The shark and the cub

The hallway leading to Conference 2C felt longer than it had this morning. Not physically, but mentally. Something about knowing Erik Statham was on the other side of that glass door made each step feel like walking toward a firing squad.

I reminded myself of who I was. Harvard. Cum laude. Top of my class. Sharp. Ruthless when I needed to be. I didn’t spend years preparing for this life just to cower at the sight of a man—no matter how lethal his reputation.

Still, when I opened the door, he didn’t even glance up.

He stood at the head of the long black conference table, hands braced against the polished surface, scanning a spread of documents like he was planning a war.

I cleared my throat. “You wanted to see me?”

He looked up then, slowly, and those ice-blue eyes sliced into me. Not lazily. Not curiously. Precisely. Like he was evaluating my weaknesses before deciding how to crush me.

“You’re late.”

I checked my watch. “It’s 5:14.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Then you’re not early.”

And just like that, the game had started.

I sat down without asking permission and opened my notes. “Let’s get to it then.”

He watched me, silent for a second too long. “You don’t strike me as the type to blend in.”

“I don’t.”

“Interesting, considering this is a company built on conformity.”

“Then maybe it’s due for a shake-up.”

His jaw twitched—whether from amusement or irritation, I couldn’t tell. “You were at Harvard.”

“Top of my class.”

“Grades don’t impress me.”

“I didn’t bring them to impress you.”

Another pause. I had his attention now.

He walked slowly around the table and took a seat across from me, flipping open the Ridley file like it was an afterthought.

“This acquisition is sensitive,” he said. “Ridley doesn’t want to sell. We’re going to convince him he doesn’t have a choice.”

I kept my expression neutral, but my mind was already moving through the chessboard. “He’s defensive. He thinks selling makes him a failure.”

“Because it does.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And yet you want to buy him. Which means you see value. His failure, your opportunity?”

That earned me the ghost of a smirk. “You’re not as naive as you look.”

“And you’re not as untouchable as you act.”

Silence fell between us, heavy and electric. For a moment, the tension shifted from professional to something else entirely. Something sharp and unspoken.

Then he stood. Just like that. Cold again. Dismissive.

“You’ll be shadowing Vince tomorrow. He’s handling initial contact with Ridley’s team. Don’t embarrass me.”

“I never do.”

He turned, already halfway to the door. “We’ll see.”

And then he was gone.

I sat there for a second longer than I wanted to, grounding myself. My pulse was racing, and not just because of the confrontation. There was something about Erik Statham—something infuriating, magnetic, and dangerous all at once.

This wasn’t just a job. This was a war zone. And Erik was both the battlefield and the enemy.

By the time I made it back to my glass box of an office, a folder had been placed on my desk by Vince Gratham himself.

Briefing Notes: Ridley Acquisition.

Meeting Tomorrow @ 9AM.

Dress to kill.

Scrawled in blue pen beneath the printed header, I found a note:

“Welcome to the jungle, Lane. Let’s see what you’re made of.” — V.G.

I liked Vince instantly.

That night, in my apartment, I poured myself a glass of red wine and sat cross-legged on the couch with the Ridley file spread out in front of me.

My apartment was small, neat, painfully quiet. I liked it that way.

No distractions. No complications.

But tonight, my focus kept slipping. Back to Erik. His voice. His precision. The way he never once said “please” or “thank you.” The way he stripped every interaction down to its sharpest edge and threw it back at you like a test.

It should have repulsed me.

Instead, it fascinated me.

Which was dangerous.

I closed the file and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

I could handle him.

I had to.

Because Erik Statham wasn’t just my boss. He was the wall standing between me and everything I’d worked for.

And if I let him get in my head…

He’d destroy me.

Erik – After the meeting

She didn’t flinch.

Not once.

I leaned back in my chair after she left the conference room, fingers steepled in front of my mouth, watching the door click shut behind her. Catherine Lane was not what I expected. Not from the glowing résumé, and certainly not from her appearance—young, polished, too pretty for this world, too sure of herself to survive it.

And yet… she didn’t flinch.

Most people shrink under pressure. They fumble their words, make excuses, rush to fill silences. She did none of that. She met every challenge head-on, with a level gaze and an answer sharper than most people twice her age.

I should’ve dismissed her. Should’ve found a reason to hand her back to Graham and move on. But instead, I tested her. Goaded her. I wanted to see if she cracked.

She didn’t.

Worse—she intrigued me.

And that made her dangerous.

I stood, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and stared out at the city like it could offer answers. It didn’t.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

I don’t get distracted. Not by ambition. Not by emotion. And certainly not by a woman who looks at me like she’s not afraid to burn.

The last time I let someone close, I paid for it. Julia reminded me of that every time she showed up uninvited and smiled like nothing ever happened.

Catherine is different. She doesn’t want my name. She wants my job.

And I should crush that ambition now, before it becomes a problem.

But when she looked me in the eye and said, “Maybe it’s due for a shake-up,” I didn’t feel threatened.

I felt challenged.

And I’ve always had a weakness for challenges.

I turned from the window, jaw tight, pulse uncomfortably quick.

No. This is nothing. A passing interest. A test of discipline. She’ll either rise to the top or drown like the rest.

Either way… I’ll be watching.