Page 172 of His Good Girl

Dana sat on his right, red pen in hand because apparently some women brought knives to a fight and some brought office supplies with lethal intent. Tom sat two chairs to Callum’s left, pale but energized, like a man who had discovered, somewhere between blackmail and breakfast, that he had a spine and wanted to use it. Benjamin stood behind Callum’s chair with his tablet tucked against his ribs, dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit with his chin held high.

And I sat beside Callum. I kept my hands folded in my lap and tried to breathe like a woman who belonged in a room where billionaires, lawyers, and corporate villains discussed whether her private life could be converted into municipal leverage.

A few minutes later, Benjamin glanced down at his phone.

“He’s upstairs,” he said. “With the associate.”

Dana’s mouth flattened. “Of course he brought a witness.”

“Witness is generous,” Benjamin said. “I was thinking decorative accomplice.”

Tom adjusted his recorder. “Everyone remember, we are not making threats.”

Callum’s gaze shifted to me.

“You still want to be here?” he asked.

No one spoke.

I looked at Callum, the man who had tried to withdraw from Hartwell to protect me because he had chosen me. The man who had listened when I told him that protecting me could not mean turning me into the price of his surrender.

“Yes,” I said.

His eyes held mine for one more second.

Then the door opened and Grant Vale walked in like a man who had never once been slapped and therefore believed himself immune to the backhand he was about to receive. His associate followed behind him, navy blue dress, sleek hair, no visible soul. She carried a slim folder and a phone she placed face down on the table with exaggerated care.

Vale’s eyes moved around the room, glancing over everyone before landing on me. A tiny flicker of surprise passed through his expression.

“Mr. Rowe,” he said contemptuously, taking a seat without being invited. “I assume this means you’ve reconsidered.”

Callum did not move. “I have not.” His deep, steady voice commanded the room.

Vale blinked once. “No?”

“No.”

His mouth curved, but the smile was thinner now. “That’s unfortunate. I don’t think you understand the exposure.”

“I understand it.”

“Do you?” Vale’s eyes flicked to me, then away. “Personal embarrassment is one thing. Public confidence is another. Hartwell is already politically delicate. If certain materials were to become part of the conversation?—”

“Stop,” Callum said.

Vale paused.

Callum leaned back slightly. “You’ve already done the performance. We know the script. It was boring the first time.”

Benjamin’s mouth twitched as Vale’s associate shifted in her chair and Vale’s smile disappeared completely. Tom flicked the USB drive across the table in an impressively confident move. It slid smoothly over the polished surface and stopped in front of Vale’s folded hands.

“What is this?” Vale asked.

“A courtesy copy,” Tom said.

Vale did not touch it.

Smart man.