"Define fine."
"She goes to work. She goes home. She watches Buffy the Vampire Slayer re-runs and orders too much Thai food. She's not talking to the press. That's fine."
Christian raises an eyebrow. "You know what she orders for dinner?"
"James is thorough in his reports."
"Jesus Christ, Victor." Christian sets down his drink. "You're actually tracking your wife's food delivery habits?"
"I'm making sure she's safe from photographers and not doing anything that will jeopardize this arrangement."
"Right. Because Thai food is famously scandalous."
"Fuck off, Christian."
Roman leans forward, blue eyes sharp despite his casual posture. "How bad is the board situation?"
I take a long drink before answering. "We have another meeting on Monday."
Christian's smile vanishes. "Shit. Two meetings in one week?"
"Patricia Franklin is using the wedding as ammunition," I continue, because if I don't say it out loud, I might convince myself it's not happening. "She's framing it as evidence of poor judgment. Instability. Everything she's been waiting to weaponize since I fired her nephew."
"Her nephew was sexually harassing female employees," Roman says, broad shoulders squaring. "You did the right thing."
"Patricia doesn't see it that way. She sees an opportunity." I eye the contents of my glass. "And with the Francis acquisition hanging by a thread after his brothel arrest, she's positioning herself as the voice of reason. The stable hand who can steady the ship."
"By ousting you as CEO," Christian finishes.
"Exactly."
"What are the numbers looking like? On the acquisition?"
"The numbers are solid. But numbers don't matter when the board is questioning my competence. Patricia's got three votes locked. I've got four. The rest are swinging based on who makes the better argument Monday morning."
Roman whistles low. "That's close."
"Too close." I set down my glass. "Which is why I can't afford any more mistakes. No more scandals. No more viral videos. Nothing that gives Patricia ammunition."
"And Harper?" Christian asks, watching me. "How does she factor into all this?"
"She doesn't. She stays quiet, shows up when I need her to, and in two months we end this cleanly."
"Will she now?" Christian's tone is skeptical.
"She will. My publicist had her sign a non-disclosure agreement yesterday.”
"An agreement you essentially forced her to sign because you're her boss and she had no real choice."
I don't answer, and Roman shifts in his chair, grin curling. "You bringing her to the Hamptons for my wedding?"
“Fuck no,” I bark fast. Much too fast.
"Interesting." He sips. "Because it's not like you to get rattled."
"I'm not rattled."
Roman stretches out his legs. "Then why haven't you just fired her and dealt with the optics?"
