Chapter 2

He was smiling. And not just the normal Fox-smile, the one that looked like it'd been passed down through three generations of men who'd never had to stand in line for anything in their lives. No, this one had an edge. A private joke tucked behind perfect teeth, and I wasn't invited to the punchline. I knew that smile well enough to hate it. It was the same one he wore when he skipped out on an investors' dinner last month because the maître d' called him "Mr. Knox" instead of "Mr. Fox." I'd spent the entire night doing damage control while he was God-knows-where probably buying an entire restaurant just to ban that maître d' for life. So when he was standing there now, all tall and unbothered with his hands in his pockets, I braced myself.

"We're not going," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

"The meeting," he added, slow, like I was the one who'd forgotten my caffeine this morning. "We're not going."

I stared at him like maybe if I stayed quiet long enough, the rest of the explanation would fall out of his mouth. It didn't. "It's the quarterly review with the board..."

"I'm aware," he cut in, already turning away from the elevator like this was settled law.

"Then why..."

"The CFO," he said, glancing back at me over his shoulder with that infuriating half-smirk. "He wore the same tie twice this month."

I blinked again, because surely I'd misheard. "I'm sorry... what?"

"That tie was a gift from his wife, who's been in Milan for two weeks. He wears it when she's around because she notices. Which means she's back, and if she's back, then he's distracted. And if he's distracted, then somebody else is running point for him right now. And if somebody else is running point for him..."

"The meeting's a waste of time?" I guessed.

"Exactly." His smile sharpened. "And I'm bored."

Ah. There it was. The real reason. The tie was just window dressing for the gospel truth of Teddy Fox's decision-making process: boredom.

I should've walked away. I should've said fine, canceled the meeting, and gone back to my desk like the good little executive secretary he paid far too much to tolerate this circus. Instead, I followed him, because you don't let your boss walk into the open-plan war zone of Fox Global without a buffer, especially when your boss was the kind of man who could make three people cry before he'd finished his morning coffee.

We stepped into the corner office suite, all glass and skyline, the kind of space that screamed money even before you noticed the antique Persian rug that probably cost more than my entire apartment. Teddy moved like the building was built around him... long strides, lazy confidence and I was two steps behind, mentally rewriting my to-do list for the day.

He stopped short at the copy room door. "You. Fired."

I froze because for half a second I thought he was talking to me. But no... his eyes were locked on the junior analyst hunched over a printer, clutching a stack of reports like it was a life raft.

The lady stammered. "Sir, I just..."

"The margins," Teddy interrupted, gesturing lazily at the paper. "Wrong. Out."

I had to fight the urge to rub my forehead. He was right, the margins were wrong. They were off by maybe an eighth of an inch, which no one but Teddy would've noticed, but right now that tiny slip had just cost this lady her job.

The analyst's eyes went wide. "Sir, if you give me ten minutes..."

"No," Teddy said, already walking toward his desk. "Matteo, replace her."

"When?"

He looked at me like I'd asked him to explain basic arithmetic. "Now."

"Of course," I muttered, adding it to the growing list in my head: Cancel the board meeting. Call HR for analyst replacement. Pray for the next poor bastard who landed in that role.

Teddy dropped into his leather chair, pulled a thin folder toward him, and flipped it open. Without looking up, he slid a sheet of paper my way. "Approve the wire transfer."

I glanced down and almost choked. $700,000,000. That was seven. Hundred. Million. Dollars. For something labeled in vague corporate speak that could've meant buying a building or bribing God.

"What's it for?" I asked, because apparently I was in a mood to risk my job today.

"Expansion," he said, like that explained anything. He pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and leaned back in his chair. "It's done. Double it."

I froze mid-keystroke. "Double it?"

"Double it," he repeated, covering the receiver with one hand to give me a flat look. "If we're going to build this thing, we're going to build it right. No cutting corners."

I nodded slowly, because clearly $1.4 billion was the "no corners" price tag these days.

He spoke into the phone again. "Another seven hundred. Updates every seventy-two hours." He hung up before the other person could do anything but agree.

I hit approve again, feeling like I'd just personally signed over my soul in triplicate.

The desk phone rang. He picked it up without looking. "Fox."

I could hear the voice on the other end, tinny but anxious. "Sir, I just wanted to confirm the two large wire transactions..."

"You're replaced," Teddy said flatly.

There was a pause. "Sir?"

"You called to confirm. Which means you don't trust my instructions. Which means I can't trust you. Which means HR will have your box ready before you get back to your desk."

He hung up, tossed the phone back into its cradle, and looked at me. "Find me a new account manager."

"When?" I asked, because apparently I liked being punished.

"Noon," he said, already pouring himself coffee.

I wrote it down... replace the analyst, replace the account manager, cancel the board meeting, survive the day without committing homicide and wondered if HR had a special form labeled Teddy's Tuesday Casualties.

I was about to ask if he wanted lunch brought in when his phone buzzed again. Not the desk phone. His cell. Different ringtone... low, sharp, the kind of sound that made me straighten without thinking. He glanced at the screen. His jaw flexed once. Then he looked at me.

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"My parents' place."

Just like that. No explanation, no itinerary, no would you mind. Just my parents' place. And something in his voice told me this wasn't a social call.

I grabbed my notepad, because whatever was waiting for us there, I had a feeling my job description was about to get rewritten again.