Chapter 32
Everett
Rowan sets his glass down and leans forward, elbows on his knees.
"You're going to ask her to stay permanently," he says. Not a question. "Not because of the merger."
"I'm meeting with HR Monday. Consultant arrangement. Independent contractor. It keeps her on payroll without the assistant designation." My fingers drum against the armrest. "Removes the power imbalance."
"Have you told her that?"
"Not in those words."
"Ev." His tone sharpens. "You need to use actual words. Clear ones. The woman deserves to hear what you're planning before you restructure her entire employment status."
He's right.
"I know."
Rowan stands, crosses to the window overlooking the courtyard. Quiet for a long moment, shoulders tense beneath his shirt.
"I can't keep living around that absence," I say.
He turns. "No. And Margot deserves someone who's actually here. Not haunted. Not halfway into it."
"I'm trying."
"I know." His expression gentles. "I see it."
The front door opens downstairs. Her footsteps on the marble — light, familiar.
Something inside me settles.
I stand, move toward the study door. Rowan stays seated.
She looks like someone who's been carrying something heavy for hours. Her face is pale and drawn, eyes red-rimmed. Whatever happened tonight, it happened before she walked through the door.
"Hey." I cross to her, stop an arm's length away. "Everything okay?"
Her gaze flicks between Rowan and me. Wary. Guarded in ways I haven't seen since those first brutal days.
"Fine." The lie sits transparent between us. "I didn't know you had company."
"Rowan stopped by." I gesture toward the study. "I wanted you to meet him properly. He's important to me. You're important to me. Seemed like the right time."
Her expression shutters completely. Every wall she's spent weeks dismantling slams back into place.
"Right." Her voice goes flat. Empty. "Important people. Of course."
"Margot…"
"I'm tired." She's already moving, backing toward the hall. "You two enjoy your evening. I'll be upstairs."
"Wait." I reach for her. She flinches.
She's gone before I can form words.
I stand in the hallway, hand still extended toward empty space.
Rowan appears beside me. "What in the hell was that?"
"Something's wrong. Something happened."
"Yeah." He drags a hand through his hair. "Figure this out." He grabs his coat from the foyer closet, lets himself out.
I climb to her floor. Knock. Three times, soft.
"Margot? Can we talk?"
Silence.
Then, muffled: "No."
I crouch, slide a note under the door.
When you're ready. I'm not going anywhere.
I straighten. Stay where I am. Count heartbeats. Sixteen, seventeen.
"I'm sorry." Her voice comes thick, choked through the wood. "I know that's not what you were doing up there. I overreacted. I shouldn't have—"
"Forget the reaction. What happened?" I lean my shoulder against the doorframe. "Please."
A pause. Shorter than the first.
"Malcolm Reyes came to the workshop. He had a client. The offer was what you'd expect."
My jaw tightens. "What did he want in return?"
"Me." The word cracks. "His client wants me at events as his show piece. He compared it to what I'm already doing with you." Her voice hardens. "Said it would be better money. More prestigious. A mutually beneficial arrangement between sophisticated adults."
I hear it. I hate it.
"Everett?" Her voice comes smaller.
"I'm here." The words scrape my throat raw. "Keep going."
Quiet.
I press my forehead against the door.
"I've been writing plays since I was sixteen," she continues, softer.
"I knew it wouldn't be easy. The competition.
The rejection. The constant hustle." Her voice wavers.
"I never thought people would assume my virtue could be bought.
That the only way forward involves trading dignity for opportunity. "
My chest splits open.
"When you introduced me to Rowan - when you said I was important - all I could hear was Malcolm's voice. Being paraded in front of important men. Playing the pretty, grateful accessory."
"Margot…"
"I know you weren't doing that." She's crying. I can hear it. "But for one horrible second I couldn't separate what you meant from what he implied. And I panicked."
Every word lands like a knife.
"Will I always be the temporary girl?" Her voice breaks completely. "The one you hired for appearances? What happens to my name when this ends? My reputation?"
Silence stretches, long and painful.
"Can I come in?" I ask. "Face to face."
Footsteps. Hesitation.
The door opens.
She stands in the threshold, face blotchy, eyes swollen, hair wild around her shoulders. Vulnerable in ways that hurt to look at directly.
"May I?" I gesture past her.
She nods. Steps back.
I don't close the distance. I let her have the room.
"I don't have your answers," I say. Plain. "Only you do."
Her eyes widen.
"Right now, if you want it, I'll write the check and fund your play. No strings. Full production run. Everything you need." I meet her gaze and hold it. "Right now, if you want to end this - merger or not - I won't stand in your way."
Her breath hitches. "Everett—"
"Let me finish." My voice drops. "I want things with you I don't have words for yet. I want to see what this becomes when there's no contract between us. No transaction. No agreement that was ever really about a merger."
I step closer. Inch by careful inch.
"That's everything I have. No conditions."
She goes completely still.
"But it doesn't matter what I want." I reach for her hands slowly, giving her time to pull away. "It only matters what we want. And I don't know that yet. Only you do."
She doesn't pull away.
Her trembling fingers thread through mine.
"Do you have any sort of response to what I've just said?"
The question hovers. Her answer holds the weight of everything we've been dancing around for weeks.