the plush carpet. She set the cup down on the coaster. Clink.

Adrian slammed the phone down. He spun around.

"Finally. What took you so-"

He stopped.

He stared at her. Then he looked at the door. Then back at her.

"What are you doing on this floor?" he demanded. His voice was low, dangerous.

"I..." Cinthia stammered. "I brought the coffee."

"I'm aware of where you work, Ms. Wise," Adrian said, his voice dripping with contempt as he took a step toward her. "Did you think signing a paper gave you the right to wander my headquarters? To play house? Your place is on the fourteenth floor. You are an employee. Nothing more."

"No! Sir, I-"

"Get out," he snarled. "And don't come back until I send for you. You don't belong on this floor. You don't belong in this world."

He thought she was an opportunist. A schemer who was already testing the boundaries of their arrangement. The fact that she was an employee only made it worse in his eyes-it meant she'd been under his nose the whole time, a snake in the grass.

Cinthia opened her mouth to say, Giana sent me, but the look in his eyes stopped her. It was pure hatred.

"I'm leaving," she whispered. She turned to flee.

"Wait."

Adrian's voice stopped her at the door.

"Miles!" he shouted.

Miles appeared instantly.

"Call Spencer," Adrian said, staring at Cinthia's back. "Get the Prenup over here. Now. She signs it today. Before she gets any more ideas about her 'rights'."