"Ms. Pierce...?" Paul's stunned face whipped by me in a blur as I bulleted by. Every step pain ripped through my heart and shot down through my legs, channelled along my spine.

"Ms. Pierce. Seriously, I—" Agitated, I swiped out a hand. Silencing him.

"Later. Later." I needed...god, I needed a minute. Just a f-cking minute. Behind a closed door and away from eyes and ears. It was happening. I was going to cry and my pride couldn't let that happen in full view of an audience. Bursting through my door, I slammed it behind me, entombing me inside. The room a hazed blur of viscous colour gone dull with agony. Stalking over to my desk, I swept my hands across it, pushing everything—files, phone and computer, on to the floor.

A sob kicked me in the gut and I pressed a hand over my mouth, swallowing another. And another. My brain spinning over the messy details. If the press took hold of this, then invariably she would have to face the board of directors. While having a personal relationship with Tristan Shade shouldn't have been an issue—this degree of embarrassment to Iconic's image, would be.

Someone had gone to considerable efforts to set them up for a massive sh!t storm.

And to what purpose? The reporters wanted to sell papers pushing a buzz worthy story, but what about the unknown accomplice? What did they stand to gain from peddling this humiliation? Knowing someone had betrayed us was a stunning blow I didn't quite know how to recover from, but nothing could have prepared me for Tristan's dismissive coldness.

Damn him. Damn that stubborn, arrogant—f-cking man!

Effective immediately, we're done. Just like that. A snap of the fingers, a pinch of the flame. Extinguished. Over. And here, one a few minutes before, I'd been daydreaming about white gowns and wedding bells?

God, what sort of idiot did that make me? Grief tore through me like a flood. Filling every crevice, every nook it could find until I was drowning. Cold, so cold. The shock wore me numb. My hands held at my side, trembled.

My door opened and I swiped quickly at my face, clearing up what little evidence had seeped through of my emotional distress but the flaming heat in my cheeks said no matter what I did at this point, the obvious was written there plain as day.

"Aren't you a sight?" Holding a file, Jim Verraster crossed the threshold and planted his feet. His stance smug and confident.

"Get out, Jim," I said, my voice wobbling beneath the iron hold I had on my resolve. "Now's not a good time."

He tisked softly. "Journalists threatening to sling mud'll do that. Probably should close this, no?"

I watched, rooted to the spot as he eased my office door shut and spread his hands in supplication. "I hate that it has to be like this, Laura. I really do." The smile twitching along his wide face belied that statement entirely.

"You," my voice was a whispered hush as I lowered into the first chair I could wobble to. Closed my eyes. "Oh, God."

"Probably wasn't the best move to wave the flag in your face, but I just had to see you crumble before the axe falls." Hiking up his trousers, Jim winged onto the arm of the settee, tossed the file on the table between us.

"I thought while you were away I would do a bit of digging into the Nishi matter. The account should have been mine," he said, jaw tensing. "This office, in fact, should have been mine, too. So I tapped into my guy in the IT department for a favour, gained access to the company's servers." His grin flashed brighter. "When the cat's away, the mice will play."

This was a curve I hadn't anticipated. "What did you do?"

Jim jerked a shoulder. "You left your flank unprotected, Laura. I might have placed a few obstacles that will rattle Nishi's cage. But of course, I also hold all the answers to save the day. I'll swoop in—the man of the hour. A hero that will piece this deal back together. I'd thought to leave it alone there, but wouldn't you know I stumbled across something even better? It's an interesting little deal you and Tristan Shade worked out."

His eyes slid over me, all greasy with suggestion and as invasive as a groping hand to the breast. I felt naked under that gaze. So naked. And exposed. Like I was being raped right there in my office and I couldn't do a damn thing to stop it.

"What do you want, Jim? You're here because you want something so spit it out."

"You're right, I do. And if you don't watch the tone, I might just forget what that is and make a call to the Times."

I swallowed slowly. Carefully. Biting my tongue until I tasted blood. "Sorry," I said, almost choking on the word. "Please continue."

Jim's hard expression softened in enjoyment. "That's better. You always were too high and mighty, especially for a woman. So full of yourself. So confident and self-assured. The way you walked into this company like you already owned it. How many men did it take for you sleep your way to the top? Hm? Maybe this little deal with Shade isn't the first contract you've...negotiated?" He laughed, a soft, sinister note. All implication.

"Here's the deal, and it's the only one of the table so save your counter or whatever arguments you'll think to make. I want you to step down. Resign. In an hour, the phones are going to ring off the hook with Nishi's offices. The mess will be catastrophic and damaging enough to justify your hasty and abrupt departure. Make whatever excuses you want, I don't really care, you're leaving Iconic, Laura. Voluntary or otherwise, and effective immediately."

My belly clenched with a snarl of rage. I was really starting to hate that turn of phrase.

"You self-serving son of a b-tch." My blood frothed and foamed, hot, violent, blood boiling rage—the spike of heat searing beneath my skin. I'd never in all my life experienced such fury and for the first time I could have happily committed murder.

"Yes, yes I am. But I can see you love Tristan. The Nishi matter might not be enough to convince you to abdicate the throne. You're stubborn and strong-willed. "And unfortunately, even with your little contract, bringing down a man like Tristan Shade is going to take some finessing. For now, he holds all the purse strings, and in a game of pick and choose, he's more valuable. In light of the scandal the Times will present, they will sacrifice an arm to save the body. And FYI, you're the arm in this little scenario. So you see, either way—you're screwed. Resign willingly and without contest, and I will guarantee this disappears."

Opening the file, he nudged the document inside towards me. I almost laughed.

"A confidentiality agreement?"

"Fitting, isn't it? You hand in your resignation, I sign this document—and the whole matter is put to bed. Tristan walks out of this unscathed. Refuse and you both burn." His eyes glimmered. "Your choice. And don't think about running to your boy toy, either. I won't be bought and I won't be intimidated." Jim smiled, a smug little curve of thin lips in his egg-shaped head. "I've got you both by the balls, so to speak."

Rising, he notched the top button of his blazer. Signifying the end of our little discussion. "You have twenty-four hours, to tender your resignation," he added after a quick thought, pressing a warning finger to the edge of my desk. "A minute—a second later," that finger bounced, "and I'll see this is blasted to every gossip pushing patsy New York has to offer."

#

"Ms. Pierce? Ms. Pierce?" I looked up at Paul's ashen face, his fingers snapping before my eyes. "Jesus, you scared me shitless, doll. I've been shaking you for five minutes but you've had this look on your face and—."

"Paul," I whispered. "Jim."

Pauls eyes glinted like honed steel. "I know. Doll, listen—after he walked out of here, I thought something's not on the up and up. I know scum when I see them, and he's filthy." Rising from me, Paul scooted to my little bar fridge, plucked out a bottle of water. "So, I thought to myself, Paul—where's the best place to get information in this place? The administration gossip mill, of course." Uncapping the bottle, he set it near my lips, coaxing me to sip.

"So I fired out an email to Sophie, you know Sophie right? The cute little Asian minx on forty-two?"

I stared up at him blankly. Paul rolled his eyes.

"Tom's assistant?"

Tom. Tom Welland. IT. Right. I nodded.

"Right, so I met Sophie downstairs. Soften her up with a couple of menthols and she tells me that a few days ago she bumped into Kristin and Rachael bitching about Marcia. So, Paul, she tells me, guess who's been talking shit about Ms. Pierce? Guess." He nodded at me, indicating I was supposed to somehow make sense of all this nonsense.

"Marcia?"

"Bingo! So Marcia apparently let slip to Kristin who told Rachael that you were about to get b!tch slapped by karma. Her words," Paul added at the crook of my brow, "but I might have prettied them up a smidge."

"Marcia," I whispered, the strength returning to my body. God, had I really sat here slumped in this chair all morning? Rolling a wrist, I looked at my watch. The hour was crossing into eleven. Jesus.

"Paul, I need to get out of here."

"Aren't you going to tell me what's going on?" he asked, a confused and hurt expression marring his previously excited face.

"Jim knows about Shade. Threatening extortion to leverage me into stepping down as CEO so he can assume the mantle. He's done something to botch the Nishi account so he can ride in like a white knight and save the day." Sighing, I plucked up the folder, waved it at him. "It's all in here. Things are going to go insane soon. I need you to make excuses—anything you can think of, to cover me."

"Where are you going? What are you going to do?" he called after me as I sped to the door, purse in hand and mind set for war.

Turning, I thrust up my chin. Beaten, but far from broken. "I'm going to see a guy about a thing." I opened the door, paused on a thought. Turning back around. This guy had gone to bat for me. Fought for me. That sort of loyalty couldn't be bought, only earned. And I was so grateful.

"Paul," I smiled, "you're the Ross to my Spectre."

And I walked away, thought I heard the soft sound of his weepy chuckle.