The grandfather clock in the Hayes' living room chimed too loudly, each second hammering against Ava Collins' chest like a countdown to her own execution.
Her fingers tightened around the leather portfolio on her lap. Inside it were neatly clipped sketches, and a fragile dream awaiting judgment.
She didn't want to be here. She hadn't wanted this meeting in the first place.
Maddie insisted.
"Stop clutching that thing like it's a life jacket," Madison Hayes said, lounging across the couch like she owned it, which she technically did. Her cropped blonde hair caught the evening light as she smirked. "You look like you're about to interview with the CIA, not pitch a fashion brand."
Ava swallowed hard. "That's because your father isn't in the CIA. He's worse. He's Ethan Hayes."
Maddie rolled her eyes. "Please. He's just my dad."
If only it were that simple.
Ethan Hayes wasn't just Maddie's father. He was forty, sharp as glass, and the kind of man who wore authority like a second skin. People listened when he spoke. Some even feared him.
And, once upon a time, Ava had been a teenage girl with a hopeless crush on him.
It was harmless back then, a silly little flutter tucked between algebra homework and sleepovers at Maddie's house. But even now, just the memory of his deep voice asking if they wanted pizza made her pulse skip.
"Why am I even doing this?" Ava muttered. "I don't need your father's money."
Maddie snorted. "Yes, girl, you do. Unless you've just discovered oil in your backyard?"
Ava tried not to smile. "He doesn't even know me. Why would he risk his money on a stranger?"
"Because I'm vouching for you," Maddie said confidently. "And once he sees your work, he'll know you're the real deal."
Ava doubted that. Still, she didn't have the luxury of turning back now.
The door to the study clicked open.
Both women turned.
Ethan Hayes filled the doorway like he'd been carved into it, tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly commanding in a navy suit that probably cost more than Ava's rent for a year. His tie hung loose, his dark hair was swept neatly back, and those gray eyes, sharp, assessing, landed on Ava with a weight that made her throat tighten.
For a moment, the air shifted, heavier, charged.
Maddie broke the silence first. "Dad, this is Ava. My best friend, the one I told you about."
Ethan's gaze didn't move immediately. He seemed to study her, cataloguing every detail before deciding if she was worth his time. Finally, he extended a hand. "Miss Collins."
Ava scrambled to her feet and slid her clammy hand into his. Firm. Steady. Controlled.
"Mr. Hayes," she managed.
His eyes flicked to the portfolio under her arm. "So. You're the designer Maddie's been pestering me about."
"Yes," Ava said quickly. "I design women's clothing, contemporary pieces that blend elegance with comfort."
"And you believe that's worth my investment?"
Her pulse spiked. "I believe in my work. I just need the right backing to take it further."
Ethan's expression stayed unreadable. Then, with a curt nod, he said, "Let's hear it."
Ava sat again and opened her portfolio. Her sketches spilled across the coffee table, lines, colors, fabric ideas she'd poured her heart into.
She started her pitch, halting at first, then steadier as passion overtook her nerves. She spoke about her vision, her designs, her small but loyal customer base.
Through it all, Ethan watched. Silent. No nods. No smiles. Just those gray eyes that seemed to cut through her words, weighing and measuring everything.
By the time she finished, her throat was dry. The silence stretched, unbearable.
Finally, Ethan leaned back. "You're talented."
Ava blinked. "Thank you."
"But talent doesn't guarantee success," he said evenly. "The fashion industry is brutal. Most businesses fail in the first two years. Why should I believe yours won't?"
The words hit harder than she expected. She opened her mouth, searching for an answer, any answer, but nothing came.
"Dad," Maddie interjected with a groan. "You're doing that thing again, like she's on trial."
Ethan didn't look away. "She's asking for money. She is on trial."
Ava's face burned. She looked down at her sketches, at everything she'd built, everything she might lose.
"Forget it," she said abruptly, shoving the papers back into her portfolio. "This was a bad idea."
She stood, but Ethan's voice cut through the room, low, controlled.
"Sit."
She froze.
It wasn't loud, but it carried an authority that made her obey before she could think. Slowly, she sat again, pulse thundering.
Ethan's gaze held hers, unwavering, unreadable. "I didn't say no," he said. "I asked why."
Her breath caught.
For the first time, she saw something flicker behind the frost in his eyes, not mockery, not dismissal. Curiosity. Maybe even interest.
The clock ticked on, but the air between them wasn't just business anymore.
It was something else.
Something dangerous.