Chapter 34
Everett
My assistant glances up, registers Margot beside me, and her eyebrows lift a fraction before professionalism smooths her expression.
"Morning, Mr. Lockwood. Your nine o'clock with Celeste is confirmed, and…"
"Cancel it." I keep my stride even. "Reschedule for tomorrow. I have HR appointments this morning."
"HR?" My assistant blinks. "I don't have anything on your…"
"Personal matter." I stop, turn to Margot. "I'll find you at lunch?"
"Lunch." She nods, professional mask sliding into place. This woman who negotiated contract terms. The one who walked out of Bergdorf's with her spine straight and her dignity intact. "I'll be around."
I watch her walk towards the assistant pool before going down to PR's communication center. The way she moves, confident now, shoulders back, sends satisfaction through my chest. She's not disappearing into my world anymore. She's claiming space in it.
Focus. HR. Then the board meeting at one. Then…
Then I get to take her somewhere celebratory and prove Grant Sutherland's noise means nothing.
I head to HR.
***
Jenny Albright gestures me into her office without preamble. "Everett. What can I do for you? Now?" And she smiles.
"Status change." I settle into the chair across from her desk. "Margot Bennett. She's currently listed as executive assistant assigned temporarily to PR, communications department."
She pulls up her screen, fingers moving across the keyboard. "Ms. Bennett. Yes. We reassigned her recently. Now what kind of status change?"
"Independent contractor. Consultant role." I lean forward, elbows on knees. "I need the paperwork ironclad. Fully compliant, no gray areas."
Her gaze sharpens. "This is personal."
Not a question. An observation.
"This is a relationship," I correct. "One I'm handling appropriately. The dynamics have changed. As such, there are new guidelines to adhere to."
"She'll still be on company property?"
"As a consultant. With her own contracts. Her own terms." I meet her eyes. "There will be unusual conditions. Friday afternoons unavailable. Extended vacation allowances. She has commitments outside this building."
She leans back, studying me. Twenty years means she's seen everything. Board coups. Merger disasters. Executives who thought the rules didn't apply.
"You're certain about this?" Her tone carries weight. "Personal relationships with employees, even former employees, create exposure. Legal liability. Perception problems."
"I'm aware."
"Are you? The board…"
"This is all at the board's door. Their idea. Their push. They wanted stability. Someone who anchors me to something beyond quarterly returns." My jaw tightens. "I'm giving them exactly what they asked for."
She taps her pen against her desk. The sound echoes in the quiet office.
"I'll have the documents ready by end of day," she says. "Independent contractor. Consultant status, with the unusual terms included. You'll both need to sign."
"Thank you."
I stand. She doesn't.
"Everett." She uses my first name, reserving it for moments requiring emphasis. "Be careful. The board is watching. They always are."
"I know."
"Do you?" She tilts her head. "Grant Sutherland has been asking questions. Making noise."
"Let him make noise." I button my jacket.
The words land heavier than I intend. Her expression shifts. Surprise, then something softer. Understanding, perhaps.
"Good," she says. "It's about time."
My phone buzzes as I leave HR. Calendar alert. Board meeting moved to 3 p.m. New information to review.
I smile.
Grant took the bait.
I pull out my phone, type a message to Margot: All systems go.
I pocket the phone and head for my office. Four hours until the board meeting. Four hours to prepare for whatever character assassination Grant has planned.
Time to deal with a 'dull and muddy-mettled rascal.'
***
The boardroom fills at 2:55 p.m. Lenora Harrow has been waiting with me, her iron spine and elegant suit creating the kind of presence that makes junior executives check their posture.
The other board members filter in. Davidson from legal. Martinez from operations. Whitfield from finance. And Grant Sutherland, sliding into his chair with the expression of a man holding a winning hand.
She nods at me, takes her seat at the head of the table. I lean back, fingers steepled, and wait.
Lenora calls the meeting to order. "We're here to finalize details before the upcoming summit. The Hartwell Group expects answers on the remaining integration questions." She glances at her notes. "Starting with the technology infrastructure concerns they raised last week…"
"Before we get into that." Grant's voice cuts through the agenda. He's smooth. Confident. "I have concerns about our representation."
Lenora's gaze sharpens. "Concerns?"
"About sending the right people to finalize this merger.
" Grant leans forward, hands flat on the table.
"We've upset the Hartwell Group recently with last-minute issues.
They are a family-focused brand. Very traditional family values.
Conservative leadership. Given the recent changes and questions raised, are we certain we're presenting the image they expect? "
Ice settles in my veins. Here it comes.
"Explain yourself, Grant." Lenora's tone could freeze steel.
"The revolving door of companions. The tabloid photos.
Recent negotiation changes that have altered the perception of our stability.
" Grant's gaze sweeps the table, gathering support.
"The only reason it's stayed quiet the past few months is a babysitter situation the company is paying for.
More than that, he's made financial commitments to entities without board approval.
Children's programs and community centers.
He is using company funds for personal…"
"Stop." Lenora's voice cracks through the room. "Everett. Address these allegations."
I take my time. Uncross my legs. Lean forward. Let the silence stretch until every person at this table feels the weight of it.
"I have no idea what he's talking about." My voice stays level and controlled. "I've complied with every request regarding my personal life. And it might surprise you…" I glance at the faces around the table. "I'm serious about someone. I have been for weeks."
Davidson shifts in his seat. Martinez's eyebrows lift.
"Of course," I continue, "I didn't realize my relationship status was board relevant.
HR guidelines state any relationship must be disclosed as soon as there's awareness of it, provided those involved aren't in the same department and have no financial conflicts.
I've followed protocol." I pause. "So I'd appreciate understanding what we're discussing here. "
Grant's jaw tightens.
"As for the merger." I reach for the portfolio in front of me, flip it open.
"Perhaps if more attention went to reading the updated terms instead of monitoring my dating life, you'd notice our entry into additional markets is what makes this merger desirable.
The Hartwell Group wants to expand beyond family-only branding. We're their gateway."
"The financial commitments…" Grant tries.
"Documentation." I cut him off. "Show me the documentation of inappropriate company expenditures."
His face flushes. "I was given information…"
"Information or gossip?" My tone sharpens. "There's a difference. What I did as a private citizen was fund a children's theater workshop. The credit went to the company for community relations purposes, but the money was mine. Personal funds. Personal choice."
Grant's hands curl into fists on the polished table.
"Someone indicated corporate funds were involved. That it wasn't…"
"Someone told you gossip." I lean back. "And you brought it to a board meeting without verification.
Without documentation. Without basic due diligence.
" I let the words land. "If this is how you hold up in a friendly boardroom, it demonstrates exactly why you're not ready for tense negotiations in Paris. "
The silence that follows is deafening.
Lenora's gaze moves from Grant to me, assessing, calculating.
"Indeed." Her voice carries finality. "We have the best two representatives at this meeting being sent to Paris. Perhaps, Grant, you might want to reassess what you're bringing to this board if rumor and lack of knowledge constitute your portfolio."
Grant's face goes from red to white. "I was acting on good faith…"
"Good faith requires verification." Lenora closes her folder. "Moving on. Technology infrastructure questions from the Hartwell Group..."
The meeting continues. Details about server integration. Data migration timelines. The minutiae of combining two companies into something larger, more profitable, more stable.
I contribute where needed. Answer questions. Provide clarity on implementation schedules.
Grant stays silent.
Forty minutes later, Lenora adjourns the meeting. Board members gather papers, exchange quiet words, filter toward the door.
Grant leaves first. Head down. Shoulders tight.
I stay seated, reviewing notes I don't need to review.
Lenora approaches. Settles into the chair beside mine instead of standing over me. A gesture of equals, not superior to subordinate.
"Do you know what that was about?" Her voice is quiet. Curious, not accusing.
I set down my pen. Meet her eyes. "Sometimes it's a good thing to have rotation in leadership. Keep things fresh. Focused on the company instead of distractions."
She studies my face. Two decades of reading people, of surviving boardroom wars, of navigating personalities and egos and ambitions.
Her mouth curves. Not quite a smile. Something sharper. Respect, perhaps.
"Okay," she says.
She stands. Smooths her jacket. Walks toward the door.
At the threshold, she pauses. Glances back.
"Paris will be intense." Her tone stays neutral. "I'm glad you have something worth coming home to."
She leaves.
I sit in the empty boardroom, surrounded by leather chairs and mahogany and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking my city. The silence feels different than usual. Lighter. Like I shed weight I didn't realize I carried.
My phone rests on the table. I pick it up and type: Reason to celebrate tonight. We're going out on the town.
I hit send before I can reconsider. That restaurant. Where Celeste's plan to go public became real. The night I kissed Margot for the first time, everything shifting in a single moment.
The night we knew there was something more going on than pretending.
I pocket the phone. Gather my papers. Head for the door.
Grant Sutherland tried to destroy me with gossip and speculation. He failed. The board stands behind me. Paris is secure. The merger moves forward.
And tonight, I get to take Margot back to where it started. Where a plan to go public became something real.
Standing here with celebration plans forming, I realize something has shifted.
I'm building.