Undressed By His Arrogance

Ivy sat at the long mahogany conference table moments later, her laptop open and fingers flying across the keys. Every detail mattered—Winn’s sharp words, the investors’ skeptical murmurs, the architect’s careful cadence. She typed as if her life depended on it.

Winn, seated at the head of the table, commanded every eye in the room. His vision for the mega project unfurled. "The House of Kane Designer Mall," he said, "will be unlike anything you’ve ever seen. A building where the powerful shop."

Ivy’s fingers stumbled once, from the charisma dripping off him.

The architect clicked through the presentation, holographic renderings shimmering across the wall. It was a kingdom, a palace for the wealthy, and Winn Kane was its king. She could almost see him standing on top of it.

As projections of revenue and expansion filled the room, Ivy typed furiously, capturing each figure, each promise.

But as Ivy typed, her fingers flying over the keys, she noticed the subtle shifts in the room. The Dutch investors exchanged looks that spoke louder than words—arched brows, faint smirks, a deliberate silence after Winn’s carefully crafted projections.

They weren’t sold. She didn’t have his years of boardroom experience, but she had eyes and instincts. And right now, those instincts told her that Winn Kane, with all his arrogance and brilliance, was about to lose them.

During the brief bathroom break, Ivy slipped out of her chair and went to him. She bent low at his side, her shirt dipping open, a teasing brush of cleavage flashing into his direct line of sight. Her whisper slid into his ear.

"I think you need to offer more."

At first, his brain didn’t catch up. More? His eyes flicked instinctively down the line of her shirt, his blood spiking with a need that had nothing to do with business. Christ, Winn—get your mind out of the gutter. He clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze back to her face.

"What do you mean?"

"They’re not buying the ’designer store for the rich’ pitch," she murmured, her breath brushing his skin. For a second, Winn felt the air between them spark.

His eyes locked on hers, steel blue narrowing with irritation. "Come with me." He strode out of the conference room, and pushed into the executive lounge. The space was immaculate, the air scented with fresh espresso and the Dutch snacks she had set up.

Stroopwafels, spiced biscuits, licorice drops. Of course she’d done her homework. Damn girl.

He turned on her, shoulders tight. "Explain."

"I think you should include an incentive that appeals to them. Tell them this mega store won’t just be about luxury—it’ll have expat essentials too. Things they crave, things from home, in one place."

Winn pressed his lips into a thin line. A secretary telling me how to pitch? The thought alone made his teeth grind. "That’s it? You said they weren’t buying my pitch. Whatever gave you that idea?" He stepped closer, invading her space.

"Do you know how long I’ve been doing this? I gave you a list of tasks to do. Stick with them. I didn’t ask for your input...little girl."

"I was just trying to help."

"And do I look like a man who would need it?" He leaned in slightly, his tall frame casting her in shadow, eyes sharp with disdain. "I guess we’ve finally come to the point where I decide this is your last day here. By the end of the day, head to accounting, pick up your check, and get out."

Ivy bit her lip so hard it nearly broke the skin. The burn of tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked furiously, refusing to let him see her cry. Well, there goes another job. She should’ve kept her mouth shut. What made her think she had any business advising him?

She wasn’t even sure the investors weren’t interested—she’d only read their body language, the hesitations between their words. Stupid, Ivy. Always opening your mouth. A heavy sigh escaped her, the sound brittle, breaking.

The thought of walking away from this paycheck, from stability—even temporary stability—gnawed at her chest. Someone’s life depended on her keeping this job.

*****

Winn strode back into the conference room, his face schooled back into the smooth mask of control. He pushed open the double doors, his stride confident, shoulders squared, his tie perfectly in place as if nothing had rattled him.

He cleared his throat softly as he took his seat at the head of the table, his icy blue gaze sweeping over the men in tailored suits before him.

Almost immediately, one of the investors leaned forward, his accent thick and rolling with guttural Dutch syllables. "Mister Kane, your presentation is... impressive. But this concept of luxury alone? What is new? What is different?" His brows arched.

Winn felt a flash of irritation. Different? New? He had built his empire by being exactly that—different. But as the man spoke, Winn’s jaw tightened, the memory of Ivy’s whispered words biting into his pride. They’re not buying the pitch. Offer more.

"I admire your dream here, Mr. Kane," the man continued. "But I don’t believe this investment is right for us. It seems... illogical. This might make waves in the beginning, yes, but I doubt it will hold in the long run." The other men at the table murmured their agreement.

"Why would you think that, Mr. Bernard?" Winn asked. He was not a man who heard no very often.

Bernard spread his hands. "We spend all this money to create what? A glorified shopping mall for the rich? They come once, maybe twice. Then they realize the merchandise is overpriced and they can get it cheaper elsewhere. Let me tell you, Mr. Kane—rich people don’t like to part with money."

"Items won’t be expensive..." Winn began, trying to salvage control of the room. He hated justifying himself, hated explaining things to men who couldn’t see what he saw.