Page 7 of The Rules
But the glass on the table stays full of fingerprints. And the reflection left behind saw more than he’s ready to admit.
Chapter 3
Katherine
The legal briefs blur before her eyes, exhaustion creeping into the corners of her vision like an ink spill, slow and inevitable. The past few days at Sinclair & Associates have been a relentless blur of research, revisions, and being utterly invisible to the firm’s power players. Just how they like it.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzz softly, their hum a constant reminder of the late hours she's been keeping.
Kath is still trying to shake the fatigue from her mind when a shadow falls across her desk, casting a chill over the neatly arranged papers. Patty stands there, arms crossed,
her expression unreadable beneath her usual layer of makeup.
With her bright outfits and brisk, purposeful stride, Patty’s hard to miss—Kath has often spotted her in the mornings, heading toward the upper floors where the real power gathers.
“Mr. Sinclair wants you in his office. Now." Patty’s tone is gentle, but there’s something cautious in the way she says it,
like she knows this meeting won’t be pleasant.
A flicker of unease tightens in Kath’s stomach, sharp and immediate. Sinclair. She’s only ever seen him from a distance—moving through boardrooms like a king surveying his court, words as sharp as the suits he wears. He’s a presence, a force that seems to bend the very air around him. And now he wants to see her.
She nods, smoothing out her blazer with steady hands, feeling the cool fabric against her palms. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Without another word, she steps toward the elevator, the hum of the office fading behind her like a distant echo. Each click of her heels on the floor is a measured beat, a silent mantra of forced calmness.
Alright, Winters. This is it. Don’t fuck it up.
Kath steps into Benjamin Sinclair’s office, her heels clicking sharper now—marble, not laminate. Up here, even the floor knows its worth. The space is exactly what she expected—modern, minimalist, designed for intimidation. Floor-to-ceiling windows cast sharp angles of daylight across dark furniture,
but the man behind the desk doesn’t even glance up.
Benjamin skims a legal brief, expression unreadable, fingers tapping idly against the edge of his desk. The silence stretches, deliberate, pressing. Each second feels like a challenge, a test of her resolve. She meets it head-on, standing tall, her gaze steady on the polished surface before her.
Finally, he exhales, looking up with a flick of his gaze, flat and assessing. “So. Ms. Katherine Winters." His voice is smooth, controlled—danger coiled beneath courtesy.
Her name sits in the air like a test. She keeps her posture straight, chin level, face unreadable.
He leans back in the chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest, the other twirling a pen between his fingers. Studying her. Measuring. “I have to admit, I was curious. It’s not every day that a no-name law student gets personally recommended by a dean."
Kath doesn’t react, but she feels the intent behind his words. The weight of his scrutiny is a slow drag over her skin, like a predator sizing up a meal.
Tap. Tap. Tap. The end of his pen meets the desk in a slow, rhythmic beat before he speaks again—deceptively light, but razor-sharp beneath the surface.
"Tell me, Ms. Winters—was it charm, blind luck… or did you sleep your way in?"
The words crack through the air like a slap.
Her spine snaps straight. For a moment, heat floods her face—anger, yes, but something else too. Humiliation, sharp and uninvited. She swallows it whole.
“I’m sorry… what?” It comes out steady—but thinner than she meant it to.
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t shift. He shrugs, completely unfazed. “You don’t really expect me to believe you’re some hidden prodigy, do you?"
Kath forces her hands to relax, slow and deliberate, before tilting her chin ever so slightly. Fine. If he wants to play games, she can play too.
"I’d rather you judge my work, Mr. Sinclair. Unless making baseless accusations is the only skill you value here."
His smirk doesn't waver, but something flickers in his eyes—a sharpness that wasn't there before. Surprise? Interest?
She can't tell, and that unsettles her more than it should.
