Chapter 1: The Disastrous First Impression
The red wine was currently cascading down a six-thousand-dollar custom charcoal suit, and Chloe Hayes was ninety-nine percent sure her career was officially over.
"I am so, so sorry," Chloe stammered, frantically dabbing at the fabric with a tiny, utterly useless linen napkin. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. "It was the waiter, he tripped, or the floor was uneven—honestly, it’s a structural flaw in the ballroom—"
A large, perfectly manicured hand reached out and gently caught her wrist, stopping her frantic motions.
Chloe froze. She lifted her gaze, expecting to see sheer fury. Instead, she met a pair of cold, fathomless gray eyes that looked like they belonged on a statue carved by a Greek god with a severe grudge against humanity.
Mason Vance did not blink. He looked down at the dark, staining puddle spreading across his chest, then back up at Chloe. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking along his sharp jawline.
"Do you know how much this fabric costs, Miss...?" His voice was a low, smooth baritone that somehow managed to drop the room temperature by ten degrees.
"Hayes," she snapped, a sudden flash of pride overtaking her absolute terror as she yanked her wrist back. "Chloe Hayes. And for your information, it's an accident. Accidents happen when people host high-society galas in dimly lit penthouses with slippery marble floors."
"My architects spent six months ensuring these floors met international safety standards," Mason said coldly, stepping closer so she had to tilt her head back to look at him. Up close, he was imposing—all broad shoulders, sharp angles, and an aura of absolute, terrifying control. "Much like my life. Both of which you have just successfully ruined in under three seconds."
Before Chloe could fire back a retort about his ego being a structural hazard, her phone buzzed violently in her pocket. It was her landlord, reminding her that the lease extension payment for her event planning studio was due by midnight—or the locks would be changed.
Mason noticed the flicker of panic in her eyes. A dangerous, calculating spark crossed his gray gaze. He didn't yell. He didn't call security. He simply straightened his ruined jacket, looked down his nose at her, and said, "Stay right where you are, Miss Hayes. We aren't finished."
