The Heiress Gambit-Chapter 26- Boardroom

AUTHOR

In the guest wing, Paige was a storm of frustrated energy. The impossibly soft Frette linens were a tangled mess around her.

She punched a pillow with a grunt of pure exasperation, then threw it across the room where it landed with a soft thump against a sleek B&B Italia armchair.

Every time she closed her eyes, she felt it again—the demanding pressure of his kiss, the heat of his skin under her hands, the low, husky promise in his voice. ’I won’t touch you again until you beg me to’.

A shudder, equal parts desire and fury, wracked her body. It was a physical ache, a relentless thrumming that left her tossing and turning, chasing a release that wouldn’t come.

Down the hall, in the master suite, Reomen was fighting his own battle. He lay on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other fist clenched in the sheets.

The cool, controlled CEO was nowhere to be found. In his mind, he was back in the kitchen, the taste of her on his tongue, the feel of her slender frame pressed against him.

Every instinct, every primal urge, screamed at him to go back, to finish what he started, to shatter her resolve against the nearest wall. But his own rule held him prisoner.

He wanted the victory, not just the momentary pleasure. The war within him—between ruthless self-control and raw, unadulterated need—was a brutal stalemate.

He spent the night tossing and turning, the image of her defiant, wanting eyes burned onto the back of his eyelids.

Morning came, pale and unforgiving, at 7:00 AM.

A soft, precise knock sounded on the guest room door. Paige, who had finally fallen into a fitful doze, jolted awake.

Before she could answer, the door opened just enough for the older housekeeper to step inside. Her face was a mask of polite neutrality.

She carried a freshly pressed outfit—a sharp, black Alexander Wang blazer and matching trousers, along with a simple silk shell—and a pair of classic Christian Louboutin pumps. She laid them neatly at the foot of the rumpled bed.

"Mr. Daki expects you in the car in forty-five minutes, miss," the woman said, her voice quiet but firm. She didn’t comment on the state of the room, the discarded pillow, or the exhausted woman in the wrinkled Valentino gown. "You should get ready."

With that, she turned and left, closing the door softly behind her.

Paige stared at the clothes. They were armor. A uniform for the next stage of the war.

The memory of the night—the kiss, the ultimatum, the plan for Payton—crashed over her.

With a groan that was half exhaustion, half renewed frustration, she pushed herself out of bed. The battle wasn’t over. It had just begun again.

PAIGE

Thirty minutes later, I was a walking testament to the power of a hot shower and expensive concealer.

The sharp, black Alexander Wang blazer and trousers felt like a suit of armor. I’d even managed to tame my hair into a sleek knot.

On the outside, I looked like I belonged in the back of a Maybach. On the inside, I was still a raw, jangling nerve.

I slid into the cool, silent interior of the Mercedes-Maybach. It was empty. Reomen wasn’t down yet.

A sliver of time. A moment of privacy.

My phone felt heavy in my hand. Without overthinking it, I hit the speed dial for Leon. He picked up on the first ring.

"Talk to me. You’re alive. For real this time?" His voice was a gravelly mix of sleep and immediate concern.

"Barely," I whispered, my eyes darting toward the penthouse entrance. "Leon, you are not going to believe the last twelve hours."

And it all came pouring out in a rushed, hushed torrent. I told him about the gala, the sea of judging eyes. I described my mother’s claws digging into my arm, the cold hatred in her gaze. My voice shook recounting Reomen’s sudden, terrifying fury, the way he’d confronted her, the quiet, vicious threat he’d issued that was somehow more frightening than any shout.

"...and then he just declared I’m not going home," I finished, the words tumbling out. "I’m staying at his place. Indefinitely. Says it’s a ’gilded cage’ and an ’upgrade’."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. I could practically hear Leon’s brain short-circuiting.

"Hold on. Hold the hell on," he finally sputtered. "He threatened your mom? Physically? And now you’re basically his... what? Prisoner in a five-star hotel?"

"It’s not like that," I said, the defense automatic, even though it absolutely was exactly like that. "It’s strategic. He... we... have a plan. And my family knowing where I live is a liability now." Even to my own ears, it sounded like I was reciting a line Reomen had fed me.

"Uh-huh," Leon said, his tone dripping with disbelief. "A plan. Right. And this plan requires you to live in the devil’s penthouse. Of course it does." He sighed, a long, weary sound. "Paige, this is insane. This is next-level, bat-shit crazy. You know that, right?"

"I know," I whispered, closing my eyes. "I know it is."

Before he could dissect it further, I saw the penthouse door open. Reomen stepped out, looking infuriatingly well-rested and impeccable in a charcoal Kiton suit.

"Gotta go. He’s here," I hissed into the phone.

"Paige, wait—"

"I’m fine. I’ll call you later."

I ended the call and shoved the phone into my bag just as the car door opened. Reomen slid in beside me, the car immediately filling with the scent of his sandalwood cologne and unshakable authority.

He glanced at me, his eyes doing a quick, assessing sweep of my outfit, my composed expression. A faint, knowing smirk touched his lips, as if he could smell the frantic phone call I’d just made.

"Ready for the day, Ms. Rimestone?" he asked, his voice smooth as silk.

I met his gaze, my own expression carefully neutral. "Always, Mr. Daki."

The lie hung in the air between us, as palpable as the tension.

The ride to Daki Tech was a twenty-minute stretch of thick, silent tension. Reomen didn’t look at me, didn’t speak.

He just stared out the window of the Mercedes-Maybach, a faint, unshakable smirk playing on his lips, as if he were privy to a magnificent joke I hadn’t been told yet.

I kept my own gaze fixed on the passing city, my hands clenched in the lap of my Alexander Wang trousers.

The workday unfolded with an eerie, business-as-usual normalcy. I buried myself in financial models, the familiar language of numbers a welcome distraction from the chaos of my personal life. For a few hours, it was almost possible to pretend last night never happened.

Then, my desk phone buzzed, its internal line light blinking. It was him. "Ms.Rimestone. The main boardroom. Now."

His voice was clipped, all business, giving nothing away. Not his office. The boardroom. That was unusual.

A knot of apprehension tightened in my stomach. I smoothed down my blazer and made my way through the sleek, glass-walled offices of Daki Tech, my Christian Louboutin pumps clicking a steady rhythm on the polished concrete floor.

I pushed open the heavy door to the main boardroom. The room was a temple of minimalist power, dominated by a massive, monolithic table of figured walnut from Giorgetti, surrounded by sleek Herman Miller chairs.

And there, standing near the floor-to-ceiling window with a spectacular view of the Financial District, was Payton.

She was a vision of calculated glamour, dressed in a bright pink tweed Chanel suit that was far too bold for a business meeting. She looked out of place against the room’s severe elegance, like a tropical bird that had flown into a gray sky.

She turned as I entered, a condescending smile already plastered on her perfectly made-up face. "Paige! What a surprise. Mr. Daki said a junior analyst would be joining us to take notes. I had no idea it would be you."

The barb was predictable. Junior analyst. Taking notes.

Before I could fire back a retort, the door opened again. Reomen strode in, a force of nature in his sharp Kiton suit.

He didn’t acknowledge either of us immediately, instead moving to the head of the table and placing a file folder down with a definitive sound.

He finally looked up, his gaze sweeping from Payton’s brightly dressed form to my stark, professional black. A flicker of cold amusement passed through his eyes.

"Payton," he said, his voice smooth and utterly professional. "Thank you for coming on such short notice on behalf of Rimestone Co. I trust your father is ready to move forward with our discussion?"

He was brilliant. He was speaking to her as if she were a legitimate representative, feeding her ego, making her feel important. I could see her preen under the attention.

I took my seat, the perfect, silent junior analyst, and watched the first move of our plan fall perfectly into place. The trap was set. And the pawn, in her bright pink Chanel suit, had just walked right into it.

The main boardroom of Daki Tech felt like a shark tank, and the water was about to turn red. Payton sat across the massive Giorgetti walnut table, looking profoundly pleased with herself in her gaudy pink Chanel suit, completely oblivious to the predators circling her.

Reomen, at the head of the table, was the picture of a captivated CEO. He leaned forward, his fingers steepled, a look of intense interest on his face as Payton prattled on about "market synergies" she clearly didn’t understand.

"It’s all about the brand alignment, of course," she said, waving a dismissive hand adorned with a massive diamond cocktail ring. "Luxury consumers are so fickle. Daddy says it’s about capturing the zeitgeist."

I saw Reomen’s lips twitch. He shot me a glance, his eyes glittering with cold, unholy amusement. Zeitgeist. He looked like he was physically biting his tongue to keep from laughing.

"An astute point, Payton," he said, his voice dripping with a patronizing sincerity that was its own form of professional mockery. "Your father’s insight is, as always, unparalleled."

Payton beamed, puffing up like a peacock. She’d taken the blatant flattery at face value.

It was my cue.

I cleared my throat softly, tapping my Montblanc pen against the legal pad in front of me. "If I may," I began, adopting the tone of a diligent, slightly nervous analyst. "While we’re discussing portfolio expansion, there is an emerging opportunity that might align with Rimestone Co.’s new... aggressive strategy."

I laid it out. The "opportunity" was a masterpiece of financial engineering—a complex, high-yield investment in a volatile emerging market. It was all flashy potential on the surface, built on a foundation of sand. It was designed to appeal to greed and ego, to someone who saw a quick win without understanding the labyrinthine risks.

Payton’s eyes glazed over at the numbers, but she perked up at the projected return percentages. I could practically see the wheels turning in her head: Daddy will be so impressed if I bring him this.

Reomen listened, his expression one of thoughtful consideration. When I finished, he let a silence hang in the air for a moment, building the anticipation.

He then turned to Payton, a slow, impressed smile spreading across his face. It was a magnificent bluff.

"You know, Paige," he said, using my first name casually, as if we were all collaborators, "that’s an exceptionally sharp find." His eyes cut to Payton. "So sharp, in fact, that Daki Tech would be tempted to pursue it ourselves."

He let the lie hang in the air, a perfect, irresistible piece of bait. He was making it seem like he was revealing a competitive secret, flattering her by treating her as an equal.

Payton’s eyes widened, gleaming with avarice and triumph. She’d not only found a golden opportunity, but she’d also seemingly outmaneuvered the great Reomen Daki. She couldn’t get her phone out fast enough.

"That does sound... promising," she said, trying and failing to sound measured. "I’ll need to discuss it with my father immediately. If you’ll excuse me."

She practically flew out of her Herman Miller chair and scurried from the boardroom, already dialing Shunsuke, the door swinging shut behind her.

The second she was gone, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Reomen’s posture relaxed. He leaned back in his chair and let out a low, dark chuckle that echoed in the silent, opulent room.

He looked at me, his smirk returning in full force, this time genuine and utterly ruthless.

"And so it begins," he said, his voice a quiet promise of ruin. "Let’s see how long it takes for the mighty Rhinestone Empire to start cracking."

The boardroom door swung open and Payton practically floated back in, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. But her victory lap stalled as her gaze finally landed on me, really saw me, for the first time since she’d entered.

Her eyes did a quick, irritated sweep of my sharp, all-black Alexander Wang ensemble.

A flicker of pure annoyance crossed her perfectly made-up face. My understated, powerful look was a silent rebuke to her garish pink Chanel suit, and she knew it.

Recovering quickly, she pasted on a simpering smile and made a beeline for Reomen, her hips swaying in an exaggerated, deliberate rhythm that was more suited to a nightclub than a corporate boardroom.

She stopped far too close to him, well inside his personal space.

"Mr. Daki," she purred, leaning in so her voice was an intimate, flirty whisper meant to exclude me. "I just spoke with Daddy." She placed a hand on the edge of the massive Giorgetti table near his arm, a possessive gesture. "He’s so impressed with the opportunity. If you’re taking it, then of course, he’s in."

The implication was clear: her father was just following Reomen’s lead. She was handing him all the power, and herself as part of the package. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

A sharp, hot peg of something ugly and acidic stabbed through my chest. Jealousy. I hated it. I hated her. I hated the way she was draped over his space.

And I hated the way Reomen was reacting.

He didn’t step back. He didn’t brush her off. He just leaned back in his Herman Miller chair, a slow, appreciative smirk spreading across his face as he looked her up and down.

He let his gaze linger on the sway of her hips, on the low cut of her Chanel jacket. It looked for all the world like he was enjoying the attention, like a king amused by a court jester’s antics.

The smirk felt like a physical blow. Was this all part of the act? Or was he actually entertained by her pathetic, obvious flirting?

He finally glanced over at me, and for a split second, our eyes met. His smirk deepened, as if he could see the green-eyed monster coiling in my gut. He’d seen my reaction. And he was enjoying that, too.

"Excellent," he said to Payton, his voice a low, smooth rumble that seemed to vibrate through the table. He still hadn’t moved away from her. "I’ll have my lawyers draw up the paperwork."

He was playing us both. And he was winning.