Page 1 of What Comes Around

Chapter 1: The First Meeting

As we entered, Knox Sinclair rose from behind his desk and in the corner of the office, a massive black dog lifted his head from a plush bed. The dog stood slowly, power coiled beneath his short coat, his full attention locking onto me the second I crossed the threshold. A Cane Corso. Easily over a hundred pounds. All muscle.

“Titan, stay,” Knox said calmly.

The dog obeyed instantly, lowering himself back onto the bed, though his eyes never left me.

Neither did his owners.

I understood immediately why they suited each other.

Knox Sinclair was just as huge.

6'6 at least. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long powerful legs. Arms that stretched the fabric when he moved. The suit did not soften him, it emphasized him.

His gaze swept briefly over Ms. Carter before settling back on me.

And when our eyes met, something in my chest shifted.

“Ms. Carter, you may return to your duties,” he said calmly. “I will see Miss Richards out myself.”

His voice.

Deep. Smooth. Controlled. With something rough beneath it. The kind of voice that did not need to raise itself to command a room. It vibrated low, steady, confident.

Stacy nodded and left quietly.

Knox kept his eyes on me.

I knew I looked professional. My makeup was light, fresh. Nothing dramatic. I wore a black knee length pencil skirt tailored close to my hips, black heels that added confidence more than height, and a crisp white blouse tucked neatly at my waist. My hair was braided back into a controlled up-do.

Polished. Composed.

I had chosen every detail deliberately. Just as deliberately as I had studied him.

Knox was 38 years old, 12 years older than me. A former professional football tight end, ten years out of the league after an injury. Built an empire faster than most men built families. Ruthless in business. Strategic in acquisitions. Known for turning unstable ventures into profit machines.

He was never married. Never publicly attached himself to anyone long term.

He was not conventionally handsome. His features were too strong, too intense. But he was compelling in a way that had nothing to do with softness. A sharp jaw. A heavy brow. Hunter’s eyes. A mouth that rarely smiled in photographs.

His hair was dark brown, nearly black in the light. But his eyes were what held me.

One was a deep navy blue.

The other a vivid green.

Cold. Alert. Unforgivingly observant.

They studied me without apology.

He said nothing for a moment.

Neither did I.

Then he stepped out from behind the desk and walked around to the other side. He leaned back against it, settling his weight on the edge as if his size did not dominate the room by default.

Relaxed.