Confidential

Chapter Eleven

Sari felt him before she saw him.

The air around her shifted, subtle but undeniable. Conversations blurred, bass lines faded, and a ripple of attention moved across the room like a current bending toward a single point.

Then, a voice. Deep, smooth, threaded with self-assurance and something dangerously magnetic.

“It’s dangerous for a woman in red to dance alone.”

Sari didn’t flinch. She turned slowly, pulse steady but sharp under her skin.

Up close, Matthew Elizalde was exactly what every rumor promised, and worse.He wasn’t just handsome. He was built out of presence. He radiated the kind of quiet confidence that came from owning every room he entered. Dark eyes. Sharp jaw. That effortless, sinful grin. He smelled like clean smoke, dark liquor, and money.

No photo, no headline, no whispered scandal had prepared her for this.

He was a problem, one that came wrapped in perfection and trouble.

Control, Sari. Remember why you’re here.

“I’m not alone,” she said, keeping her tone cool, meeting his gaze squarely. “My friends are watching.”

Matthew glanced briefly toward the bar, where Mariella stood like a sentinel and Joan was clearly taking mental notes for a future tell-all column. His smirk deepened.

“Smart,” he said. “Safety in numbers. Still, a masterpiece like you shouldn’t be left to casual viewing.”

He reached out, slow and deliberate, and let a finger trace down her bare arm. The touch burned. It was light, fleeting, but enough to make her jaw tighten.

“You look like you’re about to lecture me on the ethics of ambition,” he added lazily. “But in a dress like that, I’d risk the debate.”

Sari’s spine went rigid. Heat and anger tangled in her veins. He didn’t know who she was, not yet, but she could already feel the full weight of his arrogance pressing down on her.

She reminded herself: play the game.

“I usually stick to ethics in serious business,” she said coolly, pulling her arm away. “Hostile takeovers are your specialty, I hear.”

His laugh was soft, amused, infuriating. “I prefer strategic mergers.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “You don’t look like someone who spends much time at a desk.”

“And you don’t look like someone who spends much time in a courtroom,” she shot back, voice sharp enough to cut through the bass.

He grinned wider, like he enjoyed the sting. “Touché.”

Before the tension could turn into something she couldn’t control, a hand caught her wrist, firm and steady.

Mariella.

“Excuse us, Mr. Elizalde,” she said, her tone crisp, devoid of flattery. “Dr. Howard needs a word.”

Matthew’s brow lifted slightly at the title, Doctor, but before he could respond, Mariella had already pulled Sari toward the edge of the room, into the shadowed alcove near the restrooms.

Sari’s breath came fast, part adrenaline, part anger, part something she didn’t want to name.

Mariella turned to her, expression composed but eyes sharp. “You’re doing fine,” she said, low and quick. “But you’re losing control of the thread. He’s distracted, and that’s exactly what we want. Don’t let him flip the dynamic.”

“I hate this,” Sari said under her breath. “He’s magnetic. I can barely focus. It’s like he knows exactly what to say to get under my skin.”

Mariella’s hands tightened on her shoulders. “Good. Let him think he’s in control. That’s how you take it back. He saw you, he came to you, that’s leverage. Use it.”

Sari shook her head, conflicted. “It feels wrong. Manipulative.”

Mariella’s eyes softened but stayed steady. “So is suing an innocent clinic for twenty million dollars, Sari. We’re not here to play fair. We’re here to survive.”

Sari looked down, her thoughts flicking to her father’s tired face, the fading sign of their family clinic, the years of her mother’s dream hanging by a thread.

“Alright,” she said finally. “What’s next?”

Mariella exhaled. “You can’t do this in public. Not with the music, not with his entourage, and definitely not with Joan live-blogging in her head. You need him one-on-one. Corner him. Get him to take you somewhere private, his office, his suite, wherever he keeps the expensive champagne. Then you talk business. Calm, direct, professional. Make it impossible for him to dodge you.”

Sari nodded, collecting herself, letting the lawyer’s logic replace her turmoil.

“A private suite,” she murmured. “Got it.”

Mariella gave her a small push. “Go. And remember, you’re not the bait. You’re the storm he didn’t see coming.”

Sari turned, smoothing the red fabric of her dress. Her heels clicked against the marble as she walked back toward the floor, chin high, resolve solid.

Across the room, Matthew stood exactly where she’d left him, drink in hand, smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, watching her like she was the only one in the club worth noticing.

Fine, she thought.If he wanted a game, she’d give him one.

“Okay, Elizalde,” she muttered. “Let’s see how you handle a hostile takeover.”