Chapter 5
ADRIANA
I’ve closed deals worth more than some countries’ GDPs. I’ve stared down CEOs who thought they could intimidate me with their corner offices and their seven-figure egos. I’ve walked into boardrooms where I was the only woman and walked out owning the men still sitting at the table.
This should be nothing.
So why are my palms sweating?
Sleep was impossible last night. I finally gave up around three and spent hours reviewing every piece of information I could find on the Molloy family — their businesses, their territory, their enemies. I made lists. Ran scenarios. Rehearsed my demands. Drank lots of coffee.
Preparation is control. Control is survival.
I check my reflection in the elevator doors of my building. Navy blazer. White silk blouse. Hair pulled back in a low bun that says I mean business. Diamond studs my father gave me for my thirtieth birthday. Every bit of it is my armor.
My phone buzzes with a text from Luna.
How are you feeling?
I type back as the elevator slowly creeps upward.
Fine. I’m ready.
I blow out a breath, my pulse thrumming against my neck as the numbers light up above me. Dammit, I need to pull myself together. Nothing shakes me, especially not a sham marriage contract.
Liar. Call me after?
Jeez, it’s like she heard my inner pep talk.
Absolutely. I’m sure there will be lots to talk about.
The elevator dings on the tenth floor. My office. My kingdom.
I chose the location on purpose. Home turf. My conference room. My rules.
Vincenzo stands near the reception desk. His lips lift into a smile when he sees me. He hands me a cup of coffee from the café in the lobby.
“Thank you so much,” I say before taking a sip. Two sugars with a splash of oat milk, exactly how I like it. “You’re the best, Zio.”
“You didn't sleep,” he says. “I figured you’d need it.”
“You were right.” I don’t tell him how much coffee I’ve already had this morning. Maybe all the caffeine is what’s making me jumpy.
He squeezes my arm. “Your father would be proud, bella mia. Walking in here with your head high, ready to take on this role to protect us all. You are a true warrior.”
I swallow hard past the growing lump. “Don't make me weepy before a negotiation, Zio.”
He smiles. “Never. Now, let’s go to the conference room and get started. Lochlan arrived ten minutes ago.”
Of course he did. Power move. Get there first, claim the space.
I push through the glass doors of the conference room and stop short.
Lochlan Molloy stands by the window, backlit by morning sun, and—
Fuck.
He’s gorgeous. Not just attractive. Not just handsome.
The kind of gorgeous that makes your brain short-circuit.
Sharp jaw. Blue eyes that catch the light.
Dark hair pushed back like he just ran his fingers through it.
He’s wearing a charcoal suit that fits like it was sewn onto his body, no tie, top button of his crisp white shirt undone.
He was easier to look at in the dark when I was in crisis mode. But now, in the daylight?
My God, he looks like sin. One I will not dare to commit.
This is ridiculous. I’m forty years old. I don’t get flustered by pretty faces. I’ve dated men with faces like that. I’ve slept with them then left them.
But something about the way he’s standing there, at ease in my space like he owns it, makes my stomach flip and feel like it’s floating.
His eyes latch onto mine, his lips slowly turning upward.
“Ms. DiMicheli.” His voice is warm. Too warm. “Thanks for the invite.”
“It wasn’t an invitation. It was a summons.”
His lips twitch. “Noted.”
I cross the room, walk to the head of the table, and sit. It’s my power position. He takes the seat to my right. Not across from me. Next to me. Close enough that I breathe in his bold and masculine scent.
I hate that I notice.
Vincenzo sits on my left. He doesn’t say anything. He just watches, the picture of support.
“Let’s get started,” I say, pulling a folder from my bag. “I’ve drafted preliminary terms for this marriage arrangement. I assume you’ll want your lawyers to review the document, but I’d like to establish the framework today.”
Lochlan leans back in his chair, totally relaxed like we’re discussing lunch plans, not a forced marriage. “I’m listening.”
I flip open the folder. “First, this is a partnership, not an acquisition. I retain full control of my company. No Molloy involvement. No ‘suggestions’ from your father about how I should run my business.”
“Done.”
I blink. “You’re not going to argue?”
“Would it change anything?”
“No.”
“Then why waste both our time?” He gestures at the folder. “What else?”
I stare at him for a second too long then clear my throat when I realize it. “Separate residences. I’m not moving into some Molloy compound.”
“I have a penthouse in Back Bay. You’re welcome to it. I’ll take a guest room, or I can find somewhere else to go if it makes you more comfortable.”
“You’d give me your home?” My eyes widen.
He shrugs. “It’s a building. I don’t have attachments to buildings.”
I study his face. There has to be a catch. Or a trap. There’s always a trap with men like his father.
But Lochlan just watches me back. Patient. Almost amused.
“What?” he asks.
“I’m trying to figure out your angle.”
“Maybe I don’t have one.”
“Everyone has an angle,” I say.
He grins. “That sounds exhausting.”
A laugh tries to escape my throat. I swallow it and look down at the contract even though I’ve memorized every word.
Somehow, it seems safer than looking at him.
“Third term. Public appearances only. We show up together when necessary. Smile for the cameras, play the happy couple. But behind closed doors, this is strictly business.”
“Agreed.”
“You don’t get to touch me.” A tiny chill slips down my spine after I say it.
Something shifts in his eyes. Just for a second. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I’m serious. This isn’t a real marriage. It’s a contract. And when the threat is neutralized and my father recovers, we dissolve it quietly and go our separate ways.”
He doesn’t respond right away. Then he says, “You’ve thought this through.”
“It’s what I do. I strategize.”
“I noticed.” He tilts his head, studying me. “The Brennan acquisition in 2019. You turned a hostile takeover into a merger that doubled your market share. Forbes called it ‘surgical.’”
My spine stiffens. “You read Forbes?”
“I read everything.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m about to marry you.” He says it matter-of-factly, like it’s obvious. “Seemed smart to learn about who you are.”
“You could have just asked,” I say.
“Would you have answered honestly?”
I don’t have to say a word. We both know I wouldn’t have.
Lochlan leans forward slightly. “The Wall Street Journal piece was interesting, too. The one about your management style. ‘Demanding but fair.’ High turnover in your first two years, then almost none. People either couldn’t handle you or they stayed forever.”
“Is there a point to all of this?” I ask.
“Just researching.” He looks at my hands. “You do that when you’re nervous.”
I freeze, eyes dropping to my hand. My fingers are twisted around my grandmother’s ring. I didn’t even realize it.
“I’m not nervous.” I pull my hands apart and set them on either side of the contract.
“Then you were thinking hard about something.” He shrugs. “Either way. It’s a tell.”
No one notices that. No one has ever noticed that.
“You’re observant,” I say. It comes out sharp but he doesn’t get ruffled at all. He just smiles.
“Occupational hazard. I run a security firm.”
“Independent of your father’s business?” I ask.
“Completely,” he says.
“And yet, here you are, doing exactly what he wants.” I lift an eyebrow, expecting some flip response.
But instead, his jaw tightens. “I’m not here for him.”
I file that away. Tension with Eamon. Could be useful. Or it could just be him trying to gain my trust.
“Fourth term,” I continue, tapping my pen against the table. “I want full transparency on any threats to my family. The Russians or anyone else. If there’s intel, I hear it. Not filtered through your father. I want it directly from you.”
“That might be harder to guarantee.”
“I don’t care. Guarantee it anyway.”
He holds my gaze for a long minute. Something passes between us, and my heart jumps as those blue eyes make the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
“I’ll do what I can,” he says finally. “But my father doesn’t share information freely. Even with family.”
“Especially with family, from what I’ve seen.”
He grins. “You’re a quick study.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice.”
The door opens. Jayne, my assistant, walks in with a tray of coffees. She does a double take when she sees Lochlan, and I bite back a smile. Of course she would. I’m sure he gets reactions like that all the time.
The interruption breaks the tension, and I use the moment to breathe and recalibrate.
This isn’t what I expected. He isn’t what I expected.
I thought I’d be facing down a Molloy enforcer. Some cold-eyed thug in an expensive suit, throwing his weight around and making demands. I had my defenses ready for that.
But Lochlan isn’t pushing. He’s listening. Agreeing. Making jokes that almost make me smile. Looking at me like I’m a person he wants to get to know, not a transaction.
It’s disorienting as hell.
Jayne leaves. Lochlan stares at the tray for a long minute then looks at me.
“Is there a problem?” I ask.
“Got any ice cream?”
I stare at him. “Ice cream.”
“Mint chocolate chip would be great. If you have it.”
“This is a business negotiation, not a kid’s birthday party.” My brows furrow.
“And I negotiate better with ice cream.” He shrugs at my expression. “It’s a thing. Don’t judge.”
“We’re discussing a marriage contract.”
“Which is stressful. Hence the ice cream.”
“You’re not serious.” There are so many unexpected layers to this guy, I’m having a hard time processing. Ice cream? Really?
“I’m always serious about ice cream. Tell me you’ve never stress-eaten a pint at midnight after a breakup, a bad quarter, or just because you’re having an existential crisis?”