“The first thing I noticed wasn’t the smell of the leather, but the way she looked at me like I was a piece of furniture she intended to break.” Julian didn't remember agreeing to the terms of the contract, but as he stood in the center of Elena’s minimalist penthouse, he knew he was out of his depth. Elena was a woman of sharp angles and sharper ambitions, a corporate raider who treated people like acquisitions. For the last hour, she had paced around him, her four-inch stilettos clicking against the polished concrete like a countdown. She didn't touch him at first. She simply circled, her gaze lingering on the tension in his shoulders and the way his dress shirt strained against his chest. The air between them was thick, charged with a predatory energy that made Julian’s pulse hammer against his ribs. “Strip,” she commanded. It wasn't a request; it was an executive order. Julian obeyed, his movements slow and deliberate. As the fabric hit the floor, Elena stopped in front...