The file landed on the mahogany desk with a satisfying thud.

Darius Alderton didn't look up from the quarterly report spread across his lap. His corner office on the forty-second floor of the Alderton Tower offered a panoramic view of Manhattan, but he hadn't glanced at the skyline once in the past three hours. Numbers held his attention far more reliably than scenery.

"You're going to want to see this." Dominic Ashford dropped into the leather chair across from him without waiting for an invitation. He'd known Darius long enough to dispense with formalities.

Darius raised one dark eyebrow. At thirty, he carried himself with the quiet authority of a man who'd built a multinational empire through equal parts brilliance and ruthlessness. His suit jacket hung on the back of his chair, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms that suggested he did more than shuffle papers for a living.

"If this is another security briefing about the Frankfurt office, I've already handled it."

"Not even close." Dominic slid the file closer. "Alexander Blackwood."

That got his attention. Darius set the report aside and opened the folder. On top sat a photograph -- a young woman, dark-haired and striking, caught mid-laugh with her head thrown back. She radiated defiance even in a still image.

"His daughter," Dominic said. "Sophie Blackwood. Nineteen years old. And before you ask -- yes, this is the same girl whose father floated that arranged introduction idea to you two years ago."

Darius studied the photograph. "Blackwood mentioned it once at a dinner. I didn't take it seriously."

"You should start." Dominic leaned forward, his expression shifting from casual to conspiratorial. "Word reached me through my channels that Miss Blackwood has a plan. She found out about the arranged introduction and she's decided to torpedo it before you two ever sit in the same room."

"Torpedo it how?"

"By destroying her own reputation so thoroughly that you wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole." Dominic couldn't quite suppress a grin. "She's creative, I'll give her that. The girl intends to make sure that by the time you meet her, the scandal will be so loud you'll run in the opposite direction."

Darius leaned back in his chair. A slow, dangerous smile crossed his face -- the kind that made rival CEOs nervous during negotiations. "She's going to sabotage an introduction with a man she's never met."

"That's the plan."

"Interesting." He picked up the photograph again. Sophie Blackwood stared back at him with dark eyes full of mischief. "And how exactly did you come across this information?"

Dominic waved a hand. "I have my sources. The point is, Alexander has been vetting you for years as the man who can handle his daughter. And his daughter is currently scheming to humiliate you before you've even shaken hands."

Darius set the photograph down carefully, precisely, the way he did everything. "What do you propose?"

"I propose," Dominic said, "that we let the little devil think she's winning."

The two men looked at each other across the desk. Something unspoken passed between them -- the shared thrill of a game about to begin.

"Tell me everything," Darius said.

Dominic laid it out: Sophie's history of reckless stunts, her total disregard for consequence, Alexander's growing desperation. And now the girl had set her sights on torpedoing the introduction before it began. She was going to make herself unmarriageable.

Darius listened without interrupting. When Dominic finished, he picked up the photograph one more time and held it under the desk lamp. Sophie Blackwood's defiant eyes stared back at him.

"She sounds like a handful."

"She's a nightmare," Dominic said cheerfully. "Alexander's people call her the Little Devil. She's earned the title."

Darius placed the photograph back in the folder and closed it. "Set it up. Whatever she's planning, let her think she's winning. And when the time is right, I'll introduce myself."

Dominic stood and straightened his jacket. "I was hoping you'd say that."

He left the office, and Darius sat alone in the silence, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. He thought about the girl in the photograph. Nineteen years old. Beautiful. Dangerous.

He was looking forward to this.

"Sophie!"

The roar tore through the Blackwood Estate with the force of a small earthquake. Three maids scattered from the hallway like startled birds, their years of service having taught them the cardinal rule of survival in this household: when Alexander Blackwood bellowed his daughter's name, you got out of the blast radius.

Outside the study door, Edwin Mercer -- the Blackwood family's butler for twenty-three years -- paused in his dusting. He removed his reading glasses with the deliberate grace of a man who had perfected the art of appearing busy while doing nothing of the sort. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and polished the lenses.

"Another peaceful morning," he murmured to himself.

Then, with practiced ease, he produced a glass tumbler from the sideboard, pressed it to the study door, and leaned in.

Inside the study, Alexander Blackwood stood behind his desk like a general surveying a battlefield, his face rigid with barely contained fury. The room was lined floor to ceiling with leather-bound books he'd actually read, every shelf a testament to the self-made man who'd built Sterling Industries from nothing into one of the most powerful corporations on the Eastern Seaboard.

The object of his rage sat on the Chesterfield sofa with her legs crossed, looking about as concerned as a cat in a sunbeam.

Sophie Blackwood wore a black tank top and fitted jeans, the dark fabric a stark contrast against her pale skin. At nineteen, she possessed the kind of beauty that stopped conversations -- high cheekbones, full lips, and dark eyes that held far too much intelligence for anyone's comfort, least of all her father's. She picked up the bone china teacup from the side table and took a sip with the poise of a debutante, every gesture immaculate. She'd had the finest education money could buy, and it showed in everything she did -- except, of course, her behavior.