Page 13 of Sweet Sinners
Anna pauses at the double doors, hand poised on the handle, eyes searching mine. She breathes deeply, offering a last quiet smile.
"Ready, boss?" she says, and I can't help but return a small grin. Having her here, someone in my corner, feels better than I’d expected.
"Ready," I reply, even if it's a lie.
She pushes open the doors, and the low murmur inside immediately dies. The room feels larger than before, the polished mahogany table stretching impossibly long, the high-backed leather chairs arranged like thrones for the powerful. At the far end sits the board, their gazes already fixed on me.
The silence pulses thick, measuring every step I take. I feel their scrutiny—quietly judging, assessing. The unspoken question hangs in the air, heavy and unmistakable: Does she really belong here?
I slide into the chair at the head of the table—my father's chair—and lace my fingers tightly together, steadying myself. My eyes meet theirs one by one, calm, unwavering.
Yes, I do belong here.
Chapter seven
Cali
Theboardroomfeltexactlyas I’d anticipated, cold and unwelcoming. The air conditioning whispered overhead, but the chill crawling along my skin had nothing to do with the temperature.
Several pairs of eyes tracked my every move, their expressions carefully neutral, though I could practically hear their silent wagers on how long it would take me to crumble. How long until I ran, screaming from this glass cage.
“Miss Stavros,” an older board member began, his tone clipped, formal, and utterly devoid of warmth. “Shall we begin?”
The name felt strange, foreign even. Miss Stavros, not Calliope. Not Cali. Just a distant echo of someone else’s legacy. A title I wasn’t sure belonged to me at all.
“Of course,” I answered, forcing confidence into my voice even as my fingers trembled slightly beneath the table.
The agenda lay neatly in front of me—typed, bound, and color-coded. Hours spent poring over market analyses, vendor contracts, and upcoming initiatives had burned the details into my memory. Papou had left nothing to chance, determined to equip me with every possible tool.
Yet it didn’t matter.
The meeting unfolded like a well-choreographed dance, with each board member effortlessly tossing figures and forecasts between one another. They navigated vendor negotiations, supply chains, and international partnerships with practiced ease. I’d studied at the best universities, attended every lecture, absorbed every nuance from professors who breathed corporate strategy.
My father had made sure of it.
But here, now, none of that counted.
When I spoke, their replies were polite but hollow, their nods too brief to carry meaning. I presented quarterly projections I’d reviewed in painstaking detail, only for a board member to brush it off with a dismissive, “We’re already on top of that.”
I proposed revisiting vendor contracts, believing fresh negotiations might secure better terms, but another member simply flashed a thin smile and replied, “We’ve handled that for years.”
Every attempt I made was met with dismissal, cloaked in a veneer of civility that only sharpened the sting.
My chest tightened painfully, anger and insecurity tangling together. Would they dismiss me like this if I were a man? Would they nod politely and disregard my ideas with that same indifferent, patronizing ease?
The thought simmered inside me, bitter and sharp. My gaze drifted across the table, settling on the men opposite—tailored suits, commanding postures, radiating effortless authority. They didn’t need to prove a thing; their power was assumed, automatic.
Unbidden, my mind flickered to Connor.
A man who could walk into a room and own it without even trying. He wouldn’t have let them dismiss him, he’d have made his voice heard, forced them to pay attention. Hell, he might’ve even earned their respect just by existing.
The idea made my blood boil.
Connor, with his infuriating confidence and reckless charm, could handle this room in ways I couldn't, despite all my meticulous preparation. It wasn’t just frustrating; it was infuriating. The notion that being a man could make this whole damn thing easier gnawed at me relentlessly.
The meeting crawled on, minutes blurring into hours. Conversations flowed around me like I wasn’t even there, as though my presence was just an inconvenient afterthought. They discussed mergers and acquisitions I’d meticulously reviewed just days ago, yet no one paused to ask my opinion.
I forced myself to stay focused, scribbling notes in a notebook I doubted anyone cared about. My voice was nothing more than static, drowned out by men who saw me as temporary—a shadow of the man who’d occupied this seat before.
