Chapter 1 - The Iron-Clad Contract
"Staring at me like you’re silently plotting a hostile takeover," Naomi said, neatly stacking the heavily revised contracts into a sleek leather portfolio.
Daniel’s dark eyes didn't waver. "I am simply calculating how long it will take Harrison Vale’s ego to spontaneously combust when he reads your revisions."
"I give it forty-eight hours," Naomi replied, standing up and smoothing the skirt of her tailored suit. "He’s a man who has never been told 'no' by a woman, let alone a woman who holds the keys to his financial survival. He will try to intimidate me, Daniel. He will try to bypass me and appeal directly to your 'brotherhood of billionaires' or whatever country-club nonsense he thinks you share."
Daniel walked over, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. The cold, untouchable exterior he presented to the corporate world melted instantly when she was in his space. "Harrison doesn't realize that I don't have a brotherhood. I have a wife. And whatever my wife dictates in that contract is absolute law."
"Good," Naomi smiled, resting her hands on his lapels. "Because we are seeing him on Friday at his rooftop charity gala. And I intend to wear a very expensive dress while I watch him pretend he isn't suffocating under a mountain of debt."
Three days later, the warm Friday evening breeze swept across the sprawling, multi-level rooftop of the Vale Tower. Three hundred of Manhattan’s elite mingled under strings of ambient lights, sipping thousand-dollar champagne beside a massive, glass-edged infinity pool. Naomi wore a breathtaking, backless emerald-green gown that caught the city lights perfectly.
Daniel had been pulled into a brief conversation with a senator near the private cabanas, leaving Naomi standing near the edge of the pool, admiring the skyline.
That was when Harrison Vale made his approach.
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Harrison was thirty-eight, with the flushed, aggressive complexion of a man who drank too much premium bourbon and carried too much inherited arrogance. He stormed through the crowd, a crystal glass in his hand, his security detail trailing nervously behind him. He didn't look like a host throwing a charity gala; he looked like a cornered animal.
"Naomi," Harrison snapped, stopping inches from her personal space. He didn't bother with pleasantries. "I want those progressive, bleeding-heart clauses removed from the Atlas contract immediately. I am not letting some diversity-hire lawyer dictate how I run Vale Urban Holdings."
