Chapter 4

Sloane Montgomery wasn't naïve.

Just because Vincent Saint-Clair had signed her contract without a fight didn't mean she had won. No, that would have been too easy. And Vincent Saint-Clair was many things, but easy wasn't one of them.

Which meant he was planning something.

And she needed to find out what.

The moment she stepped out of his penthouse suite, contract in hand, she called her assistant.

"Lena," she said the second the call connected, striding down the hallway toward the elevator, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. "I need a full breakdown of Saint-Clair Holdings' most recent acquisitions. Especially anything involving luxury fashion real estate."

Her assistant didn't miss a beat. "Pulling the reports now, Ms. Montgomery. Should I focus on Europe, or global?"

"Both." Sloane's jaw tightened as she reached the elevator and hit the button. "And cross-check his private investments, too. If he's making a play in my industry, I want to know about it."

"Understood." A brief pause. "Oh, and your father's office called this morning. They want to schedule a meeting regarding the engagement announcement."

Sloane resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Of course they do."

"I'll have everything ready for you by the time you get back to the office."

"Good."

Sloane ended the call just as the elevator doors slid open. She stepped inside, pressed the ground floor button, and let out a slow breath.

One year.

That was how long she had to survive this ridiculous arrangement. One year of press appearances, staged affection, and keeping Vincent Saint-Clair at arm's length.

She could do this. She would do this. But first, she needed to know exactly what kind of game Vincent was playing.

Sloane had been expecting Vincent's next move, but not this.

The Montgomery Atelier headquarters in Paris was buzzing by the time she arrived. Staff moved through the sleek, glass-walled offices at a frantic pace, and her executive team was already assembled in the main conference room.

The moment she walked in, all conversation halted.

"Someone tell me why my schedule suddenly says I have a meeting with Vincent Saint-Clair in fifteen minutes," she said, tossing her Birkin bag onto the table.

One of her VPs—Marco, head of global retail expansion—shifted uncomfortably. "We, uh… we received a request from Saint-Clair Holdings this morning."

Sloane folded her arms, waiting. "And?"

Marco cleared his throat. "Vincent Saint-Clair is offering to fund the expansion of our flagship stores into his luxury properties worldwide. He wants to propose a… partnership."

Silence.

Sloane's fingers curled against her sleeve. A partnership.

Oh, he was good.

"He wants to fund our expansion?" she repeated, voice dangerously smooth.

Marco hesitated, then nodded.

Sloane let out a slow breath, pressing her tongue against her molars. She knew exactly what this was.

Vincent had read her contract. Clause Five.

No interference in each other's businesses.

And yet, here he was, waltzing into her world like he owned the place, offering her something she couldn't easily refuse.

If she accepted his funding, it would accelerate Montgomery Atelier's expansion plan by at least three years. The brand would be in prime real estate locations across the globe, ensuring it remained untouchable at the top of the luxury fashion industry.

But it would also mean something else.

It would mean Vincent had leverage over her company. And she'd be damned if she gave him that.

A slow smirk pulled at her lips.

Fine. If he wanted a war, he was going to get one.

"Prepare the conference room," she said, smoothing out her cream-colored Chanel blazer. "I want coffee served, but only black. No cream, no sugar."

Marco blinked. "Why?"

Sloane smiled wickedly. "Because Vincent Saint-Clair doesn't take his coffee black. Let's make him uncomfortable."

Marco stared for a second, then nodded, wisely choosing not to question her strategy.

Fifteen minutes later, Sloane was seated at the head of the conference table when Vincent walked in.

And damn it all, he looked infuriatingly good.

He had traded the sweatpants-for-sin look from that morning for his usual custom Tom Ford suit, the navy fabric sculpted to perfection over his broad shoulders. His hair was styled with exact precision, not a single strand out of place, and the way he carried himself—calm, effortless, powerful—made it very clear he had been born for boardrooms like this.

He didn't hesitate as he walked in, didn't falter when their gazes met.

But Sloane caught it, the slight flicker of amusement in his ice-blue stare.

He knew exactly what she was doing.

He pulled out the chair across from her, sat down, and without breaking eye contact, reached for the black coffee in front of him.

And then, the bastard drank it.

Sloane raised a brow. "I thought you hated black coffee."

Vincent set the cup down. "I do."

A muscle ticked in her jaw.

He smirked. "But I hate losing more."

Sloane narrowed her eyes.

Game. On.

She straightened in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. "Let's get to the point, Saint-Clair. You want to fund Montgomery Atelier's expansion?"

"I do." His voice was smooth. Unbothered. "It's a smart move."

"For you," she countered.

"For both of us," he corrected. "Your company gains prime real estate in high-end locations you wouldn't have access to for years. Mine gains a luxury fashion presence that elevates my brand portfolio."

Sloane tilted her head. "And if I say no?"

Vincent leaned back, relaxed. "Then we both lose."

Silence stretched between them.

Sloane hated that he was right. She needed this expansion. But what she didn't need was a Saint-Clair-shaped string attached to it.

She let the silence hang for a moment longer, then smiled. "Fine."

Vincent's brows lifted slightly.

"But," she continued, holding his gaze, "I have a counteroffer."

His lips twitched. "Do you?"

Sloane nodded. "I'll accept the partnership… under one condition."

Vincent waited.

She leaned in slightly, voice silk and steel. "You sign a clause stating that you will have no say in Montgomery Atelier's creative or business decisions."

Something flickered in his gaze, just a fraction of a second of hesitation.

Then he smirked.

"Done."

Sloane blinked. That easily?

Vincent leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "But let's make one thing clear, sweetheart."

Her pulse kicked against her ribs.

"You don't trust me," he murmured. "And I don't trust you."

Her throat felt tight, but she refused to break eye contact.

"So," Vincent said, tilting his head, "I wonder… which one of us is going to break the contract first?"

Sloane smiled, slow and lethal.

"Neither," she murmured. "Because we're going to make each other miserable first."

Vincent's eyes darkened, not with anger. With amusement. With challenge.

And, maybe, with something else entirely.