11. Vivienne
Vivienne
"The numbers don't lie, gentlemen." I click to the final slide of my presentation, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice.
"Since launching the 'Break the Mold' campaign three weeks ago, Lumina's social media engagement has increased by seventy-eight percent, and early sales figures show a thirty-two percent jump in their target demographic. "
Around the conference table, the expression on Richard's face is almost worth framing—a particular mix of surprise, reluctant admiration, and resentment that I've come to savor.
Beside him, Derek stares at the revenue projections with the stunned look of someone who's just been hit by a bus he didn't see coming.
"Gerald Lumina called personally this morning," I continue, closing my laptop with a decisive snap. "He's authorized an additional fifteen percent for the next phase of the campaign."
"Excellent work, Vivienne," Richard says, recovering quickly. He's nothing if not adaptable when it comes to aligning himself with success. "Derek, I trust you'll coordinate with the creative team on implementation?"
Derek nods, though his smile doesn't reach his eyes. Three weeks ago, he was poised to take over my position. Now he's reduced to an implementation coordinator, and we both know it.
"Actually," I interject smoothly, "Gerald specifically requested that I maintain primary contact on creative direction. But I'm sure Derek's input will be valuable on the logistics side."
The dig is subtle but unmistakable. Richard's lips thin, but he doesn't contradict me. He can't—not when my engagement to Jaxon Hart has made me too valuable to alienate and my campaign success has proven my professional worth.
After the meeting adjourns, Laura corners me by the coffee machine, eyes gleaming with mischief. "That was downright vicious," she says with approval. "I think Derek may need medical attention for that burn."
I laugh, the sound lighter and more carefree than I've felt in years. "He'll survive. His ego's well-padded."
"Speaking of well-padded," Laura lowers her voice, "how's life in the Hart mansion? Still maintaining that 'strictly business' facade?"
Heat creeps into my cheeks as I remember Jaxon's lips on mine, his hands sliding under my shirt, the way my body responded to his touch with an intensity that still startles me.
We haven't discussed that night—Lily's illness and hospital stay created a natural buffer, a reason to focus on her recovery rather than the boundaries we'd spectacularly demolished.
"It's... complicated," I admit, stirring my coffee with unnecessary focus.
Laura's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh my god. Something happened."
"Nothing happened," I insist, then amend, "Well, something almost happened, but then Lily got sick, and we've been focused on taking care of her."
"Taking care of her together," Laura points out. "Playing house with your fake fiancé and his adorable niece. And clearly enjoying it."
I can't deny it. The past week has been a strange domestic bubble—working remotely while Lily recuperated, making soup with Mrs. Patterson, movie nights with all three of us cuddled on the oversized sofa. I've fallen into a rhythm with them that feels alarmingly natural.
"It's temporary," I remind her, and myself. "Six months, remember?"
"Uh-huh." Laura's knowing smile makes me squirm. "You keep telling yourself that while you're braiding her hair and making googly eyes at him across the dinner table."
"I do not make googly eyes," I protest, though the heat in my cheeks betrays me.
"Sure, Viv." She pats my arm consolingly. "Just be careful. Fake or not, there's a child involved. And from what you've told me; she's already had too many people leave her."
The reminder sobers me instantly. Lily, with her unicorn collection and precocious questions and absolute trust, has slipped past my defenses with terrifying ease. The thought of disappointing her, of becoming another adult who disappears from her life, makes my chest physically ache.
"I know," I say quietly. "I'm trying to be... careful."
Careful with Lily's heart. Careful with the strange, fragile connection forming between Jaxon and me. Careful not to confuse performance with reality, even as the line between them blurs more each day.
As I pack up my things to head home—and when did the Hart mansion become "home" in my mind?—my phone buzzes with a text from Jaxon:
Lily insists on game night tonight. Fair warning: she's ruthless at Monopoly. Retreat now or forever hold your peace.
A smile tugs at my lips as I type back:
Bring it on. Clarke women never retreat from board game challenges. I'll pick up ice cream on the way.
His response is immediate:
Brave but foolish. Your bankruptcy will be sweetened with Rocky Road.
The easy banter, the casual domesticity of it—it feels nothing like the strategic arrangement we negotiated weeks ago. The thought should worry me more than it does.
When I arrive at the mansion, the security guard waves me through with a friendly nod, as a familiar presence, expected and welcomed.
Inside, I find Lily in the kitchen, helping Mrs. Patterson arrange cookies on a plate. Her face lights up when she sees me, and she launches herself at me with a hug that squeezes the breath from my lungs.
"Vivienne! You're home!" She pulls back, eyes wide with excitement. "Did you bring the ice cream? Uncle Jaxon said you would. I made cookies for game night! Well, Mrs. Patterson helped, but I did the sprinkles all by myself!"
Her rapid-fire enthusiasm makes me laugh.
"I did bring ice cream," I confirm, setting my bags down to properly return her hug. "Three flavors, because I couldn't decide."
"Three!" Her eyes widen comically. "That's so many! Can we have all of them?"
"Not all at once," comes Jaxon's voice from the doorway. "Unless you want a stomachache."
I look up, and my heart does a ridiculous little flip at the sight of him. He's dressed casually in jeans and a faded t-shirt, hair slightly damp as if he's just showered. The domestic version of Jaxon Hart is even more dangerous to my equilibrium than the sleek, polished one in tailored suits.
"Spoilsport," I tease, willing my pulse to steady while fake pouting. "What's the point of being a parent if you can't allow ice cream overindulgence?"
His eyes crinkle at the corners, that almost-smile that's become increasingly frequent. "You're the fun one. I have to be the responsible counterbalance."
The easy classification—the automatic assumption of complementary roles—strikes me as significant somehow. We've slipped into a parenting dynamic without discussion or deliberation.
"Uncle Jaxon set up the games in the den," Lily informs me, tugging at my hand. "We have Monopoly and Scrabble and that unicorn game you got me, and he says we can play whichever one I want first tonight, but that next time we'll take turns choosing."
The careful family rule-setting makes my chest tighten with unexpected emotion.
Jaxon is trying so hard to give Lily both structure and freedom, to make decisions that balance indulgence with boundaries.
It's a side of him the public never sees—thoughtful, deliberate, deeply invested in Lily's wellbeing.
"That sounds fair," I agree, allowing her to lead me toward the den. "Though I should warn you both, I'm undefeated at Scrabble."
"That's what Uncle Jaxon said too," Lily confides. "He said you're both competitive, whatever that means."
Jaxon catches my eye over Lily's head, amusement dancing in his expression. "I believe my exact words were 'pathologically competitive,'" he corrects. "Important distinction."
Game night turns out to be more fun than I've had in longer than I can remember.
We start with Lily's unicorn game, a simple but adorable race format that she wins handily.
When she chooses Monopoly next, I discover Jaxon wasn't exaggerating about her ruthlessness—she somehow acquires Boardwalk and Park Place within the first few rounds and proceeds to methodically bankrupt us both.
"I told you," Jaxon murmurs as she gleefully collects his last dollar. "Shark in unicorn clothing."
I laugh, watching Lily's victory dance around the coffee table. "I'm impressed. She has a better grasp of property values than most adults I know."
"Andrew taught her," Jaxon says, something complicated flickering across his face at the mention of his brother. "He always did have a knack for strategy games."
Lily hears her father's name and pauses her celebration. "Dad said I'm a natural because I can do math in my head really fast," she tells me, pride and sadness mingling in her voice. "We used to play every weekend."
I see Jaxon's throat work as he swallows hard. "Maybe we should make it our tradition too," he suggests gently. "Weekend game nights."
The simple offer—the deliberate echoing of Andrew's ritual while making it their own—brings unexpected tears to my eyes. I blink them away before either of them notices.
"Yes!" Lily agrees enthusiastically. "And Vivienne will always be here too, right?"
The question lands like a stone in still water, ripples of implication spreading outward. Jaxon and I exchange a quick glance, neither sure how to answer.
"I'll be here as often as I can," I say carefully, not wanting to make promises I can't keep. "But sometimes I might have work events on weekends."
"That's okay," Lily says with the easy acceptance of childhood. "When you're married, you'll live here all the time anyway."
The casual assumption of permanence makes my chest tighten. The remainder of the six months looms, I remind myself. This has an expiration date.
"Scrabble next?" Jaxon suggests, deftly changing the subject. "Let's see if Vivienne's championship claims hold water."