CHAPTER 3
The matte-black sports car tore through the gridlock traffic of Midtown Manhattan, cutting across lanes with terrifying precision. Rain began to streak the tinted windshield, reflecting the vibrant neon signs of Times Square into distorted streaks of red and yellow.
I sat rigid in the leather passenger seat, staring straight ahead while Ronan navigated the wheel with one casual hand. The silence inside the vehicle was heavy enough to crush a person, filled only by the low rumble of the engine.
"Why me?" I finally asked, turning my head to glare at his sharp, uncompromising profile against the dim streetlights. "There were forty applicants with Ivy League master's degrees and years of Wall Street experience. I’m just a kid from Ohio with student loans."
Ronan didn't take his eyes off the road, but a faint, sardonic smile touched the corner of his lips.
"Wall Street produces sheep, Miss Carter," he answered calmly, switching lanes aggressively as we entered the West Side Highway. "They know how to read spreadsheets, but they cry the moment someone raises a voice at them in a boardroom."
He paused, glancing at me for a fraction of a second, his storm-grey eyes cutting straight through my defenses.
"You didn't cry when I insulted you in front of twelve executives," Ronan continued, his voice steady and dark. "You lifted your chin, pressed your hands flat, and told me you deserved to be in that room."
"Because I do deserve it," I countered, feeling a sudden surge of fiery pride push past my paralyzing fear. "My mother sacrificed everything she owned so I could finish my degree without dropping out!"
"I know about your mother," Ronan said quietly, his statement hitting the air like a sudden grenade. "I know about the pawn shop in Columbus where she sold her ring, and I know about the three months of back rent you owe on your apartment."
My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit as complete horror washed over me. He hadn't just glanced at my resume; he had dug into the deepest, most vulnerable secrets of my personal life before I even stepped onto his floor.
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"You searched my family?" I gasped, my cheeks flushing with a mixture of raw embarrassment and white-hot anger. "That is a complete violation of privacy!"
"In my world, privacy is a luxury reserved for the dead," Ronan stated coldly as the car pulled up to a deserted shipping pier in South Brooklyn. "I don't hire people I can't control, Lena. And right now, I am the only person standing between your family and complete ruin."
