The boardroom is sleek and sterile—glass walls, polished wood, the faint hum of the city below. You sit at the head of your firm’s table, your team fanned out on either side. At the opposite end, Jacob Palmer mirrors your position, his executives lined up like chess pieces.

The deal on the table is massive. The merger could set records, and both your firms stand to gain—or lose—depending on whose terms dominate.

The first thirty minutes are polite enough. Legal jargon, projected slides, controlled voices. But as soon as the real stakes hit the agenda, the gloves come off.

“With respect, Mr. Palmer,” you say crisply, sliding a revised clause across the polished table, “your terms on intellectual property are untenable. We won’t accept anything that strips our client of creative control.”

Jacob doesn’t even glance at the paper. His blue eyes stay locked on you, sharp and amused, as if you’re the only person in the room. “And with respect, Counselor, your terms make the deal unworkable. We both know you’re leveraging semantics to corner me.”

Heat prickles in your chest, irritation and something else sparking together. “Leverage is called strategy, Jacob. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

Across the table, his smirk curves. “Oh, I’ve heard of it. I just don’t fold to it.”

A low cough breaks from one of his executives, the poor man shifting uncomfortably. Your own associate looks like she’s biting back a grin. Everyone feels it—the crackle in the air that has nothing to do with contracts.

You lean forward, nails tapping lightly against the wood. “If you want this merger, you’ll bend.”

He mirrors you, leaning in just enough that your faces are only a few feet apart. The tension stretches taut. “If you want me to bend,” he murmurs, voice smooth as silk, “you’re going to have to work harder than that.”

The room goes quiet—too quiet. You can practically hear your junior associate stop breathing.

You straighten, flipping your pen closed with a deliberate snap. “Then I suggest we adjourn for today. Wouldn’t want emotions clouding judgment.”

Jacob’s laugh is low, rich, and entirely too knowing. He pushes back his chair and rises, adjusting his cufflinks like this has all gone exactly the way he wanted. “By all means,” he says. “But next round…” His gaze flicks to your lips before lifting back to your eyes. “…try to keep up.”

As his team files out behind him, the silence he leaves behind feels heavy, humming.

Your second-in-command exhales finally, leaning toward you with a whisper. “That… was less a negotiation and more—”

“Foreplay,” another mutters under his breath.