Snakes in suites

By 8:55 AM, I was in the boardroom on the thirty-ninth floor, Ridley file in hand, perfectly composed and already regretting my choice of heels.

The room was slick and sterile. A long obsidian table, ten leather chairs on either side, and a view that screamed we own this city. On the far wall hung a minimalist black-and-white painting that probably cost more than my car.

Vince Graham was already there, leaning casually against the table, coffee in hand. He was tall, early forties, with the kind of effortless charm that said he didn’t need to prove anything—because he already had.

He looked up and grinned. “Lane. Good. You’re early. That means you’re smarter than half the people here.”

I smiled back. “High praise from a man who sent me a note that said ‘dress to kill.’”

“Didn’t say you had to wear heels,” he said, eyes flicking down before returning to mine. “But damn, you did walk in like you were about to fire half the board. I approve.”

“Good. I like to exceed expectations.”

“You might want to dial it back.” He sipped his coffee. “You’re already getting attention.”

“From Erik?” I asked, and immediately wished I hadn’t.

His smile shifted. “Among others.”

Before I could ask what that meant, the door opened, and Rob Wales walked in like he owned the oxygen.

Slicked-back blond hair, overpriced cologne, and a grin that didn’t touch his eyes. His suit was too tight in the chest, like he was trying to look broader than he actually was. I’d seen his type at every business school mixer—the kind who loved the sound of their own voice and thought ‘charm’ meant interrupting you mid-sentence.

“You must be Lane,” he said, looking me over in a way that made my skin crawl. “Didn’t expect the competition to be wearing lipstick.”

I smiled. “Didn’t expect the competition to reek of desperation, but here we are.”

Vince let out a short laugh. Rob didn’t.

“She’s feisty,” Rob said, turning to Vince. “That’s cute—for now.”

I opened my file, pretending he wasn’t even there. If this was the game, I was ready. I hadn’t climbed my way into this room to let some entitled man-child shake me.

The next half hour was prep—strategy briefings, tone-setting, logistical overview of the Ridley acquisition. Vince led the conversation, but it was clear that Erik had his fingerprints all over the plan.

“You’ll both be in the field next week,” Vince said finally. “Ridley’s people won’t see the first pitch coming. We want them off balance. Catherine, you’re with me. Rob, you’ll shadow Cain.”

Rob’s smirk vanished. “Why does she get to go with you?”

“Because she listens,” Vince replied without missing a beat. “And she doesn’t talk over people.”

I felt the burn of Rob’s glare but kept my expression neutral.

After the meeting, I lingered to organize my notes. Everyone filtered out except Vince and me.

“Watch him,” he said, low and serious. “Wales. He doesn’t lose gracefully.”

“I don’t plan on losing.”

“That’s what I like about you, Lane.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder and walked out.

I didn’t get far before I ran into her.

Julia Stone.

She stepped out of the executive elevator like she was stepping onto a runway—impeccably dressed, icy blonde, stilettos that clicked like gunfire. She wore red like it was her birthright.

She smiled when she saw me, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You must be the new girl.”

“Catherine Lane.”

She didn’t offer her name. “I’ve heard about you. Harvard. Ambitious. A little mouthy.”

“I like to speak in full sentences.”

Her smile widened. “Erik hates that.”

I tilted my head, matching her tone. “I guess we’ll see.”

She stepped closer. “Word of advice? Don’t confuse proximity for power. Erik doesn’t let anyone close.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“Sounds smart.” She leaned in, perfume too strong, voice a breath. “He eats girls like you for breakfast. But hey, keep trying. It’s cute.”

She walked away like she hadn’t just issued a warning. And I stood there, feeling the first flicker of something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in years: threat.

But I wasn’t backing down.

Let them come. Let them underestimate me.

I didn’t come here to be liked.

I came to win.

Erik – Top floor office

Erik stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the city burn gold in the late afternoon sun. His office was silent, save for the hum of traffic far below.

“She’s too confident,” he said quietly.

Vince leaned on the opposite side of the room, arms crossed. “She’s qualified.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No,” Vince replied. “It’s what you meant.”

Erik didn’t look away from the window. “Wales is already rattled.”

“Wales is always rattled. And Julia’s circling like a hawk.”

He exhaled, sharp. “Julia’s always circling.”

“And Catherine?” Vince asked, watching him. “What’s she doing?”

Erik’s jaw tightened. “Digging her own grave.”

But the lie tasted bitter in his mouth.

Because the truth was, Catherine Lane had walked into his company and set something in motion. Something he couldn’t name yet.

Something dangerous.