Chapter 3
Addison
Palmer Capital owns the building.
I know this before I walk through the door. The name is etched into black granite above the entrance. Forty-three floors of glass and steel. Marble lobby. Security stations. A reception desk staffed by people trained not to smile.
I give my name to a man in a black suit. He makes a call. Two minutes later, a private elevator opens.
The elevator doesn’t stop until the forty-third floor.
The doors open onto a hallway. There are floor-to-ceiling windows on one side and unmarked doors on the other. At the end, double doors stand open. A young man waits outside.
This place is run very efficiently.
“Ms. Archer.” He steps back when I approach him. “The Palmer brothers are ready for you.”
I follow him through to the corner suite. I hate that they made me come here for their “final proposal,” like I’m the one begging.
Well, maybe I kind of am. They definitely have the advantage here. But listening doesn’t mean agreeing to anything.
Inside the room, there are windows on two sides. The furniture is expensive without being showy—dark wood, leather, and clean lines.
Three men stand near the windows.
They turn when I enter.
I stop.
Triplets. I knew that coming in, but seeing all three at once is different. They’re all over six feet tall with broad shoulders and the kind of build that comes from good genes and personal trainers. Dark hair, blue eyes, faces that belong on magazine covers.
And all of them are looking at me.
The triplet in the middle stands perfectly still. His hair is combed back, and his expression is neutral. He’s used to being in charge.
The man on the left has his jacket off, and his sleeves are rolled to his forearms. His hair looks like he’d run his hands through it recently. He smiles when he sees me.
The man on the right has his arms crossed. He’s watching me the way you watch someone you’re trying to figure out.
Not one of them speaks.
I cross the room and stop a few feet away. Close enough to be polite. Not close enough to feel cornered.
I’ve read up on all three of them. I know their roles, and I can already tell who’s who just by watching them.
But they don’t make me wait long to confirm it.
The man in the middle extends his hand. “Ms. Archer. I’m Liam Palmer.”
Liam, he’s the CEO, from what my research indicated. It makes sense that I assumed he is used to being in charge.
I shake his hand. His grip is firm, controlled. His hand is warm, larger than mine. He releases my hand first, which annoys me.
The one with the half-smile straightens but doesn’t offer his hand. This is the triplet who tends to get into trouble. “Axel Palmer.” His eyes move over me. Not leering. Cataloging. “You’re a lot younger than we expected.”
“What were you expecting?”
“Someone with your reputation?” His smile widens. “We expected someone older. Mid-forties, maybe. You look like you just graduated from college a few years ago.”
“Seven years ago,” I tell them, even though it’s none of their business.
The third man steps forward, the most diplomatic and charming triplet. “Nolan Palmer.” His handshake isn’t as firm as Liam’s. Less performative. His hand lingers half a second longer, and his blue eyes hold mine like he’s reading something I’m not saying out loud.
I pull away this time.
Liam gestures to the chair across from a desk. “Please.”
He sits, and I settle across from him, my pulse thrumming. The cold leather seeps through my skirt, a welcome contrast to the heat crawling up my neck.
Nolan takes the chair beside me.
Axel circles behind me, positioning himself at the side where I have to turn my head to see him.
They’ve boxed me in without making it obvious.
Liam watches me register this. “Thank you for coming.”
I roll my eyes. “You didn’t leave me much choice.”
“We gave you forty-eight hours to respond to our offer.”
“You sent an offer to acquire my company while it’s being sued into bankruptcy.” I keep my hands loose in my lap, spine straight. “That’s not an invitation.”
Axel laughs. “She’s direct. I like it.”
I ignore him.
Liam’s expression hasn’t changed. “So, this is what we’re offering. We acquire Archer Media Group. You retain editorial control over your investigative work. Your staff stays. Your company continues operating under its own name.”
“In exchange for what?”
“You serve as our crisis consultant. Anything you publish that involves Palmer Capital or our portfolio companies gets reviewed first.”
I tilt my head. “So, you want editorial veto power.”
Liam taps his pen against the desk, pausing a beat before he responds. “We want collaboration.”
He’s very diplomatic, but I’m not going to play his game. “Collaboration implies choice.”
Liam takes a few breaths before responding. “You’d have autonomy within agreed-upon boundaries.”
I can feel myself getting angry, but I manage to stay calm. “Boundaries you set.”
“Boundaries we negotiate.”
Nolan shifts forward in his seat. “Palmer Capital took a significant hit because of the Harrison Luxe connection. Investors are questioning our judgment. We need someone who understands how to rebuild trust.”
“And you think I’ll do that for you?”
“You already know how.” Nolan’s tone stays even. “During your time at Apex Strategic Communications, you managed situations like ours. You controlled narratives, managed media cycles, and rebuilt reputations.”
“I left that work because I didn’t want to protect people who deserved the scrutiny.”
Liam picks up where his brother left off. “Harrison’s violations were unexpected. Our due diligence was thorough, and we,” he gestures toward his brothers, “are taking the heat for something we had no control over.”
“So, you want my crisis management background to rehabilitate your image, and my journalistic credibility to make people believe it.”
“Yes,” Liam responds.
At least he’s direct.
I glance at Axel. He’s still watching me, head tilted. The look he’s giving me is annoying. Like nobody has ever turned him down.
He’s too handsome for how irritating he is.
I turn back to Liam. “What happens to the lawsuit?”
“It goes away.”
“How?”
Nolan answers. “Harrison filed the lawsuit to drain your resources, not to win. If you have resources, they’ll settle.”
“Or you’ll settle it for them,” I respond. “Because I will have your resources backing me.”
The triplets don’t deny it.
Axel moves closer to me. Too close.
“The truth is the only thing worth protecting,” I tell them.
He drops his hands onto the armrests of my chair. “Then protect it. Sign with us.”
Up close, I can see the faint line of a scar near his temple. How his jaw tightens even when he’s smiling. His cologne is subtle, expensive. Smoke and cedar.
I hate that I noticed.
“Back up.”
His smile sharpens. He straightens. Steps back exactly one foot.
Liam slides a folder across the desk. “This is what we want from you: We acquire your company. You work for us for three years. You work on-site and lead our crisis strategy team. You report directly to me. And after three years, you get your company back if you fulfill your end of the contract.”
“So, I’d be working for you, not my company.”
“With us,” Liam corrects.
“In your building. On your terms.” I let the silence stretch. “That sounds like I’d be working for you.”
“You really have no other choice.” Nolan’s voice is quiet. “You’re going to lose your company.”
I glance at him. There’s sympathy in his eyes, but I don’t want it.
I put my hand on the folder, but then I decide against opening it to look at the contract. “I didn’t build my company to hand it over.”
“We understand that building your company was never about the money for you,” Nolan responds. “Which is why you’re sitting here instead of at a corporate PR firm making ten times what you make now.”
He’s right. I hate that he’s right.
Liam taps the folder. “Read it. You have until tomorrow to decide.”
I don’t touch it. “And if I refuse?”
“Then Harrison buries you in legal fees.” Liam stays silent for a moment, letting that reality settle. “Or you sign, and your company survives. And if you meet all of the metrics we’ve outlined, you get your company back in three years.”
I pick up the folder.
“I’ll read it.”
Liam rises. “We’ll expect your answer by tomorrow afternoon.”
I stand. Nolan stands with me. Axel stays where he is.
I turn toward the door.
“Ms. Archer.”
I stop. Look back.
Liam is behind his desk, his expression neutral. “You did good work on the Harrison Luxe exposé. That’s why we want you here. Not to silence you. We want to make sure you can keep doing it.”
That’s complete bullshit, but I don’t say that out loud.
I turn and walk out.
The elevator ride down is forty-three floors of my mind spiraling.
I don’t open the folder until I’m back at my office.
Natalie’s waiting. She takes one look at my face and closes the door.
“How bad?”
I drop the folder. “Read it.”
She does. I watch her mouth thin with every page.
When she finishes, she sets it down. “Three-year minimum term. On-site work requirement. Editorial review on anything that involves their investment portfolio.” She looks up.
“Non-compete clause. If you quit before the three years are up, you can’t work in journalism or PR for five years.
” She pauses. “After three years, they will give your company back to you.”
“The smart move is saving whatever they pay for the acquisition. Harrison could still come after me, contract or not, and I'll need that money for legal fees.” I sit forward. “I don’t love any of this, but I have to do it. So, what are the actual terms for getting Archer Media back?”
“They outline the specific metrics involved, but essentially, you need to improve and maintain Palmer Capital investor confidence, get positive press coverage, help with any crisis management, and avoid any contract violations.”
“They’re essentially asking me to sign over my life for the next three years.”
Natalie doesn’t try to convince me that it’s not as bad as it seems. Her silence says everything.
I don’t want to lose my company. “If I don’t sign, we’re done in six months. If I do sign, we survive.”
“Three years is a long time,” Natalie says.
“So is bankruptcy.” I pick up a pen. “Three years. Then I get Archer Media back.”
I sign.
My hand is steady.
I set the pen down.
Natalie exhales.
I close the folder. “Get this back to them.”
She nods, picks up the folder, and then stops at the door. “Are you okay?”
“No.” I stare out the window. “But ask me in three years.”