A Deal With The Billionaire

The grand ballroom shimmered with opulence, its gilded chandeliers casting a golden glow over the sea of glittering gowns and tailored suits. Grace Parker stood on the edge of the room, her fingers clutching the stem of an untouched champagne flute. She felt out of place amidst the grandeur, her simple emerald dress, though elegant, a stark contrast to the ostentatious displays of wealth surrounding her. The whispers of designer names and stock market victories buzzed in the air like an exclusive language she didn't speak.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered under her breath. Her heels pinched her toes-a cruel reminder that tonight wasn't just about appearances. It was about survival.

Across the room, her gaze landed on the man she'd been dreading to approach. Sebastian Cole. He was standing near the bar, his posture effortlessly commanding as he exchanged a few words with an older gentleman who looked eager to please. Sebastian's charcoal suit fit his lean, powerful frame like it had been stitched onto him, the crisp white shirt underneath emphasizing the sharp angles of his jawline. He wasn't smiling-he rarely did-but his presence was magnetic. Even from a distance, Grace could feel the pull of him.

Her stomach tightened. It wasn't just nerves; it was resentment. Men like him-the ruthless, untouchable kind-never cared about people like her. But tonight, she didn't have the luxury of pride.

Taking a breath, she began weaving her way through the crowd, dodging clinking glasses and overly enthusiastic laughter. As she approached, the faintest flicker of his gaze shifted to her, sharp and assessing. For a moment, she froze under the intensity of his dark eyes, but she forced her feet to keep moving.

"Sebastian Cole?" Her voice was steady, even if her heart was anything but.

He turned fully to face her, his expression cool and impassive. Up close, he was even more intimidating-tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding a calm authority that didn't need to prove itself.

"You have me at a disadvantage," he said, his voice smooth and measured, like the roll of velvet.

"Grace Parker," she replied, straightening her shoulders. "Founder of Hope Haven."

Something flickered in his gaze-recognition, maybe curiosity-but it was gone as quickly as it came. "Ah, the charity worker. I've heard about you."

Grace bristled at the faint condescension in his tone but kept her composure. "I'll take that as a compliment."

He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "What brings you here tonight, Ms. Parker? This doesn't seem like your usual scene."

"It's not," she admitted, holding his gaze. "But I need your help."

A corner of his mouth quirked upward, though it wasn't a smile-it was something colder, more calculating. "And what kind of help could a charity worker possibly need from me?"

Her fingers tightened around the champagne flute she still hadn't taken a sip from. "Henry Adler has been sabotaging my organization. He's blacklisted us with investors, tanked our sponsorship deals, and spread false rumors about our financial stability. Hope Haven is on the brink of collapse."

Sebastian didn't react immediately, and Grace wondered if he even cared. His expression remained unreadable, though his gaze didn't waver from hers.

"And you think I can fix that?" he asked finally.

"I know you can," she said, her voice firm despite the growing lump in her throat. "You have connections, influence. One endorsement from you could bring back the investors we've lost-or at least keep Hope Haven afloat long enough to recover."

He leaned back slightly, his hand resting on the bar as he regarded her with a mixture of amusement and intrigue. "You make a compelling argument. But I don't make a habit of getting involved in other people's battles, Ms. Parker. Especially not without something in return."