Empire of Dominance

“You aren’t listening to me,” said Raven, trying to swallow back her raw anger. She knew she was right about the inconsistencies she’d found in the data. And she knew it was important.

Raven was a risk analyst: a specialized, every-second-counts sort of job where she made sure a given company’s money—in this case, huge amounts of money—were being managed safely, tailoring investments and predicting the market.

And still, her direct supervisor barely looked up from his desk. “It’s your first day, honey. Don’t try to walk before you can run.”

Raven could literally hear her teeth grinding. “I know what the data says.”

“Watch your tone with me, miss. It’s five o’clock—Go get yourself a drink and celebrate your first day.”

“But—”

“We’re not discussing this right now.”

She tried to make her angry rush look like a purposeful stride toward the elevator, but honestly—the whole day had been a wash. She didn’t care who knew it. Raven couldn’t believe how many hopes she’d pinned on today: her first day of work at Sinclair and Associates.

Sinclair and Associates was the premiere holding company one could ever hope to land at, especially straight out of university. Raven had been cruising on cloud nine since she’d accepted the job offer. And now, here she was, feeling somehow as if she’d landed at rock bottom instead of at the top.

Trained in data analytics and internet technologies, as well as drilled on a foundation of economics, at twenty-two she was tailor-made for this job. Sinclair was the best of the best: a holding company that managed majority stakes in massive and lucrative subsidiaries.

It was the kind of organization that most people would struggle to even comprehend at the best of times—investments, risk, shares, loss, distribution. All categorized neatly in her head.

And still, no one took her seriously.

Here, at the height of the city, exactly where she’d always dreamed of landing, she was disappointed.

Behind her, she heard her supervisor back in his glass-walled office, chatting and laughing with one of her male colleagues. And her blood threatened to boil.

Raven was angry at herself and even angrier at Sinclair and Associates. After all her work, she was angry enough to quit. Right here, right now. If there were anybody willing to listen to her.

She punched the down button on the elevator, picturing the truly massive martini she would order for herself once she got back to her neighborhood bar.

As soon as she got to her small cubicle, another of the girls from the office walked next to her and made a stop, turning to her. “So, did you have any luck?” Raven knew that tone; a very sarcastic one.

“He politely asked me to come back with the info tomorrow,” she replied, not sure if she wanted to lie or she wanted to be honest. Did she care?

The woman, a blonde bombshell, laughed. “He dismissed you, didn’t he.” Raven hated the fact that the woman was right. “Just take notes, write an email, and move on. No one here ever listens.”

“Is that what you do?” Rave’s eyes stared directly into the blonde one’s. “Did you ever even tried?”

The woman scoffed. “I don’t waste my time in even trying. This job is better if you do the bare minimum while you collect your paychecks and collect experience for your CV. Nothing more. You will learn.”

The woman turned around and walked away, confident in being smarter than Raven.

She didn’t have any friends in the city—she’d moved here for this job and this job alone—so she’d be drinking alone. She had no problem with that. Raven had never lacked for confidence. She knew her worth. She just needed her employer to wise up. If it was like this again tomorrow, she was out. Prestige and resume suicide be damned. She could work for any investment firm or holding company in this town. It was her fault for thinking that the biggest name would necessarily be the best.

As she waited with raw nerves for the elevator to chime up to her floor, way up on the eighteenth floor, she was taken aback by one of the senior associates suddenly appearing, as if from thin air, beside her. He didn’t even seem to register her, though she recognized him from the courtesy round of introductions she’d been dragged on only that morning. An older gentleman, in his bespoke blue suit and shining oxfords, he was every inch the image of a businessman.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what I’m saying,” he droned impatiently—and Raven realized belatedly that he had his phone pressed up against his other ear.

For a half second she’d almost thought someone had noticed her long enough to actually direct a few earnest words in her direction. But, as usual today, she was disappointed. The man droned on without once glancing in her direction.

“We were idiots—yeah, Steve, idiots—to fire the last guy. There’s no way these risk analysis cases are going to get to the board quickly enough to make any kind of impact. Seriously, it’s like sending a snail mail letter for help when your ship is literally sinking under you. Holy shit, the dumb assery around here is going to give me a coronary.”

He tapped his shiny foot impatiently.

“And this elevator is pissing me off too. So fucking slow, all the time! I’m taking the stairs, damn it. At least it’s down, instead of up.”

Raven stopped herself—barely—from rolling her eyes as the senior associated trotted for the stairwell. She’d never understood businessmen’s need to be so coarse in their language, as if speaking with every fifth word a profanity lent them some sort of macho credibility. They were all trying way, way too hard.

But still, that was interesting about what he’d said…If she’d understood correctly, the analyst who covered cases directly relevant to the board had been fired. Leaving beside the tremendous weight of that news—what could get such a high-ranking specialist fired?—and there was no one to fill his shoes.

Well well well. Maybe she’d stick around after all.

Oh, who was she kidding… She was daydreaming. A senior analyst position at Sinclair and Associates, only a few months out of undergrad? Now she was the idiot. She knew how these things worked: the long journey up the corporate ladder, the desperate scramble against impossible deadlines to prove yourself. She’d been ready for all of that—expecting it, trained for it. But that was years and years of work standing between her and the top-tier job of risk analyst reporting to the board.

Maybe all the reports she’d filed today would hover in pointless and ineffectual limbo, she thought, without someone sitting in that position. So even the tedious and frustrating process she’d undergone today was pointless.

Raven refused to be caged here. She was too good for that—and she knew it. Nobody was going to keep her on a backburner, not after how hard she’d worked in college and in her internships. She was Raven Cannon, and even Sinclair and Associates should care that she’d landed on their payroll. If she decided to stick around, that was.

The elevator doors opened, and she stepped inside, stiff-backed and mind whirling.

She punched the lobby button, already anticipating the rush of stale, summer-city air against her face after the long day in frosty air conditioning. Why did these office buildings stay so cold all the time? She let herself fume about that for a few seconds, rather than dwelling on the pointlessness of all her hours of work on this, her very first day, which was supposed to be the turning point of her whole career.

She was so consumed with fuming that she barely noticed that the elevator was going up, not down. Of course, she groaned inwardly. She couldn’t catch a break. Even the elevator was refusing to acknowledge her.

She watched the numbered buttons ding up and up and up…all the way to the top.

Her mouth went a bit dry. The elevator wasn’t ignoring her. The top floor probably had some sort of override priority, so whoever was up there would never have to wait for the elevator to service other employees. It would come straight up to the C-suite.

She stood up a little straighter—up relaxed when the doors actually opened.

In the elevator doorway was a man only about ten years her senior—not one of the shadowy, surely-much-older heads of Sinclair and Associates. This was probably an assistant or a secretary, with that cold, far-away look in his serious dark eyes.

In the next beat, just as he stepped into the elevator and the door closed behind him, she realized he was also very, very handsome.

It was the kind of magazine-cover-polished male beauty that made everything around it seem to fade and blur. Nothing but him could be the focal point. Broad shouldered and powerful looking, his face was a strong, firm set of angles, his brow tensed in a permanent furrow that he somehow managed to make look good, where in anyone else it would look straight-out silly.

His dark, smooth hair was combed precisely, and Raven was willing to bet that haircut had cost at least as much as the rich leather briefcase he wore slung over one shoulder. And his suit—is that the kind of crisp, James-Bond-looking attire they were sporting upstairs?

But more than that, this mystery man carried an aura of authority and power that clung to him like the luxury cologne he wore. He was the kind of man, she thought, who might clear his throat and instantly have a noisy room quiet to listen.

She was suddenly very conscious of her own body, stiff and nearly vibrating with rage and frustration, and her straightforward black skirt suit. This morning, she’d thought it was a sensible and clean-looking first-day outfit—a rather inexpensive suit set tailored at the local dry cleaners, a nondescript get up that gave her coworkers a blank slate to work with.

Her red hair was twisted up into a bun at the back of her head, and her nails, she knew, were chipping from the discount manicure she’d bought only a few days ago. Well. You got what she paid for.

This man was everything she knew she wasn’t: cool and stoic, pristinely put together in a costume complete with shining cuff links.

As the elevator doors closed, she worked up her courage.

“Happy five o’clock somewhere,” she joked. “Glad it’s here.”

Those cool, blank eyes shifted sideways to regard her. She’d clearly interrupted his line of thinking. Even though his dark eyes were cold and blank as a shark’s, Raven could sense the irritation rolling off him. She shouldn’t have said anything. Who did she think she was, talking to a C-suite-level employee like that?

Screw it. She’d never liked being told what to do.

“So, how was your Wednesday?”

“It would be better,” said the man with cool finality, “without all forced small talk.”

There was ice at the bottom of his voice. He meant it. And he had no hesitation being frank.

As if Raven needed reminding that she’d landed at the bottom of the barrel.

But she knew she was flustered for another reason: this man wasn’t just polished, like the other associates, managers, and analysts who had been ignoring her all day. This man was genuinely, darkly handsome. He’d be devastatingly good looking even in a t-shirt and jeans, but somehow she knew this was was not a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy.

She couldn’t picture it. In his Bond-level crisp business suit, he looked like he belonged on some thirst-trap magazine cover—glaring out at the viewer with cold disdain. Cold disdain basically dripped off him in waves. And she couldn’t say why, but it made her legs a bit weak.

She shook herself mentally. This was so, so unprofessional. Even thinking it was unprofessional.

“Sorry,” she said, half for the small talk and half for her thoughts. She hoped she wasn’t blushing. “I’ve had a long day. Just trying to shake off some tension, you know?”

“I understand.” His tone was inflexible and icy.

“It was my first day.” Couldn’t this elevator go any faster? She knew she’d start blushing if she didn’t escape soon. She usually had no problem at all with making conversation, getting people engaged. But this man was devastatingly handsome, and she was so, so tired and angry. She felt entirely at loose ends.

And that was when the elevator gave a low, pained groan, the motion of the car turning jerky and even slower.

Raven half-stumbled; the man didn’t so much as flinch. And the elevator came to a grinding halt. The lights plunged off, and for a split second they stood in darkness. Then low emergency lights flicked on.

They were stuck.