Beneath the boardroom lights

The skyline stretches endlessly before me, a breathtaking expanse of glass towers and golden morning light.

From the 50th floor of Lennox Tower, the city feels almost quiet-its chaos muffled by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Below, yellow cabs weave through traffic, pedestrians rush along the sidewalks, and the world moves as it always does.

But up here, it's still. Still enough for thoughts I don't want to have. I exhale, fingers tapping lightly against my ceramic espresso cup, the steam curling in the crisp air of my office.

Two hours before the meeting. Enough time to clear my mind. To prepare. Then, my phone buzzes.

I don't look at it right away.

Some part of me already knows. When I finally glance down at the screen, my jaw tightens.

Kendall.

A scowl touches my lips as I unlock my phone. It's always the same. The same regretful texts, the same empty words, the same pathetic attempts to claw his way back into my life.

Ivy. Please. Let's talk. I still-

I lock my phone before I can read the rest.

Kendall Monroe.

The man who once held my heart in his hands-only to crush it like it was worth nothing. Lies. Secrets. Betrayal. He had them all wrapped up in a million-dollar smile, in whispered promises that meant nothing the second my back was turned. I think of the nights I spent waiting for a man who never came home, the humiliating whispers at charity galas, the pit in my stomach when I finally saw the truth for what it was. And yet, for too long, I had convinced myself that love meant endurance. That suffering in silence was part of the package. How foolish.

I shake my head, forcing the memories back. Kendall is the past. I have more important things ahead.

Right on cue, my office phone rings, the rich mahogany of my executive desk gleaming under the morning light. I press the button.

"Yes?"

"Ivy."

My father's voice is steady, commanding. Even over the phone, Richard Lennox carries the weight of an empire in his tone.

"I wanted to remind you about your two o'clock with Giordano."

I straighten in my chair.

"I remember."

"Good."

A pause.

"Nico Giordano is dangerous in negotiations. He knows how to make people feel like they're getting what they want while he walks away with the real prize. Don't let him control the conversation."

"He won't,"

I say firmly.

"I know."

His voice softens-just slightly.

"You're a Lennox. And you're my daughter".

I swallow, something warm flickering in my chest. My father isn't the kind of man who hands out praise lightly.

"I won't disappoint you," I say.

"Good"

As the line goes dead, I set the phone down, my focus shifting.

Kendall is the past.

Nico Giordano is the challenge ahead.

And I don't lose.

*****

The air inside the Lennox Tower boardroom is thick with quiet anticipation. Rows of executives sit in polished leather chairs, their sharp eyes tracking every movement, every unspoken power shift.

The room itself is a masterpiece-floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Midtown Manhattan, the sleek mahogany conference table stretching long enough to seat over twenty.

I enter without hesitation, my heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Heads turn. They always do. But I don't acknowledge them-I'm already scanning the room for the one person I know is here.

And then I see him.

Nico Giordano.

He's even more striking in person, if that's possible. Six-foot-three, broad-shouldered, olive skin warmed by years under the Italian sun. The tailored charcoal Brioni suit fits him too well, framing a body built more for power than privilege. But it's his eyes that hold me still-green, piercing, sharp with intelligence and something unreadable. I've heard enough about him. The media calls him ruthless. The self-made billionaire who built Giordano Luxury Holdings from a single resort into an empire. He's been in the headlines more times than I can count-business takeovers, cutthroat negotiations, and the occasional model scandal.

There's no shortage of stories about women draped over his arm, only to disappear just as quickly.

And now, he's here. In my boardroom.

His gaze meets mine, and for a second, the world around us blurs.

He stands slowly, a subtle smirk playing at his lips as he extends a hand.

"Ivy Lennox,"

he says, his voice smooth, edged with something lazy and confident.

"Nico Giordano."

His grip is firm, a little too firm,

lingering just long enough to make a point.

His skin is warm against mine, and for a fleeting second, I feel something.

Not intense,

not overwhelming-just there. Like the static charge before a storm.

When he finally releases me, I exhale, my expression unreadable. But I know what I saw-the way his gaze traveled, the flicker of something smug in his eyes. He took me in, measured me, held my stare longer than necessary. And yet, I'm the first to look away.

I take my seat. The meeting begins.

"The Miami waterfront development is a multi trillion -dollar investment," I start, keeping my tone even, professional.

"Lennox Global has the resources, the network, and the expertise to ensure this project is executed flawlessly."

Nico leans back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against the armrest.

"I don't doubt that," he says easily.

"But your proposal suggests a 70-30 profit split in favor of Lennox Global. My team and I believe a more balanced partnership-**say, 55-45-**would be fairer."

I arch a brow.

"Fairness isn't the priority here. The priority is execution. LGE has built luxury developments worldwide. This isn't new territory for us."

"And Giordano Luxury Holdings has built world-class resorts in Dubai, Monaco, and the Amalfi Coast," he counters.

"You may build them, Miss Lennox, but we know how to make them thrive."

A murmur spreads across the room. The board members shift, observing the subtle tension between us. I cross my legs, tilting my head slightly.

"So what exactly are you suggesting, Mr. Giordano?"

"That we revisit the terms." His lips quirk. "Unless you're afraid of negotiation?"

I hold his gaze, refusing to react. The challenge is clear, but I won't give him the satisfaction.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," I say coolly. "But if you expect us to settle for less than what this deal is worth, you'll be disappointed."

A flicker of amusement passes through his eyes.

"Then let's make sure we both get what we want."

The discussion continues, tension threading through every exchange. The other executives interject occasionally, but the real battle is between us. I keep my voice measured. He keeps his smooth, almost amused. And every time our eyes meet, I'm the first to look away. Eventually, after what feels like an hour of push and pull, Nico leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table.

"I'll need to run the revised terms by my team ," he says.

"We'll be in touch for further discussions." I nod, ignoring the way his gaze lingers for just a moment longer than it should.

"I'll expect a response by the end of the week."

A slow smile.

"Looking forward to it."

As soon as the meeting is over, I hurriedly stagger back to my office, shutting the door behind me. I exhale sharply, pressing my hands against my desk.

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?