The midsummer in New York was as stifling as a steamer. When Allison stepped into the obsidian-colored glass skyscraper of Obsidian Capital in high heels, the beads of sweat on her forehead had already condensed into tiny ice crystals under the cold air conditioning. She tightened her grip on the briefcase in her hand—it contained her mother's chemotherapy bills and her MBA diploma, which she had staked her dignity on.
"Miss Jones?" The blonde receptionist sized up her taut figure beneath the professional suit, a subtle smile curving her lips. "Mr. Black's private elevator is on the left, with fingerprint recognition on the third floor."
The moment the elevator doors closed, Allison's breath caught. The mirror-like walls reflected her overly refined makeup—what Lily had forced her to apply last night as "war paint." Her best friend always said her cold beauty was enough to drive any man mad, but at this moment, she only hoped this sharpness would protect her from being devoured.
The door to the penthouse office opened without warning, and Caleb Black's back was the first to come into view. He was leaning over a holographic projection screen, the cuffs of his black shirt rolled up to his elbows, the lines of his muscles taking on a cold, hard sheen under the lights. The rumored "Obsidian Emperor" carried a far more aggressive presence than his photos in financial magazines.
"Data analysis report." When he turned, Allison was almost blinded by his hawk-like blue eyes. She quickly handed over the document, but his fingers casually brushed against hers, like a hunter touching the fur of his prey. Suddenly, his hand clamped around her wrist, so forcefully that her briefcase slipped from her grasp, and the chemotherapy bills scattered across the floor.
"Wrong." Caleb's finger ran across the chart on page 7. "You used a linear model to predict merger risks, but the Black family has never followed linear logic." He took a step closer, and Allison was forced to retreat to the edge of the desk, the icy temperature of the leather surface seeping through her skirt and into her skin. He bent down to pick up the bill, his fingertips lingering on the "amount" column for three seconds before abruptly throwing the document back into her arms. "Smart women should learn to pay their bills with their bodies."
Allison's palms trembled, but Lily's words rang in her ears: "Let him think you're submitting, until you can clutch his heart." She pulled the most seductive smile she could muster and leaned into his chest, the gap between his shirt buttons revealing his firm skin. "Only if you teach me—how to make the prey stay elegant." Her fingertips glided across his waist, feeling his muscles tense suddenly.
Caleb abruptly clasped the back of her neck and pressed her against the desk. Papers scattered in disarray as his hand slid down her spine to the base of her tailbone, the pressure dangerous and scorching. "Teach you?" He bit her earlobe, his breath hot against her sensitive skin. "Nine o'clock tonight, at the private yacht dock in Manhattan. Wear the thinnest silk in your wardrobe—if you have any left."
Allison's pupils constricted, but the moment he released her, she took the upper hand. She braced one hand on the desk, kicked off her high heels, and pressed her knee against the inside of his thigh. "Mr. Black seems to have forgotten," she whispered, her fingertips sliding into the gap of his suit pants, "in a hunting game, the prey sometimes hides a dagger." She felt his breath hitch, followed by a booming laugh.
The door closed automatically after Caleb left. Allison collapsed among the scattered papers as Lily's number flashed on her phone screen. She pressed the call button and heard her friend's hissing laughter: "Honey, your first hunt… has begun."