Liam called the meeting for eight o'clock on a Tuesday morning, formal and professional in a way that made my stomach twist.
"Knight Ventures conference room," his assistant had said. "Mr. Knight requests your presence for a business proposal."
Mr. Knight. Not Liam. Not the man who'd held me while I cried over my divorce papers. The CEO with a proposition.
I showed up in my best suit, armor firmly in place.
The conference room was all glass and steel, overlooking Manhattan like we owned it. Liam stood at the head of the table in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my first car, and for a second I didn't recognize him. This wasn't the man who brought me coffee. This was the billionaire venture capitalist who'd built an empire before thirty-five.
"Violet." He gestured to a chai
