The Ruined Heiress Makes A Comeback

The aggressive buzzing of Cierra's phone violently ripped her out of her sleep.

She groaned, blindly slapping her hand on the mattress until she found the phone. It was K.C.

Cierra scrambled out of bed, threw on a crisp white blouse and a black pencil skirt, and ran out the door.

A sleek black Lincoln Town Car was waiting on the curb.

The entire ride into Manhattan, Cierra's leg bounced nervously. She checked her reflection in the tinted window. Carlisle had called her in early. That had to mean her pitch was good. It had to mean she saved herself.

The car pulled into the underground garage of a massive glass skyscraper. K.C. was waiting by the private elevator.

Cierra followed her in silence. The elevator shot up to the penthouse level.

K.C. led Cierra down a long, silent hallway lined with thick wool carpet. She stopped in front of a frosted glass door.

"He's inside," K.C. said flatly. She didn't open the door. She just turned and walked away.

Cierra swallowed hard. She reached out and pushed the heavy glass door open.

A wave of thick, humid air hit her instantly.

The room was a massive indoor spa. Black slate tiles covered the floor and walls. In the center of the room was a huge, sunken Jacuzzi. Steam rolled off the surface of the bubbling water.

Cierra stepped inside, her high heels clicking softly against the stone.

Through the mist, she saw Carlisle.

He was leaning back against the edge of the Jacuzzi, his arms spread wide along the wet marble rim. He was completely bare-chested. Water droplets clung to the hard planes of his chest and abdomen.

Cierra's breath hitched. A hot flush crept up her neck. She immediately averted her eyes, taking a step backward.

"Come closer," Carlisle's voice echoed off the tile walls. It was low, dangerous, and completely devoid of warmth.

Cierra forced her legs to move. She walked to the edge of the slate floor, stopping about three feet from the water. She clutched her leather portfolio to her chest like a shield.

Carlisle slowly opened his eyes. They were pitch black, locking onto her with a terrifying intensity.

"So," Carlisle said, his lip curling into a sneer. "How confident are you in your... submission?"

Cierra straightened her spine. She thought he was talking about the marketing data.

"Very confident," Cierra said, her voice steady. "I know it's aggressive, but I guarantee it will grab the audience's attention immediately."

Carlisle let out a harsh, barking laugh that held absolutely no humor.

"Oh, it grabs attention, alright," Carlisle spat. "It's completely shameless. A cheap, desperate attempt to humiliate me."

Cierra blinked, completely thrown off. "Humiliate you? Carlisle, the demographic responds to direct stimulation. You have to give them exactly what they want to see to get the conversion rate."

Carlisle's hands gripped the marble edge of the tub so hard his knuckles turned white.

Direct stimulation. Conversion rate. She was talking about her filthy fantasy like it was a business strategy.

Carlisle violently pushed himself up out of the water.

Water cascaded down his torso as he leaned forward, closing the distance between them.

"Is this how you close all your brand deals?" Carlisle snarled, his voice echoing loudly in the enclosed space. "Do you just send every executive your sick little fantasies when you don't have the actual skills to do the job?"

Cierra's mouth fell open. The sheer disrespect of his words felt like a slap to the face.

"Excuse me?" Cierra yelled, her own anger finally igniting. "I stayed up all night working on those numbers! I poured everything I had into that document!"

"There were no numbers in that document!" Carlisle roared, slamming his fist into the water. A massive splash hit the slate floor. "It was nothing but a filthy, pathetic fantasy about making me crawl!"

Cierra froze. Her brain completely stalled.

Fantasy about making him crawl?

She shook her head, completely lost. "What are you talking about? It's a market analysis!"

"Stop lying!" Carlisle yelled. He glared at her, his chest heaving. "If that document is your core strategy, Cierra, then you don't belong in a corporate boardroom. You belong in a psychiatric ward."

The words hung in the humid air, heavy and toxic.

Cierra's eyes widened in horror. The insult pierced straight through her chest, leaving a burning hole behind her ribs.

She didn't understand what he was talking about, but the sheer hatred in his eyes was unmistakable. He thought she was sick.

"You arrogant bastard," Cierra whispered, her voice trembling with rage.

She took a massive step forward, pointing her finger right at his face, ready to scream at him to pull up the file and read the actual data.