Logan Vance wasn't a man who second-guessed himself. His hands, calloused from years of forging steel, had built weapons, armor, and intricate designs. But a steel corset? That was an entirely different beast.
Yet, Emilia Royce's challenge stuck with him.
The next morning, Logan found himself standing outside an upscale glass building in the city's fashion district, feeling like a wolf in enemy territory. He wasn't a suit-and-tie guy—his dark jeans and leather jacket stood in stark contrast to the polished professionals striding past him.
He grunted, running a hand through his tousled black hair before stepping inside.
The receptionist, a sleek-looking woman with a headset, barely glanced at him before pointing toward an elevator. "Ms. Royce is expecting you. Top floor."
Logan adjusted his jacket and stepped in. The polished chrome interior reflected his rugged appearance back at him. He felt out of place, but if Emilia thought she could intimidate him with wealth and luxury, she had another thing coming.
The doors slid open to reveal an expansive design studio with mannequins draped in fabric, sewing machines humming, and assistants bustling about. The scent of leather, fabric, and faint perfume filled the air.
And there she was—Emilia Royce.
She stood in the center of it all, commanding the room with effortless confidence. Dressed in a deep red blouse and tailored black pants, she was a vision of control. Her dark brown eyes flicked toward him as if she'd sensed his presence before even looking.
"You're late," she remarked without missing a beat.
Logan smirked. "Didn't realize I was on the clock."
Emilia gestured for him to follow, leading him into a private design space lined with sketches. She picked up a thick folder and handed it to him. "These are my designs. The corset needs to be flexible but strong. I want it to mold to the body like armor, but with the elegance of couture."
Logan flipped through the pages, impressed despite himself. The sketches were detailed, precise. He could see the vision clearly.
"You actually know your craft," he admitted.
Emilia arched a brow. "Did you assume I didn't?"
"I figured you were just another rich designer with big ideas and no clue how hard it is to work with steel."
Her lips curled into a knowing smirk. "And yet, here you are."
Logan sighed. "Fine. I'll take the job."
Emilia's expression remained unreadable, but he caught the subtle gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. "Good. You have three weeks."
His brows shot up. "Three weeks? You do realize metalwork isn't like stitching fabric, right?"
She stepped closer, the heat between them unmistakable. "You're the best, aren't you? Prove it."
Logan chuckled, shaking his head. "You really don't take no for an answer."
"I told you that already."
For a moment, they stood there—fire and ice, steel and silk. A challenge crackled in the air between them, an unspoken tension neither of them acknowledged.
Finally, Logan tucked the sketches under his arm. "I'll need measurements."
Emilia nodded, her gaze steady. "I'll send my assistant."
Logan's smirk deepened. "No. I'll take them myself."
Her breath hitched, just slightly. But then she recovered, lifting her chin. "Fine. Be at my penthouse tomorrow night."
Logan turned, heading for the exit. But before he left, he threw her a glance over his shoulder.
"This better be worth it, Royce."
Emilia watched him go, something unreadable flickering across her expression.
Oh, it will be.
She just didn't know yet whether it would be a masterpiece...Or a disaster.