Chapter 2: A Contract Signed in Ice

Three days later, Elara stood outside Julian Thorne's private office on the fifty-first floor, clutching her design materials like armor. The contracts had been signed, the initial payment deposited into her account—there was no backing out now. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city sprawled beneath them, glittering in the afternoon sun like scattered diamonds.

She'd spent the weekend researching everything she could find about Julian Thorne. Forbes articles painted him as a ruthless businessman who'd expanded his family's empire into tech, real estate, and renewable energy. Society pages showed him at charity galas, always impeccably dressed, always alone. No scandals, no messy relationships—just cold, calculating success.

What they didn't mention was the way he'd looked at her during their handshake, or how that brief contact had left her pulse racing for hours afterward.

Focus, she told herself. This is about the work. Nothing else.

The office door opened before she could knock, revealing Julian in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her car. His grey eyes swept over her burgundy dress and matching blazer with an assessment that felt almost physical.

"Ms. Vance. Right on time." He stepped aside to let her enter. "Seraphina should be here momentarily."

The office was a study in controlled power—dark wood, leather, and steel arranged with military precision. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a commanding view of the city, while abstract art in stark blacks and whites adorned the walls. It was beautiful in its severity, but utterly without warmth.

"Your office reflects your reputation," Elara said, setting her portfolio on the glass conference table. "Impressive, but intimidating."

Something flickered in Julian's eyes—surprise, perhaps, or amusement. "Most people find it off-putting."

"I said intimidating, not off-putting. There's a difference."

"And what difference is that?"

Before she could answer, the door burst open with theatrical flair. Seraphina glided in wearing a cream-colored designer dress that probably cost more than Elara's monthly rent, her golden hair styled in effortless waves that had undoubtedly taken hours to perfect.

"Sorry I'm late, darling," she cooed, kissing Julian's cheek. "Traffic was absolutely murder."

Her blue eyes found Elara with laser precision. "Elara! Don't you look... professional. How wonderfully serious you've become."

The subtle emphasis on 'serious' carried the same mocking undertone Elara remembered from high school—the implication that being studious, being focused, being anything other than frivolous was somehow laughable.

"Shall we begin?" Julian's voice cut through the tension like a blade. He gestured to the seating area where leather chairs were arranged around a low table. "I'm eager to see how you plan to transform the penthouse."

Elara spread her materials across the table, her confidence returning as she entered her element. "I've created three distinct concepts, each reflecting different aspects of sophisticated living while maintaining the views and architectural integrity of the space."

She launched into her presentation, describing how she'd open up the kitchen to create better flow, how strategic lighting would enhance the dramatic ceiling heights, how carefully chosen textures would add warmth without sacrificing elegance.

Julian listened with an intensity that was both flattering and unnerving. He asked detailed questions about materials, timelines, and functionality that demonstrated he'd done his homework on interior design principles.

"The master suite renovation is particularly intriguing," he said, studying the bedroom sketches. "You've created intimacy within such a large space."

Heat crept up Elara's neck at his words, though his tone remained perfectly professional. There was something about discussing bedroom design with Julian Thorne that felt far too personal.

"Intimacy is crucial in a bedroom," she managed. "It should be a sanctuary, not a showpiece."

"How... romantic," Seraphina drawled from her chair. "Though I have to say, Elara, some of these choices seem a bit... safe. Don't you think, Julian? Remember how creative Elara used to be in high school? Always coming up with such imaginative ideas."

The words landed like poison darts. Elara's throat tightened as memories flooded back—Seraphina's public mockery of her art projects, the way she'd twisted Elara's creativity into something worthy of ridicule.

"I prefer the term 'sophisticated,'" Elara replied evenly, though her knuckles were white where she gripped her portfolio.

"Of course you do." Seraphina's smile was saccharine. "You always were so concerned with what other people thought. Some things never change."

Julian's gaze sharpened, moving between them like a predator sensing blood in the water. "Actually, I find Ms. Vance's approach refreshingly confident. These designs show someone who knows exactly what she wants to achieve."

The unexpected support caught Elara off guard, sending a flutter of warmth through her chest. But Seraphina's expression darkened almost imperceptibly.

"Well, of course she's confident now," Seraphina said with a tinkling laugh. "Success has been so good for her. Though I do hope all this responsibility won't be too... overwhelming. Elara always was rather sensitive to pressure."

Sensitive. There was that word again, weaponized with surgical precision.

"I can handle pressure just fine," Elara said, her voice steady despite the familiar sting of humiliation.

"Oh, I'm sure you can," Seraphina replied smoothly. "I just remember how you used to get so upset over the littlest things. Like that time with—"

"Perhaps we should focus on the project at hand," Julian interrupted, his voice carrying a warning edge that surprised both women. "Ms. Vance, I'd like to see the fabric samples for the living area."

As Elara reached for her sample case, her hand brushed against Julian's fingers on the table. The contact was brief, accidental, but it sent an electric shock up her arm that made her breath catch. Julian's eyes met hers, and for a moment, the professional mask slipped. Heat flared between them—raw, unexpected, and completely inappropriate.

Seraphina didn't miss the exchange. Her eyes narrowed as she watched them, calculating and cold.

"The silk blend would work beautifully with the natural light," Elara continued, proud that her voice remained steady despite the chaos in her pulse.

Julian's fingers lingered near hers as he examined the fabric, the proximity both thrilling and terrifying. "Agreed. The texture adds depth without overwhelming the space."

For the next hour, they worked through details with Seraphina interjecting increasingly pointed comments disguised as helpful suggestions. Each remark was carefully crafted to sound supportive while actually undermining Elara's confidence—a masterclass in psychological warfare that Julian seemed oblivious to.

"I think that covers everything for today," Julian finally said, gathering the materials. "Ms. Vance, excellent work. I'll have my assistant coordinate with you on accessing the penthouse for measurements."

"Of course." Elara packed her things with hands that trembled slightly. "I'll need to visit several times to finalize spatial relationships and lighting requirements."

"I'll be happy to accompany you," Seraphina said sweetly. "After all, I know exactly what Julian likes. We're so close, he and I. Always have been."

The possessive undertone was unmistakable, and something dark flickered across Julian's face.

"That won't be necessary," he said coolly. "I trust Ms. Vance's professional judgment."

Seraphina's smile faltered for just a moment, but she recovered quickly. "Of course, darling. Whatever you think is best."

As they prepared to leave, Julian walked Elara to the door. "I apologize if my sister seemed... enthusiastic. She's very protective of family interests."

"I understand family loyalty," Elara replied, though protective wasn't the word she'd use for Seraphina's behavior.

Julian's hand moved to the door handle, effectively trapping Elara between his body and the exit. The proximity sent her heart racing, and she caught the subtle scent of his cologne—something dark and expensive that made her want to lean closer.

"Good," he said quietly, his voice pitched for her ears alone. "Because I have a feeling this project is going to require more... personal attention than usual."

The words sent heat spiraling through her, even as warning bells clanged in her head. This was dangerous territory—attraction to clients was a professional disaster waiting to happen. But when Julian looked at her like that, with those grey eyes burning with barely contained intensity, professionalism seemed like a distant concept.

"I should go," she whispered, not moving.

"Yes," he agreed, not stepping back. "You should."

The moment stretched between them, charged with possibility and fraught with consequences. Then Julian's jaw tightened, and he stepped aside, the professional mask sliding back into place.

"My assistant will call you tomorrow," he said formally.

Elara nodded and fled, her pulse hammering as she waited for the elevator. Through the glass walls of Julian's office, she could see Seraphina gesturing animatedly, her face twisted with an emotion that looked suspiciously like rage.

As the elevator doors closed, Elara caught her reflection in the polished steel. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with an excitement she couldn't deny.

Eight weeks of this. Eight weeks of professional meetings that felt like seduction, of Seraphina's psychological warfare, of fighting an attraction that could destroy everything she'd worked for.

The elevator descended toward the ground floor, carrying her away from the predator's den she'd somehow agreed to enter. But even as distance grew between them, she could still feel the burn of Julian's gaze, the electric memory of his proximity.

She was in trouble. Deep, dangerous trouble that had nothing to do with interior design and everything to do with the way Julian Thorne made her feel like the powerful, desirable woman she'd never believed she could be.

And judging by Seraphina's expression, she wasn't the only one who'd noticed.