Chapter 381
Chapter 381:
Isolde ignored her entirely. She reached into her leather briefcase, produced a thick sealed folder, and slid it hard across the polished wood. It glided smoothly down the full length of the table and stopped exactly six inches from Grayson’s hands.
“The production specifications for Project Phoenix-X7,” Isolde said, her voice carrying clearly through the room. “We need the first physical prototype in two weeks p>
Grayson stared at the folder. He lifted his eyes slowly to meet hers, raising one dark eyebrow. “Two weeks? My standard delivery time is six weeks.” His voice was a low, mocking drawl.
Isolde leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, fingers interlaced. “This is Phoenix-X7 — a federally contracted military upgrade with its own independent patent. Your commercial version is a toy by comparison. Run three shifts. Or I will take this federal contract and find another supplier before lunch p>
Belle let out a high, mocking laugh and pressed her shoulder against Grayson’s arm. “There is no other supplier on the East Coast with the necessary security clearance. You are bluffing p>
Isolde kept her eyes locked on Grayson. She did not blink. “Do you want the government’s money, Grayson, or do you want to protect your ego? Because you cannot afford to do both p>
A sharp spike of irritation burned in Grayson’s throat. His fingers curled into fists beneath the table. She was dictating terms in his building. She was holding the whip.
“We can retool and deliver in two weeks,” he said finally, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “With a fifteen percent rush fee added to the baseline cost p>
Isolde smiled — a terrifying, bloodless expression. “Ten percent. And I get unrestricted, unescorted access to the entire manufacturing floor for the duration of the build p>
𝖡𝗲 𝗽𝖺r𝘁 𝗼𝘧 𝗼𝘶𝘳 𝗰𝗈mm𝘶ոi𝗍у 𝗼𝘯
Grayson went still. His chest tightened. Unrestricted access meant the ability to audit his entire operation. It was a massive surrender of power.
“Absolutely not,” he snapped. “My factory floor is proprietary p>
Director Caldwell stopped pacing. He stepped up to the table and looked directly at Grayson. “Agree to her terms, Mr. Lancaster,” he said, his voice carrying the full weight of the federal government. “Grant her the access. Sign the NDA. We do not have time for a pissing contest p>
Grayson’s teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached. He stared down the table at Isolde. She looked back at him with absolute, terrifying calm.
He had just lost the first round in his own house.
“Fine,” he said, forcing the word out through a tight throat. “Access granted p>
The factory floor was a sensory assault.
The air was thick, suffocatingly hot, and sharp with the smell of burning ozone and melted metal. The deafening roar of industrial stamping machines and the high-pitched whine of automated drills made normal conversation impossible.
Grayson led the tour. He moved through the chaotic environment with absolute authority, his suit jacket gone, his crisp white sleeves rolled to the elbows to expose the thick, corded muscles of his forearms. He belonged here.
Isolde walked three paces behind him, a bright yellow hard hat over her perfectly styled hair, her black suit a stark contrast to the grey concrete floor.