Claimed in the boardroom

Chapter 1: The Gala Gambit The air in my grandmother’s bookstore smells like old paper and broken dreams. I’m hunched over the desk in the backroom, the foreclosure notice glaring at me like a death sentence. My fingers tremble as I trace Gran’s spidery handwriting on a bookmark tucked into a first-edition Austen: Keep the stories alive, Talia. At twenty-six, I’m failing her. The bank’s deadline is tomorrow, and my last pitch to investors flopped harder than a bad rom-com. “Gran, what do I do?” I whisper to the empty room, my voice cracking. The bell above the door jingles, and I jolt upright, wiping my eyes. No customers come this late on a Thursday, not in Greenwich Village where hipster cafés outshine dusty bookshelves. “Talia Windsor?” A man’s voice, smooth as whiskey and sharp as a blade, cuts through the quiet. I step out, heart thudding, and there he is—Dorian Kaine, billionaire tech tycoon, standing in my shop like he owns it. His gray eyes pin me in place, and his tailored suit hugs a frame that screams power. He’s taller than I expected, maybe six-two, with dark hair that looks like it’s never met a bad day. “Mr. Kaine?” I stammer, my voice betraying me. “We’re closing soon.” He doesn’t smile. “I’m not here for books.” He steps closer, and I catch a whiff of cedar and something dangerous. “I saw you at the charity gala last night. You were… memorable.” My cheeks burn. Last night, I’d crashed a glitzy Manhattan gala to pitch my bookstore to rich donors. I’d worn a borrowed dress, too tight and too sparkly, and fumbled through my speech. Dorian had been there, a shadow in the crowd, his gaze making my skin prickle. “Memorable good or memorable bad?” I ask, trying to sound braver than I feel. His lips twitch, not quite a smile. “You convinced a room of cynics to care about a bookstore. That’s not nothing.” I cross my arms, my thrift-store blouse feeling cheap under his stare. “If you’re here to donate, I’m all ears. Otherwise, I’ve got a crisis to manage.” He pulls a slim folder from his jacket and slides it across the counter. “This isn’t a donation. It’s a proposal.” I frown, flipping it open. The words blur—contract, marriage, ten million dollars—and my breath catches. “Is this a joke?” “No joke.” His voice is low, controlled. “Marry me for one year. Play the perfect wife at business events. In return, I pay off your debts and give you ten million to keep this place alive.” My laugh is sharp, nervous. “You don’t even know me. Why me? Why this?” Dorian leans in, his eyes locking onto mine. “Because you’re desperate, Talia. And I need someone who can perform under pressure. You did last night, even if you don’t see it.” I swallow hard, my pulse racing. Ten million dollars. The bookstore saved. Gran’s legacy intact. But marrying him? Dorian Kaine, the man who built Kaine Enterprises into a tech empire, who’s rumored to crush rivals and dodge love like it’s a disease? “What’s in it for you?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “Control,” he says simply. “My investors want stability. A wife on my arm sells that better than any press release.” I glance at the contract, its pages heavy with fine print. “And after a year?” “You walk away. Rich. Free. No strings.” His tone is final, but his eyes flicker, like he’s hiding something. I want to say no. I want to throw the folder in his face and tell him I’m not for sale. But the foreclosure notice burns a hole in my pocket, and Gran’s voice echoes in my head. Keep the stories alive. “What if I say no?” I challenge, meeting his gaze. He steps closer, so close I can feel the heat of him. “You won’t. You love this place too much.” My throat tightens. He’s right, and I hate it. “I need time to think.” “Twenty-four hours,” he says, sliding a card with his number across the counter. “Call me by noon tomorrow, or the offer’s gone.” He turns to leave, but I grab his sleeve, my fingers brushing the scar on his wrist. He stiffens, and for a split second, his mask slips—something raw, almost haunted, flashes in his eyes. “Why do you trust me with this?” I ask, my voice softer now. He pulls free, his expression unreadable. “I don’t trust anyone, Talia. But I’m betting on you.” The bell jingles as he disappears into the night, leaving me clutching the contract like it’s a ticking bomb. --- The next morning, I’m pacing the bookstore, the contract spread out on the counter like a battle map. My best friend, Mia Chen, sits cross-legged on a stool, her laptop open and her bobbed hair swinging as she types furiously. “This is insane, Talia,” Mia says, her eyes wide. “Dorian Kaine? The guy’s a walking enigma. Forbes says he’s worth twenty billion, but no one knows his real story.” “I know,” I groan, rubbing my temples. “But ten million, Mia. I could save the store, hire staff, maybe even start a literacy program like Gran wanted.” Mia arches a brow. “And marry a guy who probably has a dungeon in his penthouse? You sure about this?” I laugh, but it’s shaky. “He’s not that kind of billionaire. I think.” She snorts, scrolling through her laptop. “Says here he’s got a rep for being ruthless. Fired half his board last year. And there’s this weird rumor about his sister—” “Stop,” I cut her off, my stomach twisting. “I don’t need rumors. I need a plan.” Mia leans forward, her lotus tattoo peeking out from her sleeve. “Okay, real talk. You sign this, you’re in his world. Galas, private jets, shady tech deals. Can you handle that?” I look around the shop—shelves sagging with books, Gran’s old typewriter in the corner. I see her smile, hear her reading Pride and Prejudice to me as a kid. I can’t lose this place. “I have to,” I say, my voice firm. “But I’m not some damsel. If Dorian’s playing games, I’ll figure it out.” Mia grins. “That’s my girl. Just… watch your back. Guys like him don’t do anything without an angle.” I nod, grabbing my phone. My thumb hovers over Dorian’s number. My heart’s pounding like I’m about to jump off a cliff. I hit call. “Talia,” he answers on the first ring, his voice sending a shiver down my spine. “You’re early.” “I’m in,” I say, before I can change my mind. “But I have conditions.” A low chuckle, almost predatory. “Name them.” “No lies,” I say, gripping the phone. “You tell me what I’m walking into. And I keep my life—my friends, my work, my freedom.” A pause, long enough to make me sweat. “Agreed. But you play the role perfectly. No missteps.” “Deal,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Meet me at my office tonight. Seven sharp. We’ll sign.” He hangs up, and I’m left staring at the phone, my future sealed with a single call. --- That night, I’m in a cab speeding toward Kaine Enterprises’ headquarters in Manhattan’s financial district. The city’s a blur of lights, and my borrowed black dress feels too tight, like it’s squeezing the air from my lungs. I’m not sure if I’m more scared or excited, but my hands won’t stop shaking. The Kaine building is a glass monolith, all sharp angles and cold light. I step into the lobby, my heels clicking on marble, and a security guard ushers me to a private elevator. It shoots up to the penthouse floor, and when the doors open, Dorian’s there, leaning against a desk in a sleek office that screams money. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the Manhattan skyline, but his eyes are the only thing I see. “You’re punctual,” he says, his voice low, approving. He’s in a black suit now, tie loosened, and it makes him look dangerously human. “I don’t waste time,” I say, forcing confidence. I step forward, clutching the contract I’ve marked up with my conditions. “Let’s do this.” He takes the contract, his fingers brushing mine, and I swear I feel a spark. He scans my notes, one eyebrow lifting. “No lies. Bold demand.” “I mean it,” I say, holding his gaze. “If I’m your wife, I’m not a puppet.” He sets the contract down, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not a puppet, Talia. You’re a partner. But partners follow rules.” “And what are yours?” I ask, my voice sharp. He steps closer, close enough that I can smell that cedar scent again. “Loyalty. Discretion. And when I touch you—” his fingers graze my arm, sending heat through me—“you don’t pull away.” My breath hitches, but I don’t flinch. “This is business, not a romance novel.” “Is it?” His voice is a challenge, and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he hands me a pen. “Sign.” I do, my signature shaky but sure. He signs next, his name a bold s***h. The air feels heavier, like we’ve just sealed a pact with the devil. “Welcome to my world, Mrs. Kaine,” he says, and the way he says it makes my stomach flip. Before I can respond, his phone buzzes. He glances at it, and his face hardens, the warmth gone. “We’re done here,” he says abruptly, turning away. “My driver will take you home.” “Wait,” I call, confused. “What’s wrong?” He doesn’t answer, just strides to the window, his back to me. I’m about to press him when I notice a folded paper on his desk, half-hidden under a file. It’s the contract—our contract—but there’s a page I didn’t see before, marked Confidential Clause. My heart stops as I catch the words: Failure to comply… ownership of Windsor Books… I freeze, my blood running cold. Did I just sign away my grandmother’s legacy? Before I can grab the paper, Dorian turns, his eyes locking onto mine like he knows what I’ve seen. “Leave it,” he says, his voice a warning.