Chapter 391
Chapter 391:
“I am not going to cancel a five billion dollar federal contract because of a fight in a restroom,” he said, his voice stripped of any sympathy.
Belle recoiled as though he had struck her. “A fight? She assaulted me p>
Grayson reached up and peeled her hands from his jacket. “Did you provoke her, Belle p>
“No!” she stammered, stepping back. “I just — I only asked her about the production specs p>
He knew she was lying. He had heard her questioning tone before. It was always laced with venom.
і𝘯𝘴𝘁a𝗇t 𝖺𝗰𝗰eѕ𝘀 𝗈𝗇
“Focus on your job,” Grayson said, his voice hard. “If your design holds up under the stress tests, Isolde loses her company. That is how we win. Not by crying to the lawyers.” He stepped around her, his broad shoulders brushing past without a second glance. “Stop worrying about my ex-wife and start worrying about the Institute’s audit p>
He walked back into the crowd without looking back.
Belle stood alone in the shadows of the alcove, her chest heaving with a toxic blend of rage and terror. He had chosen the contract over her pain. He had chosen business over her.
As Grayson made his way back toward the bankers, his assistant Arthur intercepted him, holding a sleek electronic tablet.
“Sir,” Arthur said quietly. “The final guest list for the Lancaster Spring Gala this Friday. I need your approval on the VIP section.” He hesitated a fraction of a second. “Should I add Ms. Carson to the list? As a corporate partner p>
Grayson stopped. He looked across the room at Isolde again.
He wanted her on his territory. He wanted to place her inside a room filled with his wealth, his power, and his family’s legacy and watch to see whether the cold, untouchable armor she wore would finally crack. He wanted to test her.
“Send it,” he ordered, his eyes fixed on her back. “Full VIP access p>
Arthur nodded. “I’ll hand-deliver it to her office immediately p>
Grayson took a slow sip of his bourbon, watching her the way a hunter watches dangerous, beautiful prey.
The late afternoon sun cast long, sharp shadows across the glass walls of the Carson Dynamics office.
Isolde sat behind her desk, eyes moving across a complex supply chain logistics report.
The heavy glass door swung open. Arthur, Grayson’s executive assistant, walked in looking distinctly uncomfortable, his posture rigid with forced professionalism.
“Ms. Carson,” he said, stopping a respectful distance from her desk. “Mr. Lancaster sends his regards p>
He reached into his leather satchel and produced a thick, heavy envelope made of midnight-blue velvet, placing it carefully at the center of her glass desk. The Lancaster family crest was stamped into the velvet in gold foil.
“The Lancaster Spring Gala,” Arthur announced. “This Friday evening at the estate p>
Isolde didn’t look at the envelope. She kept her eyes on her screen. “Arthur,” she said, her voice perfectly polite and utterly cold, “you can tell your boss that I am no longer a piece of the Lancaster inventory. I don’t attend his parties p>