Eloise flinched. She took a physical step backward, her heels scraping against the carpet. She dug her fingernails so hard into her palms that she felt the skin break.
Genevieve laughed. It was a high, nervous sound that grated on Eloise's ears. She yanked Eloise's arm, forcing her to sit in the chair at the far end of the long table.
"Oh, Christian, you always had such a sharp sense of humor," Genevieve said, taking the seat next to Eloise.
A waiter silently appeared, placing plates of caviar in front of them. No one picked up a fork. The only sound in the room was the faint clinking of silverware from the main dining area outside.
Genevieve leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "I was just telling Eloise the other day about your time at the boarding school in Connecticut. We always knew you were destined for great things. The Brandt family always supported you."
Christian leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. He looked at Genevieve the way a buyer inspects a defective product.
"Your total debt is four hundred and twenty million, Genevieve," Christian said. His voice was flat. He didn't blink. "Two hundred million is due to the creditors by Friday."
Genevieve's mouth snapped shut. The fake smile melted off her face, leaving her looking old and terrified. The exact numbers stripped away every ounce of her upper-class dignity.
Eloise felt a hot rush of humiliation burn her cheeks. She couldn't take it anymore. She snapped her head up and glared straight into Christian's cold blue eyes.
"You could at least show some basic respect," Eloise said. Her voice shook, but she forced the words out.
Christian shifted his weight. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. The physical distance between them seemed to vanish. His eyes darkened.
"Respect?" Christian repeated softly. "People who come begging for my money don't get to demand respect, Eloise."
The words hit her chest like a physical blow. Her breath caught in her throat. Her chest heaved as she struggled to pull air into her lungs.
Under the table, Genevieve's hand shot out. Her fingers pinched the soft flesh of Eloise's thigh, twisting hard. It was a silent, violent warning to shut up.
Christian reached into his jacket. He pulled out a thick stack of legal documents and tossed them onto the center of the table. He pushed them. The heavy paper slid across the polished wood, stopping right in front of Eloise.
"That is the acquisition agreement," Christian stated. "I am stripping Brandt Group of all its core assets. The real estate, the tech patents, the shipping lines. You get to keep the name and an empty shell. I assume the debt."
Genevieve let out a choked gasp. She jumped up from her chair. "That is robbery! You are destroying a hundred years of our family's work!"
"Business is business," Christian replied, his face completely blank. "If you don't sign it tonight, the Wall Street Journal will publish your bankruptcy filing at 6:00 AM tomorrow."
Eloise stared at the thick white paper. Her stomach twisted into tight, painful knots. He wasn't here to negotiate. He wasn't here to help. He was here to watch them bleed. He was here for revenge.
She stood up. She pushed her chair back so hard the wooden legs screeched against the floor.
"We are done here," Eloise said, her voice hollow.
Genevieve grabbed Eloise's wrist. Her grip was frantic. "Sit down! Eloise, please!" Tears spilled over Genevieve's eyelashes, ruining her expensive makeup. She was crying in front of him.
Eloise yanked her arm free. Watching her mother beg broke the last piece of her pride. She couldn't breathe in this room anymore.
Christian sat in the shadows at the end of the table. He watched Eloise's red-rimmed eyes. His hand gripped his empty whiskey glass so tightly his knuckles turned completely white.
Eloise grabbed her clutch from the table. She looked at Christian with pure hatred. "Even if we end up on the street, we will never sell to a cold-blooded monster like you."
She turned around and walked toward the heavy oak door. Her heels sank into the carpet. Every step felt like walking through wet cement, but she didn't stop.
Her fingers wrapped around the cold brass door handle.
"Julian Finch," Christian's low voice echoed behind her.
Eloise froze. Her hand cramped around the brass handle.
"I heard you've been looking at the script for The Mist," Christian continued, his tone dangerously calm. "Campbell Kirk's project. Very interesting."
Eloise turned her head slowly. Her eyes were wide with shock. She couldn't believe he was tracking her private reading materials.
Christian stood up. His massive frame blocked out the dim light of the room. He walked slowly around the long table, closing the distance between them.
He stopped inches from her. Eloise had to tilt her head back to look at him. The smell of his cologne-cedar and something sharp-filled her nose.
"One word from me," Christian whispered, looking down at her. "Just one word, and you won't get any decent script in Hollywood again. You won't even get a callback for a commercial."
Eloise's blood turned to ice. Her entire body went rigid. She stared at the man standing over her, feeling a deep, paralyzing terror. He wasn't just taking her family's money. He was taking her only escape.
Christian slowly lifted his hand. Eloise flinched, but he just reached out and tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed against her skin. They were warm, but the gesture made her stomach churn with fear.
"Go home, Eloise," he said softly. His eyes were sharp like broken glass. "Think about it."
Eloise shoved the door open. She practically ran into the hallway, leaving the private room behind. The moment she hit the main dining area, the tears she had been fighting finally spilled over her cheeks.
