CROSS MY HEART:A BILLIONAIRE’S BARGAIN

Mr. Cross, I’ve organized your meeting notes for the quarterly review.” Emma Carter’s heels clicked sharply on the marble floor, her voice cutting through the sterile silence of the office. Damian Cross didn’t look up. His eyes remained glued to his computer screen. “Punctual as always, Miss Carter,” he said coolly. Emma smirked. “Sir, do you rehearse these little interruptions in front of a mirror each morning?” “Only on Tuesdays,” she added with a tilt of her head. “The rest of the week, I improvise.” Damian’s steel-gray eyes finally shifted to her, studying her as though she were an interesting specimen. “Interesting. You’ve been here, what—two weeks? And already, you’ve sharpened that tongue of yours.” Emma raised an eyebrow. “I like to think of it as workplace efficiency. Keeps the conversation flowing.” “Does it now?” Damian leaned back in his chair, his gaze unrelenting, like a predator observing prey. “And where exactly do you think these ‘conversations’ are headed?” Emma laid the folder down on his desk with deliberate precision. “Toward a more productive working relationship. At least, that’s my hope.” “Hope?” His lips curled into a cold, knowing smile. “In my experience, Miss Carter, hope is a poor substitute for competence.” “Then I’m fortunate to have both, sir.” Damian’s eyes darkened slightly. He took the folder but said nothing, instead studying her with a kind of eerie intensity. “We’ll see if you can back that up. Stay after the meeting.” Emma tilted her head, trying to hide her curiosity. “May I ask why?” “You might inquire. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” He turned his attention back to the screen. “Just be prepared for a long night.” “How long are we talking about?” “Worried about your social life, Miss Carter?” “Worried about my overtime pay, Mr. Cross.” Damian let out a sharp, almost surprised laugh. “Trust me, if you survive tonight, overtime will be the least of your concerns.” “Is that a threat or a promise?” “Depends entirely on your performance.” His gaze pierced hers once more. “Don’t disappoint me.” The quarterly review meeting stretched on, a well-rehearsed corporate dance where Damian was the ruthless conductor. Emma sat in her corner, taking notes, her eyes scanning the room. “Q3 projections are exceeding expectations,” Damian’s voice rang out, crisp and authoritative. “The Morrison account alone—” “What about Vanessa’s report?” Jenkins, one of the board members, interrupted, his voice sharp. “She raised several red flags before her… departure.” Emma couldn’t miss the way Damian’s fingers tightened around his pen, his jaw hardening for just a moment. With ice in his voice, he responded, “Vanessa Thompson was dealing with personal issues that clouded her judgment.” “Personal issues?” Emma whispered, almost to herself. “Is that what we’re calling whistleblowing now?” Damian’s head snapped toward her, his gaze fierce. “Something to contribute, Miss Carter?” She kept her voice neutral, careful. “Sir, just noting the phrasing for the minutes.” “After this meeting, stay. We’ll talk about your note-taking abilities.” Hours passed. The office was nearly empty now, the city lights casting long shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The buzz of their phones was the only sound. Damian’s voice sliced through the stillness. “Pull up the Morrison files.” “All of them?” “Start with September,” he added, his voice lowering. “The month everything went to hell.” Emma’s fingers flew across the keyboard, trying to ignore the unsettling closeness of his presence behind her. “Sir, these numbers don’t match the quarterly report.” “Don’t they?” His tone was cold, yet there was something in it—an underlying tension. “How fascinating.” “Wait—there’s more.” She pulled out another document. “Vanessa’s original analysis shows a pattern of—” Damian slammed his palm on the desk, making her jump. “Those files are restricted.” Emma turned in her seat, meeting his eyes with unwavering determination. “Then maybe they shouldn’t be on the server.” “Accessing restricted files is grounds for termination.” “And so is cooking the books,” she shot back, her voice steady. “Which one do you want to talk about first?” He leaned forward, his hands gripping the armrests of her chair, his breath hot against her neck. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.” “Then enlighten me.” She met his gaze squarely. “Why did Vanessa leave?” Damian’s voice was dangerously low. “None of your concern.” “It became my concern the moment you asked me to stay late and work on these files.” “I asked you to compile a report, not play detective.” “What’s the difference?” she challenged, standing up, their faces inches apart. “The difference,” he hissed, “is that one keeps you employed, and the other…” “The other what?” she pressed, stepping closer. “Gets me fired? Or brings me too near the truth?” His laugh was hollow, bitter. “The truth? You wouldn’t recognize the truth if it slapped you in the face.” “Try me.” He leaned in closer, the heat between them palpable. “You want answers?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Start with why Vanessa’s access code still works on restricted files when she supposedly resigned three months ago.” Emma’s eyes widened in shock. “You knew?” “I know everything that happens in my company.” “Do you?” She grabbed her tablet, pulling up a sequence of emails. “Then explain this.” Vanessa’s name was in every email, each one dated after her supposed resignation. Damian’s face drained of color. “Where did you get these?” “Not deactivated enough,” Emma said quietly, scrolling through the messages. “And there’s something else…” Before she could reveal more, a crash from the hallway interrupted her. Their phones buzzed simultaneously. Flashbulbs flickered outside the window. “Mr. Cross!” The secretary’s voice was frantic. “The press is downstairs. They—” “Spit it out,” Damian snapped. “They have pictures. Of Miss Carter and you. Starting tonight.” Emma’s stomach dropped as she opened the news alert on her phone. There it was—a blurry but undeniable photo of their earlier confrontation. Her lips parted in a way that could only be described as… suspicious. “Fix this,” Damian growled, his voice cold and lethal. “Now.” “Sir, there’s more.” Emma’s hands trembled as she opened the latest email. “Look at the sender.” Damian’s body stiffened as he leaned in, his eyes scanning the screen. “Vanessa’s account.” “And the attachment?” Emma’s voice was barely a whisper. The screen displayed a thorough report detailing years of financial malfeasance, both their names at the top. “She’s framing us both,” Emma said, her voice hollow with realization. The phone on Damian’s desk rang, the board chairman’s number flashing urgently. “Miss Carter,” Damian’s voice was tight, nearly breaking. “I need to know now. Do you support or oppose me?” Emma paused, staring into his eyes, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. The phone rang again, the external cameras flashing more urgently now. “The truth?” Damian laughed bitterly. “The truth is, we’re both dead if we don’t work together.” The tension between them was palpable, electric. Damian’s eyes darkened as they locked onto hers. “Then we go to war.” The phone rang once more, its shrill sound now a reminder of the battle they had to fight. Vanessa Thompson had set the stage for their downfall, and the clock was ticking. Would they make it through the night?