On the twelfth floor of the publishing group's headquarters, the conference room felt like a war zone.
Orville slammed a massive, hardcover art book by the late Silas Thorne onto the glass table. The heavy thud made Julianna wince.
She rubbed her throbbing temples. "Orville, the budget is over by two hundred percent. We don't have the money."
Orville leaned over the table, planting both hands on the glass. "You cannot compromise on art, Julianna. This is Silas Thorne."
Julianna didn't blink. She flipped open the financial report, uncapped a red pen, and aggressively circled the massive deficit at the bottom of the page. "I'm not compromising on art. I'm telling you we are broke. Your vision is a financial suicide mission."
"You are a corporate machine," Orville spat, his face turning red. "You don't understand the creative process at all."
He snatched the art book off the table, turned on his heel, and slammed the glass door behind him.
Julianna slumped back into her ergonomic chair, the fight draining out of her. She closed her eyes, the headache behind them pulsing with every heartbeat.
Fifty-eight floors above her, in the executive penthouse suite, the temperature in the room was cold enough to freeze blood.
Brent Aguilar, the Vice President of the publishing group, pushed open the double walnut doors. He wore a perfectly tailored suit and a politician's practiced, hollow smile.
Aidan Caldwell stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to the room. He wore a dark grey bespoke suit that fit his broad shoulders flawlessly. He held an unlit cigar between his fingers. He looked like a king surveying his empire.
"Aidan," Brent said, his voice dripping with forced familiarity. He walked forward, extending his right hand. "Welcome back to New York. It's an honor to have Europe's top architectural consultant looking at our building."
Aidan turned around slowly. His eyes, dark and bottomless, dropped to Brent's outstretched hand. He stared at it for three agonizing seconds. He made absolutely no move to take it.
Brent's smile faltered. He awkwardly pulled his hand back and wiped his palm against his trousers, his chest tightening with sudden anxiety.
Aidan walked past him and sat down on the center leather sofa. He crossed his long legs, resting his ankle on his knee. His posture was relaxed, but the energy radiating off him was suffocating.
He tossed the unlit cigar onto the glass coffee table. "Where are the structural assessment files?" His voice was a low, rough rasp that demanded immediate compliance.
Brent hurried over to the wet bar. He needed to do something with his hands. He grabbed two crystal tumblers. The ice clinked loudly against the glass as he poured two generous measures of expensive Macallan whiskey.
He walked back and slid one of the tumblers across the table toward Aidan. "We have them ready. But come on, man. It's been years. We should catch up."
Aidan stared at the amber liquid swirling in the glass. His expression was unreadable. He picked up the tumbler but didn't bring it to his lips. Instead, his thumb slowly traced the cut-glass pattern on the side.
Brent swallowed hard, pushing his luck. "I saw the Pritzker nomination. Congratulations. I have to ask, though... why leave Paris? Why take a boring consulting gig for a publishing building in New York?"
Aidan's thumb stopped moving. A dark, violent shadow crossed his eyes.
He slowly lifted his head. His gaze cut through Brent's fake smile like a scalpel.
"Some assets are more valuable than buildings," Aidan said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Did you think I'd forgotten what was mine? That there was nothing left in New York worth coming back to claim?"
Brent's face froze. The blood drained from his cheeks. His hand trembled, and a single drop of whiskey spilled over the rim of his glass, splashing onto his knuckles.
The rich smell of the alcohol filled the air, mixing with the sudden, heavy tension that felt like a loaded gun pointed at Brent's chest.
Brent quickly took a massive gulp of his drink. He looked at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but Aidan's eyes. "I... I don't know what you mean."
Aidan slammed his untouched glass down onto the table. The heavy thud echoed through the massive room.
He stood up, towering over Brent. "I'm taking over the project."
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned his back on Brent and walked straight out the double doors.
