Chapter 22 An Inconvenient Conscience #2
He grinned one more time and took another sip of his champagne. “I’m more curious if she actually signed it. Are we legally protected, or should I be preparing for a very expensive divorce in six months?”
I scowled. Yes, six months was the official agreement, but for some reason, the idea of splitting made me want to break something. “She signed it. After further revisions.”
“Revisions?”
I gazed around the party. “Most of the financial clauses. She only agreed to enough money for Meráki, tuition, and her healthcare. That’s it.”
“Are you telling me that girl just turned down millions of dollars to be arm candy for a matter of months?”
My hand snaked out to grab his sleeve and yank him close before I could stop myself. “Don’t fucking talk about her like that. She’s not a call girl. She’s my wife. Show some goddamn respect.”
This time, his brows nearly hit his hairline. “Understood.”
Unfortunately, I had a feeling he did.
“And here I thought our sparring days were over.”
We both turned to find Owen approaching, dark eyes gleaming. Conscious of the fact that more than one guest was watching us now, I released Liam, and he brushed out any potential creases in his suit like nothing had happened.
“Owen,” I greeted him. “Out of curiosity, how many small children did you have to eat today to regain your human form?”
“Nice to see you too, brother.” Owen looked over the crowd with disgust. “Can you believe this shit? Brendan all but tried to sink the company. Now he and his little harlot are getting a party thrown in their honor, like it was the plan the whole time.”
Liam and I both followed his gaze to the corner of the room where Brendan and Simone were chatting with Dad, Violeta, and a few board members.
Brendan looked uncomfortable in his suit—like it was a costume, not a bespoke piece that had literally been cut for his body.
Living on the farm, even just for a few weeks, had changed him in other minor, yet significant ways.
His hair was a bit unkempt, like he was too busy with chores for his bimonthly barbering, and his skin was ruddier and slightly windblown from time spent outside.
And yet, he looked undeniably happy. Next to him, Simone was radiant in a simple cream-colored dress, her blond hair swept up, and hand firmly in Brendan’s.
My brother, who had earned the moniker of “The Black Prince” both because of his name and for the color of his soul, was all smiles as he looked down at the woman beside him.
Simone was his polar opposite—golden light to his darkness, simple goodness to the complications that would forever plague a man like Brendan. And everyone in this family.
For the second time that night, I wondered what it would be like to follow in his footsteps. Take Laney and go.
I shook my head. There was no way in hell my father would ever let that happen twice.
More importantly, I wanted to be CEO, didn’t I?
Anywhere else, my personal demons would follow me, anyway.
Besides, they weren’t the sort that could be vanquished by milking some cows, much less a girl with eyes the color of the Aegean.
Even if that was getting progressively harder to believe.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. There was a line.” Laney appeared beside me, looking refreshed and having clearly reapplied the little makeup she wore.
“Hey.” I grabbed her hand and resisted the urge to tuck her back under my shoulder, where it felt like she belonged. “Laney, this is my brother, Owen. Don’t trust anything he says.”
“Which, coming from this asshole, means I’m the only one you should trust,” Owen replied as he kissed her cheek.
I swallowed back another growl. Why did every man in this goddamn place keep trying to kiss my wife? I didn’t like it, even if it was a perfectly normal way to greet a woman.
“Nice to meet you,” she replied.
Owen looked like he was ready to deliver some of his characteristic dickheadedness, but before he could, his eyes widened as he looked over Laney’s shoulder. “Fuck.”
Liam and I both turned to follow his gaze—which was directly on a pretty woman with light brown hair weaving her way through the crowd.
“So, she showed up after all,” Liam murmured.
I turned back to Owen with a grin. “I forgot that your immortal beloved was coming tonight. This thing just got more interesting by a factor of ten.”
“Not another word,” Owen snapped.
“What’s going on?” Laney wondered.
But before anyone could answer, the woman had arrived. “Ronan. Liam,” she said in a surprisingly low, husky voice before turning to my brother. “Owen.”
Owen seemed to be looking everywhere but at her. “Jenny. You said you weren’t coming.”
Jenny shrugged. “My boss saw the invite and told me I had to go.”
At that, Owen’s eyes flared. “This is a no-press event.”
“And yet, there was a press line outside, and I’ve counted at least four other reporters here as ‘dates’,” she said as she swiped a sea bass crudo off a passing tray.
“Your event planner needs to do a better job if you don’t want leaks.
But knowing Niall Black, I’m guessing leaks were precisely the point. ”
“Jenny’s a reporter with The Globe,” I told Laney, who was watching their interaction with curiosity. “And Owen’s girlfriend.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” Owen snapped. “A million fucking years ago, to be exact.”
“Actually, it’s more like eighteen, but who’s counting?” Jenny replied as she reached a hand to Laney. “Hi. Jenny Churchill.”
“Laney Fisher,” Laney said.
“As in Delaney Fisher, Ronan Black’s new wife?”
I frowned. “How do you know that? We haven’t released anything.”
“It’s my job to know,” Jenny replied as she snagged another crudo.
“I have to ask—why does the financial section of The Globe care so much about this family’s personal lives?” Owen put in.
Jenny’s cheeks reddened, but she kept her cool. “Since its new Interim CEO’s personal life has the ability to sway the stock market.”
“Nothing’s been decided yet,” Owen said.
Jenny shrugged. “There’s a board meeting scheduled at the end of the month, isn’t there? Seems all but decided to me.”
I could feel Laney’s curious gaze land on me, and it was everything I could do to maintain a straight face. Fuck it. I was having that glass of champagne. None of the tequila counted before I signed the contract.
“How are you finding Boston, Laney?” Jenny asked, thankfully pulling that green gaze off me.
“So far, it’s nice,” Laney replied. “I only arrived today, but I’m looking forward to exploring.”
“Well, let me know if you’d like a tour guide.”
“She absolutely will not,” Owen put in. “She might be new, but Black family members do not hang out with vultures.”
Jenny chuckled. “And here I thought you were at least going to pretend to respect the free press, Owen.”
Owen’s eyes narrowed. “I would if there were real journalists left. Instead, this city is crawling with vultures like Ivy Ink.”
“Come on, Owen. She’s at The Herald, not The Globe. Even if we’re all the same tribe.”
“Aren’t they both owned by Roth Media, though?” Liam wondered.
Owen was too busy studying Jenny with a little too much intensity. “Why are you defending her?”
Jenny just shrugged. “She writes a little gossip column. It’s supposed to be entertaining.”
“It’s invasive clickbait that ruins people’s lives for internet traffic.”
“Or maybe it holds powerful people accountable when they’d rather hide behind PR teams and NDAs.” Jenny’s voice had suddenly sharpened. “But I suppose billionaires like it better when the press doesn’t ask uncomfortable questions, whether it’s a gossip columnist or a financial journalist, hmm?”
She and Owen bristled at each other over their drinks hard enough that I could practically see the tension between them solidify.
“Whoa,” Laney murmured.
“You said it,” Liam agreed.
Owen opened and closed his mouth several times, but, for once, my brother struggled to come up with a cutting reply. Curious.
Finally, he turned away, muttering, “I knew this was a mistake.”
Jenny, clearly having won this round, turned to Laney and me.. “I just wanted to say hello. Laney, if you’d ever be interested in an interview, my door is wide open. Congratulations, you two.”
She walked away, leaving Owen looking like he’d just been slapped.
“Round one, Churchill,” I said.
“Owen just got beat up by a girl,” Liam agreed.
Laney looked between Owen and Jenny’s receding forms. “Did you say they went out? It seems more like you hate each other.”
“High school,” I informed her. “She popped Owen’s cherry, and he never forgave her for making him a real boy.”
That finally broke through my brother’s trance. “Jenny Churchill did not pop anything of mine.”.
“Owen, are you saying you’ve been saving yourself for marriage?” I patted him on the shoulder. “Brother, that explains a lot. You’ve got to let off some of that excess steam. Bad for a man to keep it all pent up.”
Liam started laughing while Owen glared. Laney, however, seemed less than impressed.
“Hey.” She tugged on my sleeve, pulling me down so she could speak in my ear. “You’re making things worse. He seems like he’s really struggling with her.”
I stood up, suddenly feeling… bad. For giving my brother, of all people, a little well-deserved shit. This conscience thing was really inconvenient.
“Sorry,” I muttered. Which was another wrong move, since both Owen and Liam stared at me like I’d grown two heads.
Before I could say anything, however, a loud voice boomed across the courtyard.
“Ronan!” came my father’s lion-like roar. “Are you going to make your father wait all fucking night?”
The surrounding people quieted, clearly more interested in whatever show was about to happen than their own conversations. If there was anything people in Boston knew, it was that Niall Black was always good for a performance.
I gritted my teeth as I took Laney’s hand and led her through the room to where my father stood with his cane, flanked by Violeta, Shea, Brendan, and Simone.
“Dad,” I greeted him, then delivered perfunctory kisses to the woman. Brendan and I traded nods. “Everyone, this is Laney. My wife.” Pride speared my chest with those two words.
My father’s gaze scoured Laney from top to bottom. I had to give it to her; she stood as tall as her five feet and change allowed.
“So. You’re the one. Took you long enough to show your face.” He turned to me. “She’s very short.”
“I have a business in Seattle,” Laney replied. “I had to find appropriate people to run it while I came here.”
“You mean your mother’s business, don’t you?” Dad wondered. “Sweaters and boots and things like that.”
Laney nodded. “That’s correct. She started it when I was little.”
“Aww, that’s cute,” Shea said. “What do you think, Mom? Want to update your wardrobe with some ready to wear?”
Shea giggled as her mother looked bored. “Perhaps.”
I scowled. “It’s good stuff. Unique. Quality local vendors and things from Greece. They built it from scratch, and it shows real promise with some new investment.”
“I think you mean it’s hemorrhaging money,” Dad replied with a smirk. “How much are you down this quarter? Twenty percent? Thirty?”
“Dad,” I snapped.
“Relax, Ronan. It’s just a little conversation.” But when he turned back to Laney, those black eyes sharpened, and I could feel her grip on my hand tighten in response. “Tell me—are you with my son because you love him, or because you need a cash infusion for your little failing enterprise?”
The courtyard went silent. The band was still playing, but even they seemed to quiet, like the guitarist also wanted to hear Laney’s answer.
My wife, however, maintained her straight posture and even stepped slightly forward. “Ronan and I are together because we care about each other. That’s it.”
She didn’t say love. Everyone would have noticed that. I certainly fucking did, though I wasn’t sure why it bothered me so much.
Even so, no one seemed to believe her. Shea was busy rolling her eyes, Brendan looked like he felt sorry for me, and Violeta was actually shaking her head.
“Is that so?”
I gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to step in.
I knew what he was doing. Two weeks ago, he’d been all but thrilled when I announced I’d gotten married.
He didn’t give a shit why we were married or what Laney wanted from me.
This was about intimidating and establishing himself as the alpha of our family’s pack.
Laney was new, and he wanted to make sure she would submit.
But Laney wasn’t done. “I didn’t marry your son for his net worth, Mr. Black. I married him because I wanted to. And if you think otherwise, shame on you for not believing your son has more to offer than money.”
For a moment, my father just stared at her. Then he chuffed, like a big cat that was either greeting another similarly equipped predator—or eager to hunt it down. “Well, she’s got a spine, at least. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.” Then he turned, addressing the crowd. “A moment of your attention!”
It wasn’t necessary, since everyone was already staring, but he continued, ever the showman.
“My son Ronan has recently married this lovely young woman. They had a small private ‘ceremony,’ but we’re going to celebrate properly next week at The Martin ballroom. You’re all invited.”
Confused applause rippled through the crowd. Now Laney was stepping closer to me, and this time I gave into the urge to tuck her tight against me, as if to protect her from the sudden inspections angling at us from every corner.
When it was clear there were to be no more announcements, the party guests went back to their own conversations, most of which were obviously about us, given the way they kept glancing my way.
So much for a quiet introduction to society.
His work done, my father returned to his seat, cane in hand. “Welcome to the family, Delaney. Let’s hope you’re better prepared than the last addition. I won’t be losing one of my sons again.”
Laney’s brow furrowed. “I—what?”
“Let’s get something to eat,” I said, already eager to pull her away from the poison my father couldn’t help but spew.
But before I could tow her to safety, Niall Black’s voice pulled us back. “Ronan?”
We both turned.
“Yeah?” I gritted through my teeth.
“Next time you bring your wife to a family engagement, make sure she’s dressed properly instead of wearing pebbles around her neck. We’re Blacks, not beggars. She needs to look the part.”