Eleanor
The rumor mill at Kensington Innovations never sleeps. By the time I enter the office, my assistant, Olivia, is already waiting by the elevator, iPad in hand, her expression one of thinly veiled anticipation.
"Morning, Olivia," I greet, adjusting the lapel of my blazer as I step into the glass-paneled lift.
"Morning, Miss Kensington. Legal needs your sign-off on the Breckenridge acquisition before the noon deadline, and there's a call scheduled with our New York partners regarding the Walsh merger. Also, your father's office confirmed your presence at tonight's event is non-negotiable."
I suppress a sigh. "Of course it is. Send the Breckenridge documents to my office. I'll review them in thirty minutes. And push the New York call back to one; I want time to go over the Walsh portfolio."
Olivia nods sharply, her manicured fingers gliding over the screen. "Done. Anything else?"
"Just coffee," I murmur as the elevator doors slide open. "Strong. Black."
By the time I settle into my office, the legal team is already waiting. The Breckenridge deal is a multi-million-pound acquisition—complicated, but nothing I can't handle. Simon, our head of legal, clears his throat as he places a thick folder in front of me.
"We've revised Clause 17 to mitigate risk exposure on their end, but Kensington Innovations still holds majority interest. It's a solid agreement."
I skim through the terms, my mind dissecting every word. "And the indemnification clause?"
"Standard—no unexpected liabilities. Their counsel pushed for an escrow arrangement, but we countered with a performance-based release over eighteen months."
I nod, satisfied. "Good. Have it finalized and sent for signatures. If Breckenridge wants to drag their feet, remind them we have alternatives."
Simon smiles knowingly. "Understood."
With that handled, I move on to the next pressing matter—Aiden Walsh.
Back in my office, I kick off my heels and fold one leg over the other as I pull up my laptop. My fingers hover over the keys before I finally type his name.
Aiden Walsh.
The search results flood my screen within seconds. CEO of Walsh Industries. One of the youngest executives to take over a billion-dollar conglomerate. A ruthless negotiator, infamous for restructuring failing companies and turning them into profit machines. The press calls him "the Kingmaker."
Interesting.
I click on an article titled London's Most Eligible Mogul: Aiden Walsh's Empire and the Women Who Orbit Him.
It's exactly what I expect—a polished profile detailing his business successes and an equally indulgent section about his rumored conquests. Photos of him at exclusive galas, his dark hair always perfectly styled, his piercing blue eyes cool and detached. In one, he stands beside a striking brunette in a backless gown, his hand resting low on her waist. The caption reads: Walsh and longtime companion, Celeste Moreau.
I click away, uninterested in the tabloid drama. Business first.
His corporate profile is far more intriguing. Walsh Industries dominates the European and American markets. Their technology division alone is worth billions, and their latest expansion into AI-driven automation is set to redefine the industry. If Kensington Innovations secures this partnership, it would be a game-changer.
But Aiden Walsh doesn't do deals unless he's in control. That much is clear from his track record.
I lean back in my chair, a slow smirk tugging at my lips. "Let's see how well you handle not being the one holding the reins."
A sharp knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts. Olivia steps inside, placing my coffee on the desk. "Your one o'clock with Walsh Industries is confirmed. Their London representative will join via video, but Mr. Walsh himself will be attending from New York."
"Perfect."
As Olivia leaves, I take another sip of coffee, my eyes drifting back to the screen where Aiden Walsh's profile still lingers.
Something about this deal tells me it won't just be another negotiation.
It'll be a game.
And I never lose.
The evening arrives far too quickly, and before I know it, I'm standing in front of my full-length mirror, adjusting the silk drapes of my champagne-colored gown. The dress is sleek, elegant—Kensington perfection. But my mind is still back in my office, replaying every detail of Aiden Walsh's file.
As I descend the grand staircase, Everett smirks from the bottom step, his gaze flicking over my ensemble with practiced ease.
"Well, well, Eleanor. Planning to seduce an entire boardroom tonight?"
I arch a brow. "Wouldn't dream of stealing your tactics."
His laughter follows me as I step into the waiting car. Tonight is just another performance, another role to play in the Kensington legacy.
But tomorrow? Tomorrow, the real game begins.