Page 173 of Malicious Claim

Finally, he leaned back in his chair, fingers locked together under his stomach. His face remained stoic. "That was brave of you."

She almost scoffed at the predictability knowing that he wouldn't just let her off the hook without addressing what she'd done at the meeting.

She swallowed. "You told me to give my opinion."

"I merely passed you the papers to look at them," he corrected, voice smooth but edged with something hard. "I never asked you to replace my choice with yours."

Leila wiped her suddenly sweaty palm against her skirt. "I saw that one and just thought it was the best design."

Makros laughed in a low and threatening manner. "Was it?"

She pursued her lips and blinked innocently. "Everyone agreed."

Makros tilted his head, studying her intently. "Do you have any idea what those designs were for, Leila?"

Her heart jumped. This was becoming more serious than she had imagined it to be.

"No,"she whispered.

He stood up, walking round the table slowly. "They were for a competition." His hand skated along the polished wood as he approached, coming to halt behind her chair. "One that is of great importance to my company and one that has been competed against by my company for years, and won by a record of three consecutive times."

The understanding hit her like a punch in the gut. She faced him. "And the one I selected—"

His eyes darkened. "Has now been selected to be submitted for the competition."

She breathed out, thinking about the implications. "But what if it doesn't—”

Makros leaned forward, one hand on the back of her chair, the other around the table by her hand. "You took something that wasn't yours to take." His voice was husky, close, and deadly. "Tell me, did it excite you? Thinking you could replace me?"

Something coiled in her belly resembling fear but it was not. She couldn't make out the feeling.

"I was just—"

He pressed her chin up with his fingers, forcing her to look at him. "You were just what?"

Her breath hitched. "Trying to speak my mind. I thought it was just a regular meeting."

And then, to her astonishment, he smiled. "You're lucky I like what you said."

Relief flooded her, but it didn't last long.

"But don't make the mistake of thinking I'm granting you permission," he whispered, his grip increasing by a little. "Next time, if you want to challenge me, you do it in private."

Her stomach twisted at the thinly disguised threat, at the power in his voice.

Nevertheless, she looked him in the eye. "I understand."

Makros looked at her for a long time before releasing her chin. "Good." Then, as if the moment had never existed, he rose to his full height. "Come with me."

Leila swallowed, preparing herself before getting up to follow behind. She trailed him as they proceeded into the building, past offices enclosed in glass and quiet corridors, until the air changed. It smelled differently, rich with leather, glue, and polish. The hum of machines was softer, overlaid with the murmur of voices.

And then they were on the production floor.

Leila slowed, taking it all in. Rows of workers sat at long tables, hands flying rapidly, skillfully. Some cut cloth, some sewed on small details to shoes, some carefully shaped heels. There wasn't a single waste of motion. Every motion was precise, like a dance that had been choreographed.

She had never seen anything quite like this before.

Makros walked ahead, and the moment the workers noticed him, their postures straightened. Some paused, mid-task, before resuming their work with even more focus.

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