Page 21 of Sweet Sinners
My mind clicks into gear. "That's our angle for a charity initiative," I murmur, already mapping the possibilities. If we play our cards right, we could win each board member over—individually, strategically.
Anna rattles off more details, and I jot down notes, although a nagging thought creeps in. How does she know all this? It’s impressive, sure, but also... oddly convenient.
I pull some cash from my wallet and slide it across the desk. "Anna, you're amazing. Seriously. Grab whatever you want for lunch—my treat."
Her face lights up. "That's sweet, Cali! It'll be nice to step away from the paperwork for a bit. We still need to catch up properly—I want all the details."
"I'm looking forward to it," I admit, realizing that for once, I genuinely mean it. After the chaos lately, something normal—something easy—sounds damn good right now.
As soon as Anna’s footsteps fade down the hall, curiosity claws at my skin. I open a browser tab and quickly typeMr. Sinclair corgi.
Nothing.
Instead, articles pop up showing Sinclair proudly posing with a tiny, three-legged chihuahua—a rescue he apparently takes everywhere.
My brows knit together, fingers drumming restlessly on the desk. How the hell does someone confuse a corgi with a chihuahua? They're not even close. And why so specific about the corgi if it wasn’t true?
Something's off.
I reach for a scrap of paper, jotting down the note and slipping it discreetly into a drawer. It’s not that I don’t trust Anna exactly…but something about that discrepancy gnaws at me.
A shadow passes my office door, and I glance up to see Mr. Sinclair striding past, completely oblivious. Hesitation flickers inside me for half a second before I rise, crossing the room quickly.
“Mr. Sinclair?”
He stops abruptly, turning to me as though he's only just remembered I exist. “Yes?”
I step into the hallway, forcing an easy smile. “I wanted to ask you something—not work-related, if you don’t mind.”
His brows lift slightly, posture softening just a fraction. “Of course. What's on your mind?”
I inhale, keeping my voice casual. “Now that I'm more settled, I've been thinking about adopting a dog. Not necessarily a purebred—I’d prefer going through a shelter. I thought you might know of a good one around the city?”
The shift in him is instant. His stiff professionalism melts away, replaced by genuine warmth. Sinclair’s eyes brighten, a rare smile softening his usually stern features.
“Oh, absolutely,” he says, suddenly animated. “There's a wonderful rescue I work with. They specialize in dogs with special needs. My little guy came from there—lost a leg but can outrun most four-legged dogs any day.”
There’s pride in his voice, affection shining clearly in his expression. It’s almost disarming.
“I’d love to hear more about it,” I say softly, slipping my hands into my pockets to hide the small thrill of triumph.
He nods enthusiastically, already reaching for his phone. “I’ll send you their website—maybe even set you up with a visit. I’d be happy to go along if you’d like.”
Bingo.
Despite Anna’s questionable intel, I've found my own way in—no need for manipulations or careful maneuvers. Just a simple, honest connection.
And somehow, this victory feels so much sweeter.
By the end of the day, I almost think I’m getting a grip on things—right up until I step into the elevator and find myself cornered by two board members.
Their smirks already scream trouble, a silent challenge etched across their faces.
"So," one drawls, his tone dripping in condescension, "how does it feel to play CEO, Calliope?"
Heat flares in my chest, spreading slow and dangerous, but I bury it deep. I straighten my shoulders, lifting my chin, refusing to shrink under their scrutiny.
Smile when necessary. Speak when required. Never let them see you sweat. That was my father's mantra, drilled into me for as long as I can remember. But I'm not him, I don't want to be.
