Chapter 32 The Boardroom – Rory
THE BOARDROOM
RORY
Philips led me to the boardroom at precisely nine a.m., opened the door, and stepped aside.
I walked in, grateful for the cream-colored pantsuit I’d found neatly hung in my closet.
The room was imposing in the specific way that rooms designed to impress always were: high ceilings, dark wood paneling, a table that could fit twenty. A row of tall windows looked out over the sprawling lawn, the mountains jutting in the distance, a billion-dollar view.
The board members were already seated. I recognized most of them from the barbecue and the formal dinner.
Abigail Furst with her enormous watch, Rahim and Haruki side by side, Cousin Andrew at the far end, nursing what I sincerely hoped was coffee.
The president, Terry Hazleton. A few faces were new to me.
Everyone was impeccably dressed, sported fancy pens and leather-bound notebooks, and seemed entirely the kind of people who had never once worried about a foreclosure notice tucked behind a calendar.
They looked up when I entered.
I faked a smile. My new signature move.
Rhodes was at the head of the table, standing. His gaze found mine across the room. Even as my heart rate sped up, something steadied inside me as I headed to his side. He was wearing another custom navy suit, a maroon tie knotted precisely at his throat. He looked like he owned the place.
Well, that made sense. He did own the place.
Miranda sat to his left, spine straight, expression fake-pleasant (it had to be fake, this was Miranda we were talking about) and perfectly unreadable.
Her eyes tracked to me with the calm patience of someone who had already made her plans and was simply waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.
I took my seat on the other side of Rhodes, folded my hands, and smiled at no one in particular.
“For those of you who haven’t met her, this is Rory Harris, my fiancé,” Rhodes introduced me. “I’ve taken the unusual step of asking her to join us because our engagement is a material term of my father’s trust. It’s one of the items we need to discuss today.”
The board members nodded and murmured. Abigail Furst gave me a thumbs up.
Terry Hazleton stood, thanked Rhodes, and started talking.
Here we go.
The meeting opened with formalities I didn’t entirely follow.
There was procedural language, motions, and a lot of words that meant we are powerful people doing Important Shit.
It went on at length until a short recess was called to distribute copies of reports.
I sat beside Rhodes, keeping my hands folded and my expression interested and warm, which was a tremendous acting achievement given that my internal monologue had devolved into something resembling a recurring car alarm.
Mom called Grammy. Miranda is investigating. Mom called Grammy. Miranda is investigating. The clock is—
“Rory. Rory.”
That broke my reverie. Abigail Furst was looking at me from across the table, her enormous watch catching the light.
“Do you want some coffee?” she teased. “You look like you’re not quite awake—I’ve been trying to get your attention for five minutes.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. And no thank you on the coffee,” I said politely.
“The board members who arrived this morning were asking—how did you and Rhodes meet? I couldn’t recall.” Abigail looked as interested in our relationship as ever, which made me feel queasy.
“We met at a party in Manhattan,” I lied, the words reflexively spilling out of my mouth. “And I never go to parties, so when I met him, and we didn’t stop talking all night? I knew it had to be fate.”
“Ah. Love at first sight,” she said approvingly. “You’ve got that look. I’ll have some of that, thank you very much!”
I could detect Miranda’s nostrils flaring from two seats away.
Reports were handed out, and the meeting resumed.
Rhodes spoke at length about Q4 projections, a restructuring initiative he’d been reviewing, as well as a Singapore acquisition that had apparently been stalled for two years and was now, under his direction, on the verge of closing.
He was calm and precise and coolly competent, and I watched the faces around the table nodding along.
There was a gravitational quality to the way he spoke.
He didn’t perform authority; he naturally exuded it.
Rahim asked a pointed question about the transition timeline. Haruki had concerns about the Singapore terms. Rhodes handled both without breaking stride, and when Andrew, at the far end of the table, cracked a dry joke about legal fees, Rhodes almost smiled. The room relaxed a degree.
Miranda said almost nothing. She sat with her hands folded and her expression fake-pleasantly neutral and contributed exactly three remarks, each courteous and completely without warmth.
She asked one question about the board’s fiduciary obligations regarding the trust terms. Rhodes fielded it without flinching, but I thought: I am not flinch-less.
That bitch is coming for me, and I will absofuckinglutely flinch when she does.
“I think I speak for several of us,” said a man named Gerald, who had distinguished silver hair, “when I say that the trajectory here is encouraging. The Singapore deal alone…” He nodded in approval. “Edmund would have been pleased.”
The room murmured agreement. Even Andrew lifted his coffee cup in a small salute.
Terry Hazleton nodded toward Rhodes. “To be entirely transparent, we’ve had some concerns. It’s imperative that we follow your father’s wishes. I know how much he wanted Barrington Enterprises to continue after he passed. It’s our duty to conduct the due diligence required to honor that.”
Terry paused, looking from Miranda to Rhodes. “I know that Edmund wanted you to succeed him. Things seem in order, and I appreciate the time and commitment you’ve given to your review. I also appreciate that you’re doing your best to grant your father’s last wishes.”
His gaze tracked over to me. “We haven’t seen anything to contradict your statements, and we value your integrity. I think we can leave it at that.”
Terry glanced at the other board members, who nodded in encouragement.
“We’ll want the final filings in order before the formal vote,” Terry continued.
“But I think we can say with reasonable confidence…” He paused, glancing around the table one final time.
“The board supports the continuation of Rhodes’s leadership. ”
More nodding. Murmuring in agreement.
Rhodes received this with characteristic reserve, but I was sitting close enough to feel the shift in him. The almost invisible easing of something that had been held very tightly.
Miranda smiled, which gave me chills. Cue the flinching! I didn’t know what she had up her sleeve, but her smile told me she was largely unbothered by Terry’s support.
But Rhodes ignored her. Under the table, his hand found mine. He didn’t look at me. He was still focused on the board, still composed, the perfect image of measured confidence. But his fingers closed around mine, briefly, and I felt the pressure of it all the way up my arm.
We’re doing it, that grip said. It’s working.
I squeezed back, because that was my job, because the board was watching, because this was the very job I’d been hired to do.
Because it was true. It was working.
Which was exactly what terrified me.
The meeting wrapped up after another two hours, all handshakes and pleasantries, and the faint collective relief of people who’d reached an important agreement.
I tried to be appropriate. I smiled at Abigail Furst, who told me the wedding ceremony was going to be lovely and she couldn’t wait for it.
I laughed at something Gerald said that I didn’t quite catch.
I stood beside Rhodes and let the warmth of the room settle around us.
Outside the windows, the mountains gleamed. On the surface, everything was peaceful, but my inner car alarm was still going off.
Mom called Grammy. Miranda is investigating.
Rhodes touched the small of my back as we moved toward the door, the light pressure of his hand steering us out together, and I felt it like a question I didn’t know how to answer.
We were so close.
Another hurdle had been cleared, which would bring us to the wedding. And then Luke would be safe, the farm would be saved, the board would adjourn, and I could stop nonstop performing and start…
What, exactly?
You’re going to blow this, said the voice in my head. Your mother is a live grenade, and Miranda is holding the pin. You’ve been sitting on the information for twenty-four hours because you’re a coward who doesn’t want to see his face when he realizes you already knew this was all going to blow up.
I smiled at Haruki as he passed us in the doorway.
“Good meeting,” Rhodes said quietly, close to my ear.
“Yes,” I agreed.
Down the hall, Miranda turned the corner and disappeared without looking back. I watched the space where she’d been and felt the clock, which had always been running hot, pick up its impossible pace.