Chapter 1
Sheryl's POV
My evening tranquility was shattered by the shrill ring of my phone. Amy Grant's voice came through trembling.
"Miss Ross... please help... I'm at the Velvet Club's restroom..."
"Amy? What's happening?" My fingers tightened around the receiver, dread pooling in my stomach.
"They're forcing drinks on me... saying if I don't cooperate, they'll cancel the deal..." Her words dissolved into muffled sobs.
I hung up and snatched my car keys, checking my watch—9:25 PM. Damn it. I should have known those so-called "clients" weren't interested in business. Amy was my most capable assistant; this negotiation should have been straightforward.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled up outside the Velvet Club. The club had a reputation in Boston's waterfront district—its lavish décor barely concealing the dirty deals made in its private rooms. My heels clicked sharply against marble as I made my way toward the VIP section.
Through the half-open door, I caught a glimpse of the scene inside. Amy was cornered on a leather sofa by five men in business suits. Her makeup was smeared, her hair disheveled, and the drink in her hand looked dangerously close to spilling.
"Come on, sweetheart. A small sacrifice for a million-dollar contract—sounds like a fair trade to me!" A balding man reached for her face, his words dripping with disgusting implications.
"Once you sign that contract, you'll be entertaining us all night. Otherwise..." Another man swirled his drink, leering at her.
Amy looked like a trapped animal, trying to shrink away from their advances. I remembered how carefully she'd dressed this morning, excited about landing this account. Anger coursed through me, hot and visceral.
I took a deep breath and kicked the door wide open. It slammed against the wall with a satisfying crash, and every head in the room snapped toward me.
"Miss Ross!" Amy's eyes flooded with relief.
"Seems I'm interrupting your 'entertainment,'" I said, my voice arctic. "Amy, come here."
The balding man whistled as he looked me up and down. "Well, well, another beauty joins the party. Lucky night for us."
I surveyed the drunken group coldly. "Who exactly do you represent? Do you have any idea who I am?"
"Of course we do. Director at Glamour Realm, the Ross family princess." The balding man smirked as he stood unsteadily. "I'm James Peterson, Marketing Director at Luxe Gems. Tonight's deal happens on our terms—either Amy entertains us, or there's no deal." He swayed closer to me. "Though we'd gladly accept you as a substitute, Miss Ross."
I laughed without humor. "Luxe Gems? One of Hayes Enterprise's subsidiaries?"
"Exactly. So you'd better play nice. The Hayes Group isn't someone you can afford to cross." Peterson looked smug. "Here's your choice: either you and your little assistant show us a good time tonight, or Glamour Realm loses its biggest supplier."
Before he could finish, my palm connected with his face in a resounding slap. The sound cracked through the room, leaving a vivid red handprint on his cheek.
The room fell silent.
"You... you hit me?" James touched his face, staring at me in disbelief.
"Let me offer you an alternative," I said, my voice deadly calm. "Either you leave right now, or I break each of your noses. Your choice."
"Bitch! Get her! Teach her a lesson!" James shouted to his companions.
They lurched toward me, their movements sloppy from alcohol. I sidestepped the first attacker, driving my stiletto heel into his knee. His howl of pain was cut short as I grabbed a bottle from the table, smashing it against another man's head. The third caught an elbow to his throat, sending him stumbling backward, clutching his neck.
I'd handled my share of creeps before. I wasn't some martial arts expert, but after being on my own since I was fifteen—when staying in the Ross mansion became unbearable—I'd made sure to learn how to protect myself. Ten years of living independently hadn't been for nothing. I'd learned what I needed to survive.
The fourth man grabbed my arm painfully, but I countered with a headbutt to his chin. He released me, staggering back.
Before I could regain my footing, James shoved me from behind. I lost my balance, my knee smashing against the edge of the coffee table. Pain shot up my leg as he grabbed a fistful of my hair.
"You think you're something special? Tonight I'm going to—"
I drove my knee up between his legs. His threat ended in a high-pitched wail as he doubled over. I broke free, delivering a roundhouse kick to his chest that sent him flying into the sofa.
The room was chaos—five men lying or sitting, moaning in pain. I straightened my clothes, ignoring the throbbing in my knee, maintaining my composure.
"So sorry to disrupt your evening, gentlemen." My tone dripped with sarcasm. "Feel free to contact the Ross family legal team if you'd like to press charges. Oh, and just so you know, my father plays golf with Boston's Police Commissioner. I wonder what he'd think of tonight's surveillance footage?"
James struggled to sit up. "You'll regret this... Mr. Hayes will—"
The door crashed open again. A tall figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, his presence immediately commanding the room. As he stepped inside, the light revealed his perfectly trimmed dark hair, sharp features, and those unsettling deep brown eyes—Rhett Hayes himself.
My heart skipped. What the hell was he doing here?
Then my eye shifted to the woman waiting outside the door. Vanessa Clark. Great, just what I needed—probably came here for their little rendezvous.
"Mr. Hayes!" James tried to stand, panic washing over his face. "This crazy woman attacked us! She—"
"Shut up." Just two words, but James fell silent instantly.
Rhett's gaze turned to me, unreadable. Then he quickly grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the room. The woman took a few steps forward.
"Mr. Rhett," she called, but seeing he didn't acknowledge her at all, she stopped in her tracks, not following us.
When we reached the elevator, I struggled to a halt, and he turned to me. "What the hell?"
"Let go of me," I protested. "I need to take care of my employee."
His hand gripped my shoulder firmly. "This isn't a request."
I felt the heat of his palm through my blouse, sending an odd sensation through my body. Before I could process it, he was already steering me toward the elevator. I yanked my arm free, quickly stopping a passing waitress and asking her to look after Amy, slipping her some cash.
Once that was handled, Rhett took hold of me again, practically dragging me inside and backing me into a corner of the elevator. "Impressive fighting skills."
I straightened my spine, meeting his stare. "Your employees clearly have zero respect for women. Unlike you, who's always orbiting around one particular woman."
"Hmm, yes. Apparently, my leading by example hasn't been effective enough." He let out a cold laugh and then, when the elevator dinged at the top floor, pulled me into his suite.