Chapter 4: Echoes of Competition

Isla looked to work to keep her busy, and the rest of the day seemed to fly by. Emails responded, calls answered, meetings attended, but all of it felt to her like background noise to the storm rising inside her. Noah's email arrived in her inbox like a ticking bomb just ready to blow. She had already negotiated ambition and caution on a tightrope, but this seemed different. The stakes were higher, the players more aggressive, so she had no intention of being caught off guard once more.

Late in the afternoon, Evan went back to her job carrying two steaming cups of coffee and a mischievous glimmer in his eye. Setting one at her desk, he continued, "thought you could use a little pick-me-up." And based on Denise from finance's comments, Noah's behavior has half the investors in a frenzy.

Isla drank gratefully, the warmth cutting past her weariness. Amazing. precisely what we need. More corporate drama.

Evan had funny glint in his eyes. "Hey, your arch-nemesis-slash-romantic-tension-personified doesn't show up on scene too often." For this drama some of us live.

She turned to smile even knowing better. You would surely.

Indeed I do. Quite seriously, though; are you okay? You have been looking like "I'm-about-to-unleash-hell" all day.

Isla slumped and set down her cup. "I'm doing okay, Evan. just handling.

He nodded, slink back with the ease of someone who trusted her to make the right decision, whatever. "Well, keep in mind: I am team Isla whatever you decide on. each day.

She felt some release in her chest at that. "Hey Evan, thanks. That actually means a lot.

"Good." Now let us take over the world, one strategic move at a time," he said, exaggerately throwing his cup against hers to make her giggle.

Though brief, the hilarity would have been plenty to carry her through the rest of the day. Isla stayed behind as the office cleared and the city outside began its nighttime make-over into a glittering maze. Silent as she worked, the far-off lights of skyscrapers guided her and the comforting glow of her desk lamp.

Her phone buzzed with a note when the clock nearly turned ten PM. She gazed at the screen and her pulse skipped. Still another email: " Looking forward to our meeting. Short and direct. N]'

Late evenings in boardrooms, flashes of humor and determination, the electric tension humming in the air anytime Noah was near—the formality of it, the faint surety, brought a surge of memories back. Still, this time things were different. She was not a wide-eyed assistant chasing approval. Isla Lawson was a quite strong force.

She shut her laptop, gathered her stuff, left the office, and awakened her up outside under the cold city air. The streets shone from past rain, and the headlights of moving cars reflected in pools of light. Tomorrow would be reckoning, in some form.

The next day, the office hummed once more, but this time Isla arrived with her head high and a steady pulse. She refused to let Noah Vincent or anyone else throw her off-balance.

Evan waved her across as soon as she arrived, already seated at his desk. With a low enough voice only she could hear, "You ready for tonight?" he asked.

Isle said yes. "I am." And yourself?

Every time. Just bear in mind that you breathe too. And imagine him in sandals and socks if he dabbles in any of that refined corporate foolishness. shows every time.

She chuckled; the tension lifted just enough to let a sliver of hope inside. "Thanks, Evan."

"Anytime, supervisor."

At Vincent Tower, the graceful glass-walled stronghold housing Noah's empire, Isla was standing when the clock struck seven. The doorman nodded softly as she came in; the warm chandelier lighting danced across the marble floors of the foyer.

On her phone Evan's text buzzed: "Remember: socks and sandals. You totally understood.

She began to smile, the reminder helping her to relax. A receptionist met her and then showed her the private elevator headed toward Noah's executive floor. The trip was calm and perfect; every minute added more thrill. When the doors slid open, she arrived to an office shouting power—minimalist décor, panoramic city views, and a workstation that may have been a small yacht.

And he was exactly like that. Noah Vincent stands by the window, hands in his pockets and looks precisely the corporate shark she remembered. Turning as she arrived, he had a slow smile on his face.

"Isla. Welcome."

She stepped forward, refusing to let the guy who owned the room or its controlled beauty scare her. 'Noah'." We have not time to waste.

"Straight to business, I see," he said, signaling for her to take seat. "Generally, I liked that about you."

She sat down and fixed him squarely. "Flattery won't help you very far, Noah.

She shuddered inadvertently at his low, rich tone when he laughed. Not recorded.

Starting to outline the pitch, Isla sensed the past and present merge in a storm of ambition, hostility, and something else—something unspoken and terrifying. And the conversation let her realize that this was more than just a commercial transaction. She was ready to meet this junction, which put will head-on against dedication.

The silence in the room seemed too lengthy, an unstated tension seething under the surface. Noah's eyes fixed on Isla's familiar, nonverbal expression, which combined humor with challenge she had come to know over years. That smile implying he always knew something she did not anger her relentlessly.

"Care to delve deeper on this "groundbreaking" joint venture?" She lifted an eyebrow and spoke in a dry desert air tone.

With fingers steepled, Noah stared at her from back in his chair. Oh, I thought you would already have it put together. Always appreciated your fast catch on, Isla.

"Flower once more, Noah?" She shot back, a small smile tugging at her lips, fearing you're starting to sound formulaic.

His grin got wider. Predictable? Oruch is That one damages. If you still insist, though, I will cut directly to the point. Across the desk, he pushed a folder toward her. From designer sketches to runway displays, this joint effort will reimagine the supply chain. Fast, green, worlds ahead of anything now in use.

Opening the folder, Isla scanned over its contents rapidly. Page after page was more amazing than the next, loaded with projections, partnerships, and a history implying significant changes in the sector. She was not, however, about to give him the delight of seeming competence. She closed the file instead and turned back toward him.

"Interesting," she said with icy response. But Noah, do your current PR issues have any bearing on your unexpected enthusiasm in eco-friendly fashion? Actually, your damage control seems excellent.

Noah's mouth quitched at the corner, and for a fleeting second his confident mask dropped to reveal a flutter of something more. But it disappeared as quickly as it had shown, replaced by laughter.

"Touché, Isla. Lean forward, he said, almost forgetting how sharp your tongue gets. But let me state here quite plain forwardly. This transcends simple preservation of appearances. It is about staying current with the game. And, among all people, you understand the importance of that.

She shrugged, as if she had little desire. "Maybe". One finds it difficult, though, to trust someone who sees business talks as a high-stakes game of chess.

Noah turned his head and his gaze softened just little. That is the reason we were such a fantastic team once upon a time. Love the game, too, both of us.

Tight stillness followed, then the words hung like a challenge. Isla felt the heat rising in her cheeks, pictures of late evenings and whispered strategies flashing across her brain. She brushed them away with a studied simplicity, not allowing the past to skew her assessment.

"Let's keep on topic," she said, tapping on the folder. "Exactly just what you need from me?"

"Needs: Here the word used is strong. Noah mumbled, mischief glitter in his eyes. "But if you are providing..."

Unable to conceal a smile, she said: "I'm not." "So don't get any ideas."

Too late, he said while smiling. " Ideas are what I shine in."

Lean back in her chair, arms folded, Isla battled to stay cool. "Just keep in mind, I am not the same woman that engaged in your games five years ago."

Noah's smile darkened a little, his eye sharpening. "Effective." Because I am not the same man either. And this time, survival comes before simple play. for everyone of us.

Her response to his tone startled her, and doubt crawled into her thoughts for the first time since she entered the room. The stakes were higher than she had ever known, and Noah Vincent was far more lethal than he had ever been.

Leining back with his annoying smile, he continued, "So, are we going to keep trading witty quips or are we going to speak terms? Given I could work all day.

She laughed; the strain let off just a second. You could stake me like this. Let me clear one point: I am not here to save Noah.

His eyes met hers, and the smile softened almost to be real. Maybe Not. You might, however, just save us both.