She barely made it to her car before her pulse gave her away.
The moment she slid into the backseat, she let out a slow breath, pressing her fingers against her temples. What the hell was that?
She had meant to get under Vincent's skin, to shake him up, to remind him that she was always three steps ahead. But instead?
She had walked straight into the fire.
And worse, she liked the burn.
The memory of his breath against her lips, his voice curling around her like smoke, his eyes dark with something unreadable. It was still there, lingering beneath her skin like an echo she couldn't shake.
Damn him.
She reached for the bottle of water in the car's minibar, taking a slow sip, willing the heat in her chest to settle.
But it didn't. Because the moment she turned her phone over, her screen lit up with a single message.
Vincent: Running away again, Darling?
Her grip tightened around the bottle. He was taunting her. Daring her to admit that she was unraveling just as much as he was.
But Sloane Montgomery never unraveled. She smirked, typing a response before tossing her phone aside.
Sloane: Go to bed, Vincent. You'll need your energy to keep up with me.
She didn't wait for a reply. Didn't need to.
Because she already knew, this wasn't over. Not even close.
Vincent stared at his phone, Sloane's message glowing on the screen, and let out a quiet, irritated laugh.
She was impossible. Infuriating.
And he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.
He had thought he would be the one in control tonight. Had thought that once she came to him, once she walked straight into his territory, she would be the one left stumbling.
But instead, she had walked away. Again. Like she knew he would come after her.
And worse? She was right.
Vincent exhaled slowly, setting his whiskey aside as he loosened his tie. His muscles were still tight, his skin still buzzing with something he refused to name.
He wasn't done with her. Not by a long shot.
His phone buzzed again, but this time, it wasn't Sloane.
A message from Emma.
Emma: Don't be an idiot, cousin. We both know exactly where this is going.
Vincent exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Of course she knew.
Emma had been watching him fall into this mess since the moment their engagement was announced. Hell, she had predicted it before he had even accepted the deal.
But she didn't get it. Didn't understand that this wasn't just desire.
He smirked, tossing his phone onto the table as he leaned back in his chair. He was going to make sure she was the one left wanting for more next time.
Two days later, Sloane woke to the sound of her phone vibrating against her nightstand. She groaned, blindly reaching for it, blinking against the soft morning light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her penthouse.
Lena's name flashed across the screen.
Sloane sighed, swiping to answer. "This better be good."
"You're trending."
That got her attention.
She sat up, pushing her hair back as she reached for the tablet on the bedside table, already knowing what she would find.
"Vincent?" she guessed, opening the browser.
"Of course," Lena confirmed. "You should see what he pulled this time."
Sloane tapped the screen, scrolling through the headlines.
Vincent Saint-Clair spotted at an exclusive dinner with a mystery woman. Where was Sloane?
Her stomach tightened, but she didn't let it show. "A mystery woman?" she repeated, keeping her voice smooth.
Lena exhaled. "She's nobody important. An investor's daughter, someone high-profile enough to get the press interested but not enough to be an actual threat. It's a PR move."
Of course it was.
Sloane clicked on one of the articles, her gaze scanning the images. Vincent at a candlelit table, leaning back in his chair, the same lazy smirk on his lips. The woman sitting across from him was stunning, her designer gown clinging to her curves, her smile flirtatious.
Sloane's nails tapped against the glass of her tablet.
She shouldn't care.
This was exactly what she and Vincent did.
He had made a move. Now, she was expected to make hers.
And yet, something about the images burned.
She let out a slow breath, setting the tablet down before swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
Lena was still waiting on the other end of the line. "What's our move?"
Sloane tilted her head, considering.
If Vincent wanted to play this game in the media, she would make sure he regretted it.
Slowly, a smile curled on her lips.
"We're going to make sure no one even remembers that little dinner," she murmured, already forming a plan. "Call the press. Tell them I have a statement."
Lena hesitated. "And what exactly are we telling them?"
Sloane smirked, standing as she walked toward the balcony, the Paris skyline stretching before her.
"That Vincent Saint-Clair and I," she said, pausing for effect, "are moving in together."
Lena choked. "You're joking."
Sloane's smile widened.
"Not even a little."
The best way to drown a scandal was to create a bigger one. And by the end of the day, Vincent would be the one left scrambling.
She couldn't wait to see the look on his face.
Across the city, Vincent's phone buzzed.
Half-dressed, still groggy from the night before, he reached for it on the bedside table.
A dozen missed calls. Messages from his PR team.
Then, one from Emma.
Emma: You're going to want to see this.
Frowning, he clicked the link she sent.
Sloane Montgomery confirms: She and Vincent Saint-Clair are taking the next step by moving in together.
Vincent blinked.
Once. Twice.
Then, he burst out laughing.
God, she was good.
Infuriating. Unbelievable.
Vincent set the phone down, running a hand through his hair, his chest still vibrating from sheer amusement.
Fine. She'd let her win this round.