The Unsuitable Candidate

Roman stood defined in his tailored deep gray suit, possessing a graceful, almost divine presence that commanded the sprawling green of the Crown Point Golf Club. The bright afternoon sunlight caught the sharp angles of his jaw, highlighting his handsome features as he observed the course. When their eyes met across the distance, Sloane's breath hitched in her throat. The vivid memories of last night rushed back to the forefront of her mind with dizzying speed.

He was the calm, steady stranger who had bodily rescued her from Gideon at the grimy Mirage Club. She remembered the horrifying moment her stomach had rebelled, the metallic taste of blood, and the dark stain spreading across his pristine designer shirt. Most men would have shoved her away in disgust, but he had calmly carried her to safety. He had paid her exorbitant hospital bills after she projectile vomited blood all over his expensive clothing, proving himself to be a true gentleman. She never, in her wildest dreams, expected her anonymous savior to be the mythical billionaire she was interviewing with today.

Misinterpreting Sloane’s sudden, frozen distraction, Clara leaned in close. She warned her in a harsh whisper that Mr. Sinclair wasn't into women with hidden, seductive agendas.

"Keep it together," Clara muttered, her fingers tightening warningly around Sloane's arm. "Make a good impression, and remember what I told you. He hates women who play games."

Clara then firmly grabbed Sloane's arm and dragged her over the manicured grass to introduce her to Roman and his grinning, overly friendly companion, Preston Kensington.

"Mr. Sinclair, Mr. Kensington, hello," Clara greeted with a bright, polished smile. "This is my friend, Sloane Mercer. She wanted to meet Mr. Sinclair in person."

Roman's heavy, calculating gaze flicked over Sloane's flirty pleated skirt and bright white top for a split second before his face shuttered. The warmth of the afternoon seemed to vanish as he offered an icy, indifferent, "Okay."

His sheer aloofness caught Sloane off guard, making her chest tighten. She wondered if he had forgotten her drunken, bloody mess of a night, or if he was simply choosing to ignore it to maintain his stoic facade. Meanwhile, Preston threw an arm around Clara, chuckling.

"Ms. Mercer, looking good! How do you keep getting prettier?" Preston teased, his eyes sweeping over her casual outfit.

"You're too kind, Mr. Kensington," Sloane replied, forcing a polite smile despite the nervous knot twisting in her stomach.

Roman smoothly handed off his pool cue to a waiting attendant. He turned his broad back and headed toward the glass-door VIP lounge. Sloane instinctively trailed after him, desperate to offer her profound thanks for his rescue. The lounge was quiet, filled with the scent of expensive leather and polished wood, a stark contrast to the lively patio outside. Failing to notice that his long strides had abruptly stopped just past the doorway, she walked right into him. Her cheek bumped hard against the solid muscle of his shoulder blade.

"You don't watch where you're going, do you?" his deep voice rumbled. It carried a rare, subtle hint of amusement that hadn't been there a moment ago.

Flustered and rubbing her stinging cheek, she stammered a quick apology. She watched his precise, deliberate movements as he slowly dried his large hands with a warm towel provided by his assistant, Leo. The man’s composure was unbreakable, his face giving nothing away.

"Mr. Sinclair, can I add you on WhatsApp?" she blurted out. The request echoed in the quiet lounge, sounding far too forward.

He paused. The damp towel froze in his hands. He turned slowly, raising a dark, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. He handed the cloth back to Leo before fixing his gaze on her. "You came all the way out here just to add me on WhatsApp?"

Remembering Clara's dire warning about his strict reputation for keeping overly eager women at arm's length, Sloane took a large step back to create a stark professional distance between them.

"Mr. Sinclair, you misunderstood," she replied, forcibly leveling her voice into a calm, corporate tone. "I wanted to add you on WhatsApp strictly to repay you for the medical bills and the clothes I ruined. I'll definitely repay your kindness down to the cent. As for why I'm truly here, I want to formally apply for the position of your chief secretary."

Roman didn't look the least bit surprised by her pivot to business. His profound, dark gaze lingered on her beautiful, flushed face for a long, suffocating moment before he stated flatly, his voice devoid of emotion, "You're not suitable."

Knowing full well that penetrating the inner circle of the Sinclair Group wouldn't be an easy victory, and refusing to look pathetic or desperate, Sloane took the rejection with grace. She wasn't going to beg for a job, no matter how prestigious. She nodded coolly, keeping her spine straight. "Sorry to bother you, goodbye."

She turned sharply on her heel to leave, accepting her defeat. But after she had taken just two steps toward the glass exit doors, his commanding voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Weren't you going to add me on WhatsApp?"

Awkwardly realizing she had forgotten her initial, desperate purpose in her rush to escape her embarrassment, she slowly returned to his side. She pulled out her phone to scan the personal QR code he held up, unaware of his intense, fixed gaze studying every line of her face.

However, someone passing by the open lounge doors did notice the intimate scene. Declan, arriving at the club for a casual game with his wealthy friends, caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar profile standing mere inches from Roman Sinclair. He froze in his tracks, his casual demeanor vanishing as the laughter of his companions faded into the background.

It really was Sloane. Didn't she confidently tell him she was out shopping with her girlfriends? Why was she dressed like that, wearing a short tennis skirt that showed off her long legs, and huddled intimately with another man? Did she lie to his face just to sneak off and flirt with a billionaire?

With that toxic, jealous thought taking root, Declan's face darkened, and he strode directly toward them.