Скачать или смотреть The Steel Tycoon Laughed at Her — Moments Later, He Regretted It

The office smelled like coal dust and cold ambition.

That was the first thing Constance Pembroke noticed when she stepped through the double doors of Kensington Steel — not the mahogany panels stretching floor to ceiling, not the gas lamps burning low against the grey Pittsburgh afternoon, not even the enormous man sitting behind the desk who hadn't bothered to look up.

She noticed the smell.

It reminded her of her father's hands.

"Miss Pembroke."

His voice arrived before his eyes did. Low. Unhurried. The kind of voice that had never once needed to raise itself to be heard.

Archibald Kensington set down his pen with the deliberate patience of a man who measured time in contracts, not courtesies. He looked up then — not at her face, but at the leather folder she held pressed against her chest like a shield.

"Sit down."

No please. No gesture toward the chair. Just an expectation, hanging in the air like smoke.

Constance sat.

She placed the folder on her lap, folded her hands over it, and looked at him directly — because her mother had taught her that a woman who looked away first had already lost.

He was reading the papers on his desk. Not looking at her.

"Your father owed this company forty-three thousand dollars," he said. "As of last Thursday, he is no longer in a position to repay it."

The words were clean. Clinical. He might have been reading the weather.

"I'm aware," Constance said.

Now he looked at her...