His Contract Bride, The Real Heiress

Julian stood up abruptly. His chair scraped loudly against the floor.

Let's go, he commanded, looking at Serena. "Grandfather wants you at the office. To 'learn the ropes.' Which means you sit in a corner and don't touch anything."

Serena stood. "Ready when you are, boss."

They went down to the garage. It was a showroom of automotive excess. Ferraris, Bentleys, a vintage Porsche. Julian walked toward a black Maybach.

The driver held the back door open. Julian slid in. Serena moved to follow him.

Julian put his hand up, blocking her.

Don't touch anything, he warned. "Don't speak to anyone unless spoken to. You are invisible today. Understand?"

Crystal, Serena said, sliding onto the leather seat.

She sat as far to the left as possible, pressing herself against the door. Julian sat on the far right. The distance between them was filled with tension and the hum of the engine.

Julian opened his laptop immediately. He began typing furiously, reviewing a merger spreadsheet.

His phone rang. He groaned, seeing the caller ID. It was the London partners. He answered it, his voice switching to a crisp, professional baritone. He placed the laptop on the center armrest, the screen still glowing, as he gestured with his free hand while arguing about equity splits.

Serena glanced sideways. The screen was angled just enough. Her eyes, sharp and trained, scanned the dense grid of numbers.

Row 45. Column G.

There was a discrepancy. Not a typo, but a logic error in the formula reference that was pulling data from the wrong fiscal quarter. It was subtle-a difference that would compound into a massive valuation gap.

He's using Q3 projections for Q4 actuals, she noted silently. That's a three hundred million dollar overestimation.

It was a trap laid by whoever built the sheet, or just incompetence.

Serena's lips parted. She almost said, Your valuation is inflated.

She stopped herself. Stop. You are a hillbilly. You don't know what Excel is. You think a spreadsheet is something you put on a horse.

She looked out the window, biting the inside of her cheek. Letting him lose money was painful to her obsessive-compulsive need for accuracy, but blowing her cover was worse. She forced herself to focus on the passing grey blur of the city.

The car pulled up to Sterling Corp, a skyscraper that dominated the skyline.

They entered the lobby. The air changed. People stopped and stared. They stared at Julian with fear and reverence. They stared at Serena with confusion. Who was this girl in flannel walking beside the God of Commerce?

Julian didn't introduce her. He walked straight to the elevator, swiping his key card.

They went to the 40th floor. Marketing and PR.

He marched her to the office of the Executive Assistant to the VP, a woman named Scarlett. Scarlett was beautiful, sharp, and one of Vanessa's best friends. She looked at Serena like a cat looks at a wounded bird.

This is the intern, Julian said, not even using Serena's name. "Keep her busy. Keep her invisible. If I hear she caused trouble, it's your head."

Scarlett smiled, a predatory baring of teeth. "Understood, Mr. Sterling. I have just the thing."

Julian turned and left without a backward glance.

Scarlett pointed to a desk in the corner, piled high with paper that needed shredding.

Sit, Scarlett ordered. "And don't make eye contact with the creatives. You might infect them with... mediocrity."

Serena sat. She looked at the shredder.

Game on, she thought.