23. Jenna
Jenna
Two weeks into our sixty-day trial, my husband sends me a calendar invitation titled CANFIELD / NAKAMURA IMPLEMENTATION REVIEW with a location of MY OFFICE. It’s highly irregular. Almost all of our Nakamura meetings have been held in one of Mercer Capital’s conference rooms.
There is no agenda attached. Whatever this is, it’s not for optics or cross-team politics. It’s for privacy.
I accept under protest.
By the time I take the elevator from Mercer’s lobby up to Cruz Financial on the top floor, it’s five twenty-eight. Most of the floor has emptied for the evening. Roz’s desk is abandoned, her computer dark and her chair pushed in neatly.
Dominic’s door stands open.
He’s behind his desk with his jacket off and his shirtsleeves rolled to his forearms, studying something on his monitor. His tie has been loosened just enough to suggest a hard day while remaining perfectly aligned, which is typical. Even his disarray is curated.
“You’re late,” he says without looking up.
“It’s five twenty-eight.”
“I started missing you at five twenty-six.”
“That sounds like a personal failure.”
His mouth curves. “Come here.”
“Is that how you address all external consultants?”
“Only the ones I married in Japan.”
I close the door behind me and cross the office, placing my laptop and the Nakamura file on the opposite side of his desk. “Is anyone else joining us for this review?”
He doesn’t answer. He just stands, the movement fluid and predatory, and rounds the mahogany acre of his desk.
Before I can offer a professional opening statement regarding the South Korea supply chain audit, his hands are on my waist.
“I said, come here.” He pulls me into the space between his knees and the desk, his touch heavy and sure, grounding me in the quiet of the high-rise evening.
He wraps his big hand around my neck and tilts my head back with a thumb under my chin and kisses me—a slow, thorough greeting that has me whimpering into his mouth.
I let myself lean into him for exactly three seconds before I pull back just far enough to reclaim my breath, though my pulse is currently performing a hostile takeover of my common sense.
I keep my hands flat against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart through the expensive cotton of his shirt.
“Dominic,” I say, my voice slightly lower than its usual boardroom register. “The invitation was very specific. The Canfield implementation. The Nakamura review. Is there an actual status update waiting for me, or is this just a logistical ploy to get your wife into a locked office after hours?”
He doesn’t look even remotely guilty. He just smiles, that slow, devastating curve of his mouth that suggests he’s already three steps ahead of whatever defense I’m trying to mount.
“I’d call it an optimization of corporate resources.
You were twelve floors away. I had a vision of you in this light, wearing that burgundy lipstick, and decided the quarterly projections could wait. ”
“Abuse of administrative privilege,” I mutter, but I don’t move away.
My thumb traces the gold band on his left hand—the twin to the one currently weighing on my own finger.
“Bennett was mid-sentence when the notification popped up on my watch. He looked at the invite, looked at me, and then sighed as though he’s accepted his fate as a third wheel in his own firm. ”
“Bennett will survive,” Dominic murmurs, his hands sliding lower to the small of my back, drawing me flush against him. “I, on the other hand, was suffering from a critical lack of Pemberton-related data. How was your day, Jen?”
I study him—the sharp, handsome lines of his face, the way his eyes haven’t left mine for a single second. He’s a man who deals in certainty. And I’m slowly coming to accept I’m part of that.
“My day was a sequence of manageable crises until my husband decided to commit a calendar violation,” I say, though my resolve is softening with every inch of proximity.
I reach out and adjust his tie, pulling it a fraction tighter before smoothing the silk.
“Now, are we going to look at the Nakamura file, or did you bring me up here to waste forty-five minutes of billable time?”
Dominic’s eyes darken, a flash of something heat-mapped and hungry moving through his expression. He leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, his breath hitching just enough to tell me exactly how much he’s been thinking about this.
“I have a much more pressing implementation to review.”
Just as his teeth close around my earlobe, the screen on the wall lights up with a call. We spring apart.
Well, I spring. Dominic just relaxes back against his desk with a sly grin as he reaches for his mouse and accepts the call.
“You didn’t mention a call,” I hiss as it connects.
Before he can respond, Xavier Field appears from a conference room in San Francisco. Dark suit. White shirt. No tie. The afternoon sun cuts across the windows behind him while Chicago is already fading toward evening.
Field glances at Dominic, then at me.
“Ms. Pemberton.”
“Mr. Field.”
“Congratulations.”
I blink. “On the deal?”
“The marriage.”
“Oh.” I look at Dominic and quirk a brow. He swipes a thumb across his jaw and I’m not sure if I want to throttle him or fuck him. “Thank you.”
Xavier’s expression doesn’t change. “Moving on to the implementation schedule.”
He shares his screen, all business. The document that materializes on the monitor bears Nakamura’s logo. My eyes scan the text, absorbing the corporate Japanese and the English translation side by side.
My stomach drops, then immediately calcifies into ice.
“They found the NeuraTech bottleneck,” I say, my voice flattening into absolute professional detachment.
Dominic’s playful demeanor vanishes. The man who was just kissing my neck is replaced instantly by the apex predator of Cruz Financial. He leans forward, bracing both hands on the desk. “They finally worked out why we were so hell-bent on being the ones to acquire them.”
“Exactly,” Xavier says. “Their board believes the purchase price didn’t reflect Nakamura’s strategic value to NeuraTech.
They’re claiming non-disclosure regarding the South Korean fabricators.
They’re demanding a post-completion adjustment to the equity consideration—ten percent instead of the five you negotiated in Tokyo.
Double the payout, or they freeze the manufacturing schedule. ”
“That’s exactly what Landon said they’d do,” Dominic says. “And exactly why we flew out there when we did. Double the ask means the cost of the device skyrockets. Then no one wins. People need that tech. It’ll be life-changing.”
“Exactly,” I say, the word clipping through the air like a snapped wire. “This is a bad-faith play. They can’t demand additional consideration after completion.”
Xavier’s eyes flick to me on the screen. “They hold the manufacturing capacity, Ms. Pemberton. In cross-border negotiations, possession is nine-tenths of the leverage.”
“Not when the contract expressly forbids it,” I counter, my fingers already flying across my laptop keyboard.
“We anticipated their board might try to probe the logistics network post-deal to test our boundaries. We built a contingency clause into the Tokyo agreement specifically to neutralize this.”
I pull up the master file, highlight the relevant text, and hit send.
“Check your inbox, Mr. Field. Section Four, Article Twelve, Subsection C. The South Korean supply exposure is disclosed in Appendix G, and the agreement expressly excludes any post-completion adjustment arising from a disclosed constraint proving more valuable to the buyer than Nakamura understood when it signed. The consideration is final. Control has transferred. They cannot back out because they regret the price.”
On the screen, Xavier looks down at his secondary monitor. The silence stretches.
Finally, he looks back up and nods. “This is airtight.” There’s genuine professional respect threading through his usually surgical voice. “Exceptional language, Cruz. You left them absolutely zero room to move.”
Dominic doesn’t even hesitate. “I can’t take the credit, Xavier. It was all Jenna. She built the cage. I just stood next to her while she ushered them inside and locked it.”
The acknowledgment lands and pride blooms inside my chest.
Xavier’s gaze shifts back to me. “Brilliant work, Ms. Pemberton. You make an excellent duo—with Dominic’s ability to fix and your ability to close, you’ll be unstoppable.
I’ll take this to my people immediately.
I’m going to have a friendly conversation with Nakamura’s board.
I’ll make sure they understand that additional consideration isn’t available under the agreement, and that fighting this specific clause in international arbitration will bankrupt them well before Mercer and Cruz run out of funds,” Xavier says, the corner of his mouth finally lifting.
“I’ll update you in the morning. But I’d also like the Tokyo redlines if possible.
Not just the clean execution copies—the negotiation notes, margin comments, and every version between Nakamura’s opening position and the final agreement. ”
I glance at Dominic.
“There’s a playbook in there my team can learn from,” Xavier adds.
Dominic’s expression is pure, insufferable pride.
“I’ll remove anything privileged or specific to Mercer’s internal position,” I say. “The remaining material will be with you Monday.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Ms. Pemberton,” Xavier says, his image still crisp and imposing on the large monitor.
He pauses, his gaze weighing me with clinical intensity.
“And if you ever find yourself looking for a change in scenery—San Francisco, perhaps, or even a remote arrangement—let me know. Canfield Group will double whatever Mercer is currently paying you. Consider it an open-ended offer.”
The air in the room shifts. Beside me, Dominic’s posture changes. He lets out a sharp, incredulous laugh that vibrates through my shoulder.
“Are you seriously trying to poach my wife right in front of me, Xavier?” Dominic asks, his voice tight with a mixture of amusement and that proprietary edge he wears like a custom suit. “I haven’t even finished the implementation review and you’re already trying to raid the staff?”
Xavier offers a rare smile. “I’m poaching her from Mercer, Dominic, not from you. Keep your personal and professional interests in their respective lanes. Talent like that is wasted on mid-market equity plays.”
I find myself laughing, a genuine sound that cuts through the lingering tension of the Nakamura threat.
The idea of being a commodity Xavier Field would double-pay for is a significant data point, but my loyalty isn’t for sale—at least not today.
“I appreciate the offer, Xavier. Truly. But I’m happy where I am for now. Thank you.”
“For now,” Xavier repeats, the pragmatist to the end. “Goodnight.”
The screen goes black, plunging the office back into the soft, amber glow of the Chicago skyline. Dominic’s hands move to my waist as he leans back against the mahogany, pulling me deeper into his space.
“You know, that’s not the first time Canfield has asked me about poaching you,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of my hip.
“Xavier’s been circling your LinkedIn like a shark for months.
He also wanted me to ask if you had anyone you could refer.
Thomas needs a new executive assistant now that his has officially put in her notice. ”
I go still. My mind immediately flips through a Rolodex of contacts, filtering for the specific blend of steel and empathy required to manage someone as exacting as Thomas Canning.
“My sister,” I say, the thought hitting me with the force of a confirmed projection. “Hailey. She’s looking for a pivot, and she’s brilliant with logistics.”
Dominic tilts his head, considering it. “If she’s anything like you, she’ll be perfect.”
“She’s a hell of a lot friendlier than me. Which is why I think she’ll suit Thomas. Xavier’s cool detachment would send her running. But Thomas has a warmth to him. They’ll gel.”
He reaches out, his hand sliding up to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in the loose hairs at my nape. “Get her CV to Roz. She’ll give it a look, and if it passes her sniff test—which it will, because she’s a Pemberton—she’ll forward it to Xavier with my personal stamp.”
“I’ll tell her tonight,” I say, feeling a strange, warm rush of satisfaction. Helping Hailey find a fortress of her own feels like a win that doesn’t need a spreadsheet to justify.
“Good,” Dominic whispers, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “Now that the referrals are handled and the supply chain is secure . . . back to that implementation review?”
“With one caveat.”
“I’m listening.”
“You need to stop bragging about me.”
He takes my hand and presses a kiss to my palm. “I can’t promise you that. The world needs to recognize your brilliance.”
“I thought we only cared what each other thinks.”
“We care what we think. The world still requires educating.”
“You understand I was already considered competent before you started issuing press releases.”
“Competent?” His brow pulls together, genuinely offended. “You’re terrifying. There are men on three continents reviewing their life choices because you opened a folder.”
“That may be slightly overstated.”
“It’s not stated loudly enough.”
He kisses me before I can answer.
I reach for him on instinct, my hands sliding up his chest as the kiss deepens, but then his arm stretches past me without breaking contact.
A soft click echoes from the door panel behind us.
The lock engages and I remember the last time he used it on me—the same day I delivered those annulment papers.
Right now, with his mouth on mine and his hands grabbing fistfuls of my ass, I want nothing more than to set those papers on fire and burn along with them.
“Turn around and bend over,” he commands.