Sighs.
If there’s one thing worse than an angry billionaire, it’s an angry billionaire in his private penthouse study at 1:00 AM, holding a confiscated iPad and looking like he’s about to fire half of North America.
“He didn’t show Victoria,” I said, leaning back against Julian’s mahogany desk, swinging my fluffy pink slippers over the polished floor.
I’d finally stripped off the ruined, steam-soaked silver wig and the drenched silk robe, returning to my natural state which is an oversized gray t-shirt that said Drama Department: We Make Problems Look Intentional and a pair of faded shorts.
Julian stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, pouring himself two fingers of scotch and he looked devastatingly handsome without his suit jacket, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms to reveal those massive, muscular wrists.
“Harrison is greedy,” Julian said coldly, his deep voice cutting through the quiet room.
“He knew that if he handed the photo to Victoria, she would have blown it instantly on social media just to humiliate me.
But if he held it over my head privately?
He could have extorted five million dollars out of Sterling Global before selling it anyway.” “So the rat wanted a retirement fund in the Swiss Alps,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“Classic.
You know, rich people crimes are so exhausting.
In my neighborhood, if somebody has dirt on you, they just tell your mom or steal your bicycle.” Julian turned around, holding his glass.
The lethal, ruthless expression on his sharp face softened by a tiny fraction, replaced by that low, dangerous flicker of amusement I was starting to crave way too much.
“Your neighborhood sounds charming, Miss Fox.” “It has character,” I corrected him, tilting my head.
“And cheaper rent.
Speaking of which, now that Harrison is currently residing in a police holding cell weeping into a paper cup, does that mean our crisis is over?” “Not entirely,” Julian replied, stepping toward me.
“The board knows Montgomery was behind the illegal surveillance attempt.
They’re spooked.
To cover their own backs, the steering committee just called an emergency international press conference for tomorrow evening at the Grand Plaza Hotel.” My heart instantly dropped right into my pink slippers.
“A press conference?
For what?!” “To officially announce Lady Sterling’s permanent seat on the board of directors,” Julian said smoothly, stopping right in front of me.
“The media wants to see the mysterious Monaco matriarch and her CEO son together.
Live.
Unfiltered.
On national television.” National television?!
My brain officially went into blue-screen error mode.
“Julian!” I squeaked, scrambling off the desk.
“I am twenty-two years old!
I can dodge a bitter socialite in a dim lounge, but if a high-definition camera zooms in on my neck lines, the internet is going to realize Lady Sterling doesn’t have wrinkles!
They have 4K resolution now!
4K!” Julian leaned back against the window frame, taking a slow, measured sip of his scotch.
His dark eyes tracked me as I paced the room in my pink slippers, a faint, razor-sharp smirk tugging at his lips.
“Which is why you’re going to give them a performance, Miss Fox,” Julian said smoothly.
“Not a caricature.” “I don’t do caricatures, I do high drama,” I shot back, crossing my arms over my oversized t-shirt.
“But there’s a difference between yelling at Victoria Vance in a damp spa and answering live questions from The Wall Street Journal about thirty years of Monaco assets.” Julian set his glass down on the mahogany desk with a soft clink.
He didn’t corner me, but he stepped around the desk, his massive frame radiating that calm, terrifying authority that usually made board members sweat.
“They will try to trap you on the timeline,” Julian said, his voice dropping into that quiet, intense range.
“They’ll ask why Lady Sterling stayed hidden for so long.
They want to see if you stumble.” “And what do I tell them?” I asked, tilting my chin up to meet his dark gaze.
“You tell them Lady Sterling doesn’t explain herself to press vultures,” Julian replied, stopping two feet away—close enough for me to catch that subtle scent of musk, but far enough that the line between us remained strictly intact.
“You look them dead in the eye, you smile like you own their network, and you let me handle the financial metrics.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“You really think I can pull off a live broadcast?” Julian studied my face for a long, quiet second—not looking at me like a fake mother, and not looking at me like an asset, but seeing Roxie underneath the drama degree and the cheap apartment background.
“You handled Harrison without breaking character once,” Julian murmured softly.
“You’re unpredictable, Miss Fox.
That makes you dangerous.
And tomorrow, we use that against the board.” My heart did a quick, foolish flutter, but I forced a proud smirk onto my face.
“Just make sure my press makeup artist understands high-definition lighting, CEO.
If I look twenty-three on television, I’m charging you extra.” A low, genuine laugh broke from Julian’s chest—a rare, unshielded sound that made the room feel suddenly warm.
“Get some sleep, Roxie,” he said, turning back toward his desk.
“8:00 AM sharp.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Bel_Rose Not Roxie calculating her hourly rate for high-stress endurance!(^~^) Harrison is behind bars, but the biggest test yet is coming up: live national television in 4K.
Will Roxie and Julian’s united front hold up under press interrogation?