Brett's POV

I was reviewing quarterly reports when she walked into my office like she owned the place. Victoria Sterling. Six feet of blonde perfection in a Chanel suit that cost more than most people's cars. She moved through my space like a predator, touching my things, claiming territory.

“Hello, darling,” she said, settling into the chair across from my desk like she belonged there.

I didn’t look up from my papers. “Victoria.” I said coolly. “You’re trespassing.”

“Am I? I ...