The Game He Plays

Sage stepped into Cross Global Enterprises for the second time, her resolve steeled and her frustration simmering just below the surface. She’d barely had four hours of sleep after the grueling first day. Every muscle in her body ached from the constant running around, her brain felt fried from trying to decode corporate jargon, and yet, here she was—ready to face another day in Damian Cross’s world.

As she approached the 45th floor, her reflection stared back at her in the mirrored elevator walls. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and she silently cursed herself for staying up late to review emails and notes. She didn’t want to give Damian Cross a single reason to think she couldn’t handle this.

I can do this, she repeated in her mind like a mantra. It’s just a year.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. The view of Damian’s sleek and intimidating floor greeted her again, but this time she noticed something strange—a distinct buzz of tension in the air. People were moving faster than yesterday, their faces tight with focus and panic. She barely made it to her desk when one of Damian’s senior assistants appeared at her side, looking frazzled.

“You—Whitmore, right?” the woman said, pushing a stack of folders into Sage’s arms. “You’re needed in the conference room immediately.”

“What’s going on?” Sage asked, confused as she struggled not to drop the files.

“Mr. Cross is in a negotiation, and apparently, he’s requested you. Don’t ask me why. Just move.”

Sage blinked in disbelief. Damian wanted her? In a meeting? What kind of game was this? Still, she hurried down the hall, clutching the folders tightly as her heart began to race. The frosted glass doors of the conference room loomed ahead, and she hesitated for a single breath before pushing them open.

Inside, the room buzzed with tension. Damian sat at the head of a long table, his usual calm expression in place as though the chaos around him didn’t exist. Across from him, a group of sharply dressed men and women in navy-blue suits were speaking in clipped tones, their leader—a stern-looking man with silver hair—glaring at Damian like he wanted to strangle him.

Every set of eyes turned to Sage as she stepped into the room.

“There you are,” Damian said smoothly, his voice slicing through the tense silence. “Miss Whitmore, take a seat.”

Sage hesitated, stunned. “What is this?”

Damian didn’t answer. Instead, he gestured to the empty seat beside him, and the authority in his expression left her no choice but to obey. She dropped into the chair, still clutching the folders as though they were a lifeline.

“Gentlemen, let me reintroduce Miss Sage Whitmore,” Damian said, his voice sharp yet deceptively polite. “She’s here to remind us all of why this deal matters.”

The silver-haired man across the table narrowed his eyes. “What’s this about, Cross? You’re wasting our time.”

“I don’t waste time, Mr. Holden,” Damian replied, his tone cool as ice. “But it seems my definition of value is different from yours. You’re arguing about numbers on a page while forgetting the human cost of what you’re proposing.”

Sage froze, her eyes darting between Damian and the others. What was he doing?

“Miss Whitmore,” Damian continued, turning to her, “would you care to share why Bluebird Café means so much to you? I think our guests here need a reminder that their decisions have consequences beyond profit margins.”

Sage’s mouth fell open. Bluebird Café? He’d brought this into a billion-dollar meeting? Suddenly, the room felt stifling, and the weight of every stare landed squarely on her shoulders.

She swallowed hard, her pulse pounding in her ears. “I—I don’t understand.”

“Tell them, Sage,” Damian said quietly, his piercing blue eyes locked on hers. “Tell them why people like you fight for places like Bluebird.”

Sage stared at him, the room spinning. She wanted to throttle him for putting her on the spot, but the challenge in his gaze ignited something in her—a spark of defiance she hadn’t realized she still carried.

She straightened in her seat and turned to face the room, forcing her voice to remain steady.

“Bluebird Café isn’t just a business,” she began, her words slow and deliberate. “It’s a part of my town. It’s where people gather after work to catch up with friends. It’s where couples go for their first dates, where kids spend afternoons after school sharing slices of pie. It’s where my mom used to take me every Sunday when I was little, and it’s the first place I ever felt like I belonged. Places like that don’t just disappear without leaving a hole behind.”

The room was silent, but Sage could feel the tension shifting. The silver-haired man, Mr. Holden, frowned as he exchanged a glance with one of his colleagues. Damian, however, wore an unreadable expression, as though he’d known all along what she would say.

“And how does that relate to us?” Holden asked stiffly.

Sage clenched her jaw. “Because businesses like yours buy up places like Bluebird without a second thought. You call it opportunity, but to us, it’s destruction. You can’t put a price tag on what a place means to a community.”

Damian leaned forward, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Precisely. Bluebird Café is a small example of something much larger. Every decision you make—every acquisition you pursue—has a ripple effect. Ignore those ripples, and eventually, they’ll come back to drown you.”

Sage’s head spun as she tried to process what Damian was doing. Was he… defending her? Was this all a calculated game, or was there an actual point to this madness?

Holden sat back in his chair, his expression tight. “This is sentimental nonsense, Cross. We’re talking about hard numbers here, not coffee shops.”

“And that’s why you’ll never beat me,” Damian said smoothly, his lips curling into a small, satisfied smile. “Because you think people are just numbers. I don’t.”

Holden’s face reddened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he stood abruptly, motioning to his team. “We’ll reconsider our position and circle back with you next week.”

“That’s what I thought,” Damian said softly.

The group left the conference room in a flurry of frustration, leaving Sage staring at Damian like he’d grown a second head.

“What the hell was that?” she hissed as soon as the doors shut behind them.

Damian rose from his seat, unbothered by her anger. “That was business.”

“You ambushed me!” she snapped, pushing to her feet. “You threw me into that meeting like some kind of pawn!”

He tilted his head, his calm gaze infuriating her further. “And you played your part perfectly. Congratulations, Miss Whitmore—you just saved the deal.”

Sage’s face burned with frustration, her fists clenched at her sides. “I didn’t ask to be part of your stupid mind games, Damian. I’m not your puppet.”

Damian stepped closer, his expression unreadable as he studied her. “You’re right—you’re not my puppet. But you’re learning something valuable today, Miss Whitmore.”

“And what’s that?” she shot back.

“That in my world, words are currency. You just proved that emotion can be as powerful as logic when wielded correctly. Remember that.”

Sage glared at him, but a small part of her knew he was right. He’d taken her raw emotions—her story—and turned them into a weapon, and it had worked. But it didn’t make her feel any better about it.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” she said, her voice low.

Damian’s gaze lingered on her for a long moment before he gave a slight nod. “Fair enough.”

Sage turned and stormed out of the conference room, her heart still pounding with adrenaline. Damian Cross was dangerous, and not just because of his power or his wealth. He had a way of manipulating situations—and people—that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

As she sank back into the chair at her desk, she realized something that made her stomach twist.

If she wasn’t careful, Damian Cross would win. Not

just in business—but over her, too. And she couldn’t let that happen.

No matter what it took.