Chapter 2
1549 Words
Sienna didn't call.
Damon Ashford's business card lingered on her desk for three days—an accusation she couldn't ignore.
She'd picked it up seventeen times.
Put it down eighteen.
"You're staring at it again."
Sienna jerked her gaze up, pulse tight. Marcus was in her doorway, coffee in hand, concern—mixed with judgment—etched on his face.
"I'm not staring."
"Right. And I'm not worried." He set the coffee on her desk. Pointed at the card. "Three days, Sienna. Either call him or burn it. This limbo thing is painful to watch."
"I'm working."
"You're obsessing." He sat down across from her. "What's the play here?"
"There is no play."
"Bullshit. That's your look right before you bring down a company."
Sienna tipped her head back in her chair, jaw locked. Beyond the window, Miami shone in the crushing afternoon heat. "His family killed my father." The words consumed her tongue.
"Maybe."
"His father ran Ashford & Associates. They specialized in hostile takeovers. My father's company went under in 2010. Same year. Same city." She tapped her pen on the desk. "That's not a coincidence."
"It's not proof either."
"It's enough."
"For what? What's the plan? Seduction? Ruin? Make him fall—" He stopped. "God, that's it, isn't it?"
Sienna said nothing.
"Sienna. Listen to yourself. This is insane."
"This is justice."
"This is revenge. There's a difference."
"Not to me."
Her phone vibrated. Both of them looked at it.
Unknown number.
Her heart slammed so hard it hurt. She picked it up, hands shaking, palms wet with adrenaline.
Still haven't called. Starting to think you lost my card. Dinner tonight? 8 pm. I'll send a car. - D
"It's him," Marcus said.
"I know."
"You're not going."
Sienna's fingers rested on top of the keyboard. "I have to."
"No, you don't. You can delete this. Block him. Move on with your life."
"He came to Miami for a reason, Marcus. Six months of 'coincidental' meetings? He knows who I am."
"Or he's interested in you."
"Men like Damon don't chase women for fun. They want something."
"Maybe he wants you."
She typed rapidly, sure of what she wanted: I need to know the truth before deciding on revenge. Okay. My address. 8:00 pm No car. I'll see you there.
She hit send before doubt could break her resolve.
Marcus closed his eyes. "This is going to end badly."
"Probably."
"And you're doing it anyway."
"Absolutely."
He stood. Walked to the door. Stopped. "Wear something that doesn't scream, 'I'm planning your destruction.'"
Sienna chose black.
A Versace dress that cost more than most people's monthly rent. Simple. Elegant. Deadly. Armor for the war she was walking into.
She checked her reflection one last time. Hair swept up—minimal jewelry. Red lipstick is like war paint.
Her phone rang again—too loud, too soon, making her flinch.
Outside.
She grabbed her clutch. Took a breath. Headed down.
Damon leaned against a midnight blue Aston Martin, exuding dangerous confidence—a vision cut straight from a fevered fantasy and nightmare—dark suit. No tie. The top button is undone, hinting at rebellion.
He straightened when he saw her.
"You came."
"I said I would."
"You also said you wouldn't." He opened the passenger door. "I'm learning that I can't believe everything you say."
"Smart."
She moved into the car: leather and luxurious cologne. The door closed with a solid bang.
Damon got in next to her. Started the engine.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Somewhere quiet."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting." He pulled into traffic. "Do you trust me?"
"No."
He laughed. Actually laughed. "At least you're honest."
"Am I?"
He glanced at her. Those dark eyes caught the streetlight. "I don't know yet. That's what tonight's for."
They drove in silence. South Beach blurred past—art deco buildings painted in candy colors. Tourists and locals mix on Ocean Drive.
Damon turned onto a side street. Then another. Pulled up to a building with no sign.
"Where are we?"
"You'll see."
He got out. Came around. Opened her door.
Inside, the restaurant was intimate. Maybe ten tables. Candlelight. A pianist in the corner is playing something soft and melancholy.
"Mr. Ashford." The host appeared. "Your table is ready."
They were led to a private corner. Windows overlooking the bay. A table set for two.
Damon pulled out her chair. She sat.
"You come here often?" she asked.
"First time. Owner's a friend. Owed me a favor."
"Must be some favor."
"I wanted privacy." He sat across from her. "You make me nervous."
"I doubt that."
"It's true." He poured wine from a bottle already waiting. "You're the first woman in a long time who's looked at me like she's calculating exactly how to destroy me."
Sienna took the glass. "Maybe I am."
"See? That. Right there." He raised his glass. "Most people pretend. You don't. I find it refreshing."
"Or stupid."
"Never stupid." He sipped. "Tell me about yourself, Sienna Cross."
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything. Start with the easy stuff. Where are you from?"
Here we go.
"North Carolina," she said. Watched his face. "Small town. You wouldn't know it."
Something flashed in his eyes. "Try me."
"Asheville."
The wine glass stopped halfway to his mouth. "Really."
"Both of us from Asheville, now Miami. Odd coincidence."
"Small world."
"Or calculated."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You tell me, Damon. Six months of showing up everywhere I go. Now this. Either you're the stalker type or you want something."
He set down his glass. "Maybe I just wanted to meet you."
"Why?"
"Because you're—"
"Don't say fascinating again."
"—dangerous," he finished. "I like dangerous."
"That's a character flaw."
"One of many." He leaned back. "Do you want to know why?
"Yes."
"I saw you at a conference. A couple of years ago. Chicago. You talked about how to build sustainable cities.
She remembered. "You were there?"
"Back row. You crushed three opposing viewpoints in under five minutes. Made a CEO cry. I fell a little bit in love right then."
"That's not love. That's masochism."
"Like I said. Character flaw." He smiled. "I've been following your career since. When I decided to expand to Miami, you were part of the draw."
"I don't believe you."
"I know. But it's true." He paused. "Your turn. Why did you agree to dinner?"
"Curiosity."
"About?"
"You. Your family. What you really want."
"My family?" His expression changed. Became guarded. "What about them?"
"Your father ran Ashford & Associates. Corporate acquisitions. Hostile acquisitions."
"That's right."
"My father owned a small tech company in Asheville. Cross Innovations. It went under in 2010."
Damon went very still.
"Your father's company specialized in exactly the kind of acquisition that destroyed businesses like my father's." She kept her speech level. Clinical. "So tell me, Damon. Did you know who I was when you approached me at that gala?"
Silence lay between them.
The pianist played on. Oblivious.
"Yes," Damon said at last.
The word hit like a punch.
"I knew who you were," he continued. "I knew about your father. About Cross Innovations."
Sienna's fingers clenched on her wine glass. "So this whole thing—"
"Was honest." He leaned forward. "I'm not my father, Sienna. I left his company because I hated what it stood for. Everything he built was predatory. Destructive. I wanted no part of it."
"But you benefited from it."
"Yes. I won't pretend I didn't. My education. My start-up capital. All of it came from money my father made destroying people like your father." He met her eyes. "I can't change that. I can only try to be different."
"Why should I believe you?"
"You shouldn't. You should investigate me. Dig into every deal I've made. Every company I've bought. You'll find I'm nothing like him."
"Or you're better at hiding it."
"Maybe." He reached out across the table. Stopped just before touching her hand. "But I came to Miami with the hope of meeting you. To apologize for what my family did to yours. To maybe—" He paused. "To maybe find something real with someone who understands what it's like to rebuild from nothing."
Sienna stared at his hand, suspended, and at his face—stripped of armor, exposed under candlelight. Everything inside her was twisted, raw, and uncertain.
He was either the best liar or telling the truth.
Both options scared her.
"I need to think," she said.
"Okay."
"I need to go."
"I'll drive you."
"No." She stood. "I'll get a car."
"Sienna—"
"Thank you for dinner. And for the honesty. If that's what it was."
She walked out before he could respond. Before she could change her mind.
Outside, she called an Uber. The humid Miami night pressed against her skin, fists clenched, every nerve thrumming with fear and something dangerously close to hope.
Her phone rang.
I meant every word. - D.
Sienna deleted it.
She immediately regretted it.
It was supposed to be a calculated plan: get close to him, expose his motives, and destroy him if he deserved it.
But nothing about Damon Ashford was simple.
That was what truly terrified her.
- Writer
