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Stan had the contract locked and loaded, oozing confidence, not even dreaming Geneva might shoot him down. He didn’t bother with small talk or negotiations—just assumed she’d fall in line.
Taylor Group’s sudden power play had rocked Wheeler Group’s world. It wasn’t a total knockout, but it left a nasty bruise.
Meanwhile, Taylor Group had come ready to rumble. Instead of getting crushed like in the original plot, Stan’s fumbles had turned them into a legit rival.
But Stan wasn’t sweating it. His golden ticket? Snagging the rights to Geneva’s game–changing robot. With that in his pocket, Wheeler Group wouldn’t just bury Taylor Group–they’d be kings of the corporate jungle.
He was already mentally popping champagne when Geneva’s cool, clipped voice cut through his fantasy. “Nah, I’m good. Wheeler Group’s not my vibe.”
Stan blinked, thrown. “Say what now?”
‘She has the nerve to diss me?‘ His eyes narrowed, all icy menace. “You sure you wanna play it like that, woman?”
Geneva’s tone was pure, fed–up attitude, like talking to him was a waste of oxygen. “You hard of hearing or just slow?”
Stan’s face contorted, his pride stung like a slapped cheek. ‘This girl thinks she can prance around acting all big just ‘cause she’s got some smarts? Talking trash to me? Oh, she’s about to learn.‘
“You’re gonna regret that,” he snarled, voice like a cold blade. “One word from me, and your precious robot’s done. Nobody’ll touch it. You know why? I’m Stan Wheeler. You mess with me, you’re roadkill.”
He was cocky as hell, practically puffing out his chest. He’d already crushed companies and old–money families with a single phone call–piece of cake.
“Sign the damn contract,” he pressed, stepping closer, all smug. “Blow this shot, and when you come begging, my offer’s gonna be chump change compared to this.”
He was desperate for her tech but played it like he was tossing her scraps. Geneva couldn’t fathom how this tool was running a whole company.
The internet was eating it up. Live–stream chat was straight–up chaos.
[Hold up, am I seeing this right? I used to think this Wheeler CEO was kinda smooth. Now he’s acting like a total bonehead.]
[No lie, this dude’s brain is on life support. Someone call a neurologist, ASAP.]
Everyone could see the other CEOs treating Geneva like a rock star, rolling out the red carpet for her genius.
Any schmuck with half a brain knew one didn’t just nod politely to talent like that–they kissed up, big time.
But Stan? He waltzed in, flexing his dollar–store IQ like he was the second coming. Netizens were savage, swearing he’d mainlined too many garbage
rom–coms.
Geneva, meanwhile, was over Stan’s gag–worthy display. Honestly, the paunchy, balding sponsors hovering nearby were a sight easier to stomach.
Done with his clown act, Geneva spun toward the pack of sour–faced sponsor bigshots and cut to the chase. “Alright, you guys scrape together 30 mil, and I’ll hand over the robot’s ownership to your companies, split fair and square.”
Their eyes popped like they’d just hit the Powerball.
Everyone knew Stan was a straight–up bulldog in the corporate jungle, sinking his teeth into anyone who dared cross him.
This robot was his latest fixation, and if any one of those sponsors nabbed it alone, they’d be begging for mercy.
But if they all teamed up? That was a game–changer. Even the high and mighty Wheeler family couldn’t crush a united front of business titans in a single
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swing.
Hell, if they played their cards right, they might even topple Wheeler Group and carve up their market like a Thanksgiving turkey.
The sponsors didn’t even flinch. They stepped up, one of them blurting, “Hey, Ms. GM, you dead serious?”
Geneva shot them a sly grin. “What, 30 mil too steep? Fine, how’s fifteen sound?”
The sponsors froze, trading glances like she’d just offered a yacht for the price of a used Honda.
painfully blunt.
Who haggles like that? They almost felt bad for even thinking about taking advantage of someone so…
“Nah, thirty mil’s perfect!” they yelped, practically tripping over each other. “We’re in, Ms. GM. Let’s lock this robot deal down!”
Stan’s face burned hotter than a grease fire. He felt like Geneva had ripped his pride to shreds and tossed it into a blender.
Glaring at her like he could set her on fire with his eyes, he snarled, “Let’s see who’s got the balls to steal what I want.”
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The sponsors weren’t fazed. One fired back, “Hey, Stan, read the room. Wheeler Group didn’t pony up for this event. Only sponsors get a shot at this.”
“So what?” Stan snapped, puffing up like a budget mob boss. “You think anyone’s dumb enough to tell me no?”
The sponsors just stared, thinking, ‘Man, this guy’s a total trainwreck.‘
Geneva wasn’t about to let him hog the spotlight. “You want it? Good luck ripping it out of my hands,” she said with a cold smirk, then turned to the sponsors. “I said I’d sell to you, and I’m not flaking.”
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She leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Plus, I’m throwing in the anti–theft system. Nobody’s cracking that baby for at least a decade, even if they snag one of your robots and dissect it.”
The sponsors were practically vibrating with glee. “Ms. GM, you’re an absolute rockstar!” one gushed, grinning like he’d won the lottery. “Let’s sign that
contract–stat!”
–
Stan had never been so thoroughly humiliated in his life.
‘Is this infuriating woman pulling some kind of stunt to get inside my head?‘ he thought.
He let out a low, icy laugh. “Good luck finding anyone stupid enough to sign that deal.”
The sponsors, clearly ticked off, didn’t hold back. “Mr. Wheeler, we’re in the modern world. You don’t get to call all the shots.”
Stan’s gaze hardened, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Doesn’t matter. What I want, I get. Period.”
‘Oh, please. Does he think everyone is just dying to kiss his ring, like he is some kind of king?‘ The sponsors were over it, exhausted by this self–entitled
jerk.
Stan spun around, locking his steely eyes on Geneva. “You better think twice, darling. Crossing me is a one–way ticket to trouble.”
Geneva didn’t even blink. “Oh, really? What’re you gonna do, hotshot? Bury me in the backyard?”
A dark, devilish grin curled Stan’s lips, like he was favoring the thought.
Geneva just scoffed, totally unimpressed.
Right then, a group of guys in low key clothes strolled in.
One glance at their tight postures and clipped steps, and Geneva knew–military, through and through. Her eyes narrowed, clocking them instantly.
The guy leading the pack stepped up, his tone respectful but no–nonsense. “Miss Motley, we’ve been looking for you.”
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Noticing her guarded vibe, he eased up. “Hey, no worries. We’re from the National Science Institute. Found that sketch you left behind.”
He flashed his badge. “Any chance you’d swing by the Instit\”
? We’ve got some stuff we’d love to run by you.”
The room went quiet, everyone’s jaws practically hitting the floor.
The National Science Institute? The place where the country’s top egghe
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hung out? And they were here, basically begging Geneva to join the club? It
was clear–they’d seen her genius and wanted her on board, pronto.
Geneva, though, was floored. She’d been hiding behind a freaking mask, and they still tracked her down.
The government’s reach was on another level. Big–shot CEOs like Stan? They were chump change next to that kind of clout.
And Stan? He was eating a massive slice of humble pie. One minute, he was strutting around, throwing threats like he owned the world; the next, Geneva was golden, backed by the full weight of the feds.
His precious Wheeler Group might be a big fish, but it wasn’t about to swim with sharks like the government.
His face burned hotter than a summer sidewalk.
