Chapter 1 - The Seven-Day Trap
""Is he her boyfriend?"" The question escaped my mouth before my common sense could stop it, hanging heavily in the humid ballroom air between Jessa and me.
Jessa tilted her head, swirling the olive in her martini glass while giving me a look that screamed she had caught me red-handed. ""Daniel? They dated briefly about two years ago, right after her divorce was finalized. Now he's just an investor and an old friend. Why, Wesley? Does the thought of our untouchable CEO having a romantic pulse bother you?""
""I’m just considering company stability,"" I lied smoothly, adjusting the cuffs of my dress shirt. ""Investors who sleep with founders make board meetings messy.""
""Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that while you glare holes through the back of his Italian silk blazer."" Jessa patted my shoulder with entirely too much pity and drifted away toward the dessert bar, leaving me alone with my thoughts and an increasingly dry mouth.
Across the room, Daniel was laughing, his hand resting casually on the small of Camila’s emerald-clad back. Every protective, primal instinct I didn’t know I possessed flared up at once. Camila was brilliant, sharp-tongued, and fiercely independent, but standing beside Mercer, she looked almost delicate. That didn’t sit right with me.
Before I could do something deeply unprofessional, like marching over to interrupt an eight-figure investor, a delicate voice cleared its throat beside me.
""Excuse me? You're Wesley Scott, right? The creative director behind the Northstar campaign?""
I turned to find a stunning brunette in a crimson cocktail dress looking up at me through dark eyelashes. Her name tag identified her as Elena Vance, a senior marketing consultant for one of our regional partner agencies.
""Guilty as charged,"" I said, putting on my standard professional charm. ""Don't tell me our billboard concepts offended your sensibilities.""
Elena laughed, a light, melodic sound, and stepped into my personal space. ""Far from it. I actually thought the visual storytelling was pure genius. Bold, provocative, and completely confident. Just like the man who designed it, I'm guessing.""
She wasn't being subtle. In fact, she was laying it on thicker than fresh paint. Over Elena’s bare shoulder, my eyes accidentally locked onto Camila across the crowded floor. Daniel had stepped aside to talk to another partner, and Camila was watching us like a hawk tracking prey.
Elena pulled a heavy, embossed business card from her tiny gold clutch, leaned in, and slid it directly into the breast pocket of my suit jacket, her manicured fingers brushing deliberately against my chest. ""Call me tomorrow, Wesley. For business... or whatever else you're bold enough to pitch.""
That was the exact moment Camila abandoned her conversation, cut through the sea of executives like an icebreaker through frozen water, and materialized at my side.
""You won't need that,"" Camila whispered, her dark eyes flashing with something far sharper than professional decorum.
When she reached for my pocket and I caught her slender wrist, the air practically ionized. Challenging her had been an impulse. Shaking her hand on a seven-day jealousy wager had been pure madness.
""Rules of engagement, Wesley,"" Camila murmured now, her lips curving into a lethal, breathtaking smile as our fingers lingered together long after the handshake should have ended. ""Starting tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, we test each other's poker faces. Seven days. No forfeits. The first person to crack, show possessiveness, or confess to being jealous pays for dinner at Le Bernardin.""
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""And if neither of us breaks?"" I countered, raising an eyebrow.
Camila leaned in until her perfume—jasmine and dark cedar—completely clouded my senses. Her breath brushed my ear, sending a dangerous shiver down my spine. ""Then we both lose our minds. See you in the boardroom, Scott.""
