“Living apart works.” Something in my father’s tone made my skin crawl. He glanced at Violeta, then back at me. A knowing look. Man to man. “Behind closed doors is your own business, but she needs to show up when it’s important. The point is the optics. Everything else is up to you.”
His meaning was clear: go ahead and fuck around. Just keep it quiet. Like he did.
There was a joke in there about being a chip off the old block, but for once, I wasn’t in a joking mood. At this point, I was ninety-nine percent sure my stomachache had nothing to do with a lack of breakfast and more to do with the idea of screwing with Laney Fisher. I just didn’t understand it.
Unfortunately, there was only one thing to say.
“I’ll talk to her,” I muttered. “See what I can arrange. After the board meeting, I’ll probably need to spend some time in Seattle. Get to know her family better, and whatnot. Marriage is about compromise, right, Dad?”
On his other side, Violeta snorted but withered under my father’s death stare.
And that, in a nutshell, was what it meant to be married to Niall Black.
“Do what you have to do,” he said. “And Ronan?”
It was everything I could do to meet his eye. Not look away. Perform the confidence demanded of me in this new position.
“It does matter.”
And that, as they say, was that.
The meeting ended, but as my family left the room for dinner, I stayed behind long enough to dial my assistant.
“Mr. Black,” Claire answered on the first ring. “How can I help, sir?”
“Have the jet ready after tomorrow’s staff meeting. I need to go to Seattle.”
“Of course. For how long?” Her voice, always professional, bore no trace of surprise. Nor would it, after everything I’d put her through. When you’ve been woken at three a.m. with requests for Twizzlers, wire cutters, and a heli-rescue from a yacht in the Indian Ocean, nothing fazes you.
“I don’t know yet. But I need accommodations. A hotel, somewhere in Ballard, wherever the fuck that is. And a car.”
“Done. Will anyone else be accompanying you?”
I thought about that for a moment. Ideally, I’d be doing this on my own. But due to the nature of my business, I rarely traveled without security. Now that I was about to become the public face of the company, my risk was going to multiply exponentially.
“Get Mac a place next to mine.”
“Of course, sir. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Find out everything you can about Meráki Fashion, and do a background check on Delaney Fisher.” My father wouldbe doing the same thing, but I needed my own information from my own people.
Rule number one to being a Black: trust no one. Not even each other.
“Of course, sir. I’ll have those ready for you tomorrow.”
I hung up before she could ask more questions. Then I scrolled to Laney’s contact and pulled up her location.
Was it fucked up that I’d turned on location services for a person I never intended to see again?
Probably?
Did my moral compass give a shit?
Only a little. But only because it was Laney. My Mrs. Black. Only she doesn’t know that name has not—will not—be wiped away by an annulment.
She never seemed to go anywhere. For the last two days, I’d watched her little dot exist within a five-block radius, spending most of its time at her shop with occasional excursions to the grocery store and a yoga studio called The Om Tree down the street.
Laney Fisher lived a quiet, predictable life.
