Deal With the Devil

Cleo stood before the towering, imposing figure of Vaughn Lockwood. Deep down, she knew that given any other choice in the universe, she would never have sought him out.

"Give me three minutes of your precious time. I will leave right after saying my piece," Cleo stated firmly. She put on the boldest, most defiant face she could muster despite the throbbing pain from her bleeding elbow.

Vaughn casually checked his expensive watch. His eyes were devoid of warmth. "You have two minutes and fifty seconds left. Speak."

"I cannot talk when there are so many people here. Could you at least ask them to leave for a short while?" Cleo asked, scanning the intimidating crowd.

Though acting dismissive, Vaughn humored her bold request. He raised a hand and silently waved away his massive surrounding crowd of bodyguards and executives. The men dispersed instantly, giving them a sliver of privacy on the concrete steps. "Thirty seconds," he said curtly.

Knowing the clock was ticking, Cleo took a rushed, frantic breath. "The three-million-dollar check you gave me on that traumatic night was real. I was maliciously cheated. Corbin stole it. I desperately need you to legally prove the money did not belong to the thief. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Vaughn calmly reached into his coat. He pulled out a lighter and lit a cigarette, taking a long drag. The smoke curled around his handsome face as he easily deduced the pathetic reality of her desperate plea. "I am not obliged to help you. Business is about making an equivalent exchange," he stated flatly. His baritone voice sliced through the cold air, and his eyes raked over her shabby appearance. "What can you offer if I were to help you?"

The heavy, transactional question hung in the air. Cleo felt her last remaining shred of hope shatter like the darkening, overcast sky above them. The crushing weight of her poverty fully set in. She bit her lower lip hard enough to taste blood. "I have nothing of value left to offer you. I am sorry to bother you, Mr. Lockwood," she admitted in a tiny, broken voice.

Unwilling to sell her soul and make another devastating deal with this devil, she turned her back on his imposing figure. She began to walk away, utterly disheartened and defeated.

Vaughn watched her small, battered figure retreat down the concrete steps. He found himself surprisingly rooted to the spot, a strange compulsion holding him back. "Zenith Hotel, presidential suite. Come look for me tonight," he called out suddenly. His voice was placid, but the offer was heavy with dark sexual implication.

Cleo immediately paused in her tracks. A bitter, victorious smirk graced her lips. His blatant, pathetic desperation to have her in his bed again was almost comical. "Goodbye, Mr. Lockwood," she replied smoothly. She raised her hand to wave over her shoulder without even giving him the satisfaction of looking back.

Being rejected so roundly and unapologetically for the first time in his privileged life left Vaughn in stunned silence. He could not wrap his brilliant, calculating head around the enigma of this girl. She possessed no real value, wealth, or status. Yet, her fiery defiance somehow made his monotonous, hyper-controlled life just a little bit better.

Returning to the luxurious confines of his top-floor office, he immediately summoned his trusted secretary, Nash. "Run a comprehensive, deep-dive background check on everything regarding Cleo Stanton," Vaughn instructed sharply.

"Who is Cleo Stanton?" a sharp, elegant voice suddenly interrupted the quiet office.

Giselle Roth stepped forward from the private lounge. Her eyes narrowed, having clearly overheard his highly unusual command.

Vaughn’s demeanor shifted. His tone turned ice-cold, and the temperature in the room dropped as he stared askance at his beautiful fiancée. "We have made it clear not to interfere in each other's life, Giselle. Do not cross the line," he warned darkly.

Undeterred by his terrifying aura, Giselle walked smoothly over to him with a faint, chilling smile. She reached out and gently but possessively adjusted his suit collar. "Do not forget how much your mother likes me, Vaughn," she murmured. Her voice dripped with calculated manipulation. It was a deliberate reminder of the political reality that no one else could possibly marry him, especially with their grand wedding just around the corner. She looked right into his eyes and issued a firm, terrifying final promise to his face. "If you cannot deal with all the other women, I will handle them for you."