The Langford tower scraped the sky, its steel and glass glinting like a monument to ambition. Inside, Mira Langford stood by her office window, arms crossed over her silk blouse, a glint of annoyance flashing in her emerald eyes.
"Cancel it," she said flatly.
Her assistant blinked. "The meeting with the Kingston heiress?"
Mira turned slowly. "I'm not marrying a stranger. Especially someone I haven't even seen. What is this, the 1800s?"
"But... your grandfather—"
"Is not me," she cut in. "Business merger or not, I don't say yes to someone just because she's rich and has a last name that used to matter.
The assistant wisely said nothing.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, in a private gym soaked in neon lights and testosterone-heavy energy, Jerry Kingston slammed her final rep. Her muscles tensed under the sweat-drenched tank top, abs flexing, jaw sharp, and eyes locked on the punching bag like it owed her money.
She tossed her gloves aside and grabbed her phone.
"Meeting canceled."
"Langford girl rejected the proposal."
Jerry stared at the message. Her lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk.
"No photo, no hello, just a straight-up rejection?" she muttered, voice low and rough. "Damn. That's cold."
She rolled her neck, cracking it. Her ego stung—but it wasn't just about pride. It was personal now.
"Oh, Mira Langford, baby," Jerry whispered to herself, wiping sweat off her neck. "You don't want to meet me? Fine. I'll come to you. You're gonna fall so hard you won't know what hit you. And when you do..." She smirked wider. "You'll know exactly who you rejected."
Later that night...
A new hire walked into Mira Langford's office building.
Tailored black suit. Broad shoulders. Hands tucked casually in her pockets. Confidence oozed from every step. Her face—sharp jawline, stormy eyes, hair slicked back—drew every pair of eyes in the lobby.
No one knew she was Jerry Kingston. Not yet.
Because tonight, she wasn't here as an heiress.
She was here as Mira Langford's new assistant.
Let the games begin.
The morning sun sliced through the skyscrapers of downtown Manhattan, casting golden streaks on the windows of Langford Enterprises. Inside the sleek, glass-paneled building, Mira Langford strode through her office with her usual quiet authority. At twenty-three, she was already a name spoken with equal parts admiration and fear in corporate circles. Raven-black hair tucked into a tight bun, eyes sharp with ambition, and a figure that turned heads without effort—she was everything a CEO should be: poised, focused, and untouchable.
The assistant standing beside her stammered nervously. "Ma'am, the new candidate for the assistant position is arriving in five minutes."
Mira didn't look up from her tablet. "Fine. Send her in when she arrives."
"She's… a he," the assistant said hesitantly.
Mira's brows barely twitched. "I thought we were hiring a woman."
"She's… masculine. Goes by Jerry. Short for Jerina Kingston."
At that name, Mira froze, just for a fraction of a second.
Kingston.
She knew that name. Everyone did. The Kingston empire was old money, sharp teeth, and a rivalry that stretched back three generations. Her grandfather had once said, "If you ever see a Kingston smile, run.
They're either about to steal your business or your heart."
What Mira didn't know was that the same Kingston she had rejected through an arranged marriage proposal—without even glancing at her profile—was about to walk right into her office.
And Jerry Kingston was not the type to forget an insult.
**
Jerry adjusted her tailored suit in the elevator's mirrored wall. Her shoulders were broad from years of training, her jawline sharp, her chest bound tightly under her shirt, and her hair styled messily under a cap. She exuded a confident, masculine charm—the kind that made women turn twice and question their type.
She smiled to herself, a glint of mischief in her dark eyes. "So Mira Langford thinks she's too good to marry a Kingston, huh?"
It wasn't even the rejection that stung. It was that Mira hadn't even looked. No photo. No meeting. Just a flat, cold rejection through her father's assistant.
So, Jerry did what any proud tomboy heiress with a bruised ego and a taste for chaos would do: she hacked into the assistant database and applied for the one job that would get her close enough to Mira Langford to make her regret everything.
She didn't want the company merger. She didn't want the alliance. She wanted revenge.
Revenge, and maybe… just maybe… to make Mira fall head over heels and then dump her in style.
The elevator dinged.
Time to start.
**
Mira glanced up from her tablet the moment Jerry walked in.
And she blinked.
For once in her life, Mira Langford was stunned into silence.
Jerry's presence filled the room—tall, lean, strong, and undeniably magnetic. Her deep voice came with a slight smirk. "Jerina Kingston. You can call me Jerry."
Mira's eyes narrowed. "Kingston?"
Jerry's grin widened, slow and dangerous. "Surprise."
The air between them was immediately electric. Mira stood, arms crossed, her mind racing. She had expected a bland, corporate drone. Not this—this confident, sexy-as-sin tomboy with eyes like storms and a swagger that could set a building on fire.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Mira asked.
"Interviewing. For the assistant position," Jerry replied casually, hands in her pockets like she wasn't standing in the middle of enemy territory. "I figured since you rejected me without meeting me, I'd give you a second chance to get to know me. Face to face."
Mira's jaw clenched. "You're insane."
Jerry leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like watching people eat their words."
And with that, she turned and walked toward the assistant's desk, every step screaming confidence.
Mira stood frozen, her pulse pounding in her ears.
This was war.
And Jerry Kingston had just fired the first, sexiest shot.