Chapter 8 Expo trip
Caleb Donovan sat back in his sleek leather chair, the skyline of the city sprawling just beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. He swirled the whiskey in his glass slowly, watching the amber liquid catch the light. His jaw clenched, but his expression stayed cool—calculated.
“Elena Montclair,” he muttered under his breath.
He’d done his digging the moment he saw her. That innocent, graceful look paired with fire behind her eyes—it intrigued him. But it wasn’t just attraction. No, Caleb didn’t move on emotions. He saw something else. An opportunity. And the universe had practically handed her to him in a designer shopping bag.
“Jaxon Wentworth’s fiancée,” he mused with a low chuckle. “Perfect.”
Caleb leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, eyes narrowing. He didn’t believe in coincidences, and if fate was presenting Jaxon’s woman—his supposed weakness—on a silver platter, who was he to refuse?
“She doesn’t even know what she’s sitting on,” he murmured. “If I can get close to her… make her trust me... maybe even get her to talk.”
He didn’t want her. Not truly. But she could be the crack in Jaxon’s polished armor. And in the high-stakes world of business empires, all it took was one crack.
Caleb reached for his phone, pausing just before dialing. “Not yet,” he whispered. “Too soon. Let her come to me.”
He smirked. “Play it slow, Sinclair. You’ve already made your move. Now let’s see if she takes the bait.”
And with that, he downed the rest of his drink, leaned back, and stared out at the city, watching it like a chessboard—one where he planned to win.
---
The restaurant was softly lit, a contrast to the quiet tension seated at one of its more private corners. The same place where they had once signed the contract was now hosting them again—this time, not for legalities, but for appearances.
Jaxon arrived first, impeccably dressed in a black tailored suit that made him look effortlessly commanding. He had the air of someone who owned the world but didn’t care for it. He checked his watch, drummed his fingers on the table, and scanned the entrance with a detached kind of patience.
Elena walked in moments later. Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor, and she wore a sleek ivory midi dress that hugged her figure with subtle grace. Her curls were pinned up, leaving soft tendrils to frame her face, and her nude makeup enhanced her natural glow. She looked stunning, but the coldness in her eyes toward the man waiting for her was hard to miss.
“You’re late,” Jaxon said, rising briefly before sitting back down.
“You invited me,” she replied coolly, taking her seat without offering a smile. “You don’t get to complain.”
“Fair enough.” He waved a hand, signaling the waiter to pour their wine. “Shall we talk about why we’re here?”
Elena folded her arms, leaning back slightly. “My parents won’t stop asking when we’re announcing the engagement officially. I told them we needed to align our schedules first.”
“Same here,” Jaxon muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”
A silence followed as both picked up their menus briefly, then dropped them—neither truly interested in food.
“I’m free two weekends from now,” Jaxon said.
“I’ll be out of town for a fashion expo.”
He rolled his eyes. “Alright, the week after that?”
“I have a shoot on Friday and a gala on Saturday.”
“Do you ever stay in one place?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” she shot back.
Jaxon sighed and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Look, I don’t want to spend more time with you than necessary. Let’s pick something that works for both of us so we can stop pretending this dinner means anything.”
Elena raised an eyebrow. “Charming. You sure know how to woo your fiancée.”
He smirked. “Good thing I’m not trying to.”
They went back and forth a few more times—debating, snapping, rolling eyes. But finally, after checking calendars and making concessions, they landed on a date: three weeks from today, a Saturday evening at a private estate their families had already scouted.
“Great,” Jaxon said, downing the rest of his wine. “I’ll let my parents know. And yours too, I assume?”
Elena nodded. “I’ll handle it. And don’t be late.”
“Funny. I was going to say the same to you.”
They both stood at the same time, pushing in their chairs and grabbing their coats. For a brief second, their hands brushed. Neither acknowledged it.
As they stepped outside into the cool night air, neither said goodbye. They simply turned in opposite directions—two people walking the same path for very different reasons.
---
The Montclair estate had been abuzz with subtle excitement. Since Elena broke the news about the fixed engagement date, preparations had quietly ignited behind the scenes—florists shortlisting palettes, caterers submitting mock menus, and stylists whispering about possible gowns. Her parents, though poised and refined in public, wore the kind of smug satisfaction that only came from sealing a high-stakes alliance.
But Elena wasn’t staying to revel in any of that.
---
Elena stepped into the bustling airport, the hum of travelers and rolling suitcases filling the air. She spotted Brielle near the check-in counter, waving enthusiastically. “Finally! You’re here,” Brielle teased, tossing her a playful grin.
Elena laughed, pulling her suitcase closer. “You know I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Ready to take on the fashion expo?”
Brielle smirked. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s just hope we don’t embarrass ourselves too much.”
They joked about their usual travel mishaps—missed flights, lost luggage, the works—before breezing through security. Soon, they settled into their seats on the plane, the excitement bubbling beneath their calm exteriors.
That’s when Elena spotted him—Jaxon Wentworth, sitting a few rows ahead, eyes fixed on his tablet. Her stomach twisted. She hadn’t expected to see him here.
Curiosity nudged her forward, and soon enough, their eyes met.
“Wait,” Elena said, lowering her voice. “You never told me you’d be attending this expo.”
Jaxon smirked without looking up. “It kind of came up after we last talked. Let’s just say I was handpicked.”
Elena raised an eyebrow. “Handpicked, huh? Convenient.”
He shrugged, amused. “Business moves fast. Sometimes you don’t get a heads-up.”
She crossed her arms, mock-serious. “Guess I should start expecting surprises from you now.”
His lips twitched. “Wouldn’t want you to get bored.”
Elena glanced out the plane window as it soared into the sky, a small sigh escaping her lips. She pulled out her phone and quickly typed a message to Brielle: “Ha! Telling you now, this is going to be the worst trip ever.” She hit send, a mix of amusement and frustration curling in her chest.
The morning sunlight spilled into the penthouse through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, casting a golden hue across the marble floor. Caleb Donovan stood by the window, a steaming cup of black coffee in his hand, his gaze fixed on the distant skyline. The city was already pulsing with life, but his mind was far from the chaotic rhythm of urban hustle.
He was dressed immaculately in a navy-blue tailored suit that hugged his athletic frame. His shirt was crisp white, his watch gleamed—a limited edition Tag Heuer, naturally—and his shoes, Italian leather, barely made a sound as he moved.
The click of the door broke the silence as his personal assistant stepped into the room, a tablet in hand. “Sir, the jet is prepped and waiting. We’ll be cleared for takeoff in thirty minutes.”
Caleb didn’t turn immediately. He took another sip of his coffee, eyes still trained on the horizon. “Good,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
He finally turned, walking past the assistant without another word as he headed into the hallway. The assistant fell into step behind him.
On the elevator down, Caleb was silent, his mind elsewhere. Not on the expo exactly, but on the people who would be there. Namely, Jaxon Wentworth.
Jaxon.
Even the name made something in him twitch—not fear, not envy. Just... irritation. That polished arrogance, that empire built on years of old-money privilege. The golden boy of the corporate world. And now, rumor had it, Jaxon was tying the knot with none other than Elena Montclair. Of course, Caleb had done his homework. He’d seen her. Met her, even briefly—just enough to see how stunning and self-assured she was. But this marriage? It smelled more like business than love. Which made it interesting.
Very interesting.
He stepped into his sleek, matte-black Rolls Royce waiting in the circular driveway. The driver nodded respectfully, and the doors closed with a soft thud. As the car glided toward the private airstrip, Caleb leaned back, his fingers tapping lightly against his thigh.
Elena.
He didn’t love her. He didn’t even know her. But something about her—her attitude, her confidence, the mystery behind her gaze—stuck with him. And if she was now connected to Jaxon, even better. Because everything Jaxon touched, Caleb wanted to crack open. Not because he needed to, but because he could. That was how rivalries worked.
This expo wasn’t just about business presentations and product launches anymore. No. It was now about strategy. Positioning. Distraction. Opportunity.
He wasn’t flying commercial like the rest of the suits. His jet waited on the tarmac, sleek and silver, the insignia of Donovan International gleaming on the side. He didn’t like sharing airspace if he could help it. Too much noise. Too many chances for chaos.
As he approached the stairs to the jet, th
e wind tousled his dark hair, and he paused at the top, casting a final glance across the horizon before stepping in.
Let the games begin.
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