06. I am in charge.

– ARIANA –

~

"WHAT?!"

My best friends' voices penetrate loudly through the speaker of my phone. Katrina called a minute ago to ask how the party went, and Ivy joined seconds later, just in time to hear me admit I'd kissed Calvin Grey.

The sound of a chair scraping breaks the quiet, followed by Kat asking someone to complete a report before the sound of heels starts clicking rapidly across marble. She's likely looking for somewhere private to lose her mind.

"Are you sure it's THE Calvin Grey or some random guy named Calvin Grey?" Ivy finally finds her voice, though amazement strings the words.

"Which other Calvin grey would have access to a Lockwood private event?" I groan, feeling a headache begin to bloom behind my temples. My eyes turn toward the window as the car slows down at a red light.

She laughs. "Holy smokes, girl."

"Run that back, Ana," A door slams. It seems Kat has finally found a place she can conveniently express her shock. "What happened exactly?"

I sigh and tell them everything. From Nathan to the kiss to how Calvin kept me by his side the entire night and the card he left. By the time I'm done, there's radio silence from both of them and the car is moving again.

"O...kayy..." Ivy drawls after a while and clears her throat. "So... how was the kiss? Did you like it?"

Kat and I hiss at the same time.

"I don't know what else to say." She says defensively.

I throw my head back against the seat. The memory of the kiss flashes and I cringe so hard I nearly fold into myself

"I shouldn't have done that."

"You shouldn't." Katrina agrees.

"Gave the best results, didn't it? Nathan left like a wounded freak." Ivy sounds amused.

It probably is amusing, and she's not wrong about the results. They were perfect. I choose to believe Nathan will sleep with the sight of that kiss burned behind his eyelids. The thought relieves me from some of the humiliation I'm feeling.

"Sure. But Ana, you do recall that you wrote an article about this man and people spent months weaponizing your words against him, right?"

Katrina's words have me sinking back into the humiliating spiral I'd just managed to push myself out of. The article had been one opinion piece three years ago. It's not my fault half the internet decided to make it their favorite citation.

Years later, my opinion hasn't changed. If anything, I'd rewrite the article, spending less time on his ego and more on his arrogance.

"Oh shit. I forgot about that." Ivy exclaims. "What are you going to do now? He gave you his card."

"Don't call him." Kat objects

"I think you should." Ivy fires back. "She owes him an explanation. Also, she told Nathan they were together. What about that?"

"Nathan can assume whatever he wants." Kat counters. "What's the worst assumption? That they had a one-off encounter?"

Yes exactly. Besides, one-off or not, it did hurt him and his ego. That is what I wanted.

"And Calvin?" Ivy insists. "Ana, I'm coming over tomorrow night so we can make the call together."

A merciless pounding has settled behind my temples. "I'm not calling him."

Ivy may be right about Calvin deserving an explanation, but avoiding him entirely feels like the smarter option. I can only imagine what he thinks of me. Miserable woman is probably the kindest thing on that list.

God. Why him of all people?

"That's the best thing to do." Kat backs me up.

Ivy groans. "Ugh. You two hate fun."

"You think this is funny?" Kat asks, offended on my behalf.

"Yes. And pretty ironic." Ivy chuckles. "Also, I think Calvin Grey is a hell of a hot man despite all differences."

"Ivy." Kat warns.

"What? He is." I hate that I agree with her, even more so that my brain supplies his face to me as she continues. "I googled his latest pictures to make this observation."

"Ana," Kat continues, pointedly ignoring her, "you don't need to think about any of this tonight. Go home. Get some sleep. Tomorrow we'll talk more about this. And hopefully, it'll be less dramatic."

"Unfortunately, she's right." Ivy agrees after a beat.

We exchange goodnights and as the line disconnects, silence settles inside the car.

My eyes drift toward the city lights sliding past the window.

Calvin Grey.

The name alone makes me groan, and before I know it, the rest of the ride has slipped away beneath thoughts of him.

And I hate it.

~ ~ ~ ~

The rest of the weekend is swallowed by reports, legal briefs, a mountain of emails, and financial projections that have me questioning my entire life.

Come Monday morning, I've accumulated a headache, seventeen pages of notes and a growing suspicion that laying off several board members might improve productivity. Yet, despite everything, my biggest mistake this weekend was accidentally answering my father's call last night.

He made me promise that I'd be at dinner today, which annoys me because I don't want to talk to him yet.

To be honest, I don't want to talk to anyone.

But that's impossible, because the moment I step into the building, there's a trail of greetings I have to politely nod and smile my way through like everything is fine and under control, while they watch me a little too long like they're waiting to catch a crack in my composure.

I don't give them the satisfaction but I know that no one is relieved. They probably expected my dad walking through that door and not me.

"Good morning, Ms. Halberg." Mark appears beside me as I near the elevator.

He's dressed in a navy suit and crisp white shirt, carrying a tablet in one hand while a folder is tucked beneath the other arm and judging by the way he's holding it, there's a stack of files waiting inside.

Efficient as ever.

He works in HR and over the last two weeks, has been my eyes inside the company. Every update, every board development, every rumor worth knowing has landed in my inbox through him.

"Morning, Mark."

The elevator doors slide open and we step inside.

"How bad is it?" I ask when the doors close.

He doesn't pretend not to understand. "Two more investors requested meetings on Friday."

"To pull out?"

"To assess their options." Which is corporate language for yes.

"And the board?"

Mark exhales. "Still split."

"Meaning Tristan?"

"Yes, Ms Halberg."

Squeezing my eyes shut, I let out a slow exhale.

"How does he have such a hold on the board?" I ask. It's not impossible for Tristan. He's always been an ambitious snake but this... this is too much.

"Objectively..." Mark starts, and I know whatever comes next is going to get on my nerves. "Mr. Holloway had been quite... uh, careless, leaving Tristan room to earn the board's trust."

Sure enough, rage starts building in my chest but it's aimed at myself. At the complete trust I had in Nathan.

I turn my head. "Does that sound objective to you, Mark?"

"I was hoping it would."

I bite the inside of my cheek.

"You know what's actually objective, though?" I ask as the elevator chimes and the doors begin to slide open. Mark looks at me. I smile. "Tristan will not inherit my company."

He nods, returning the smile as we step out.

The assistants perk up and nervous greetings begin to pour in. I don't stop walking. One of them rushes over and starts saying something but my eyes narrow when I see a figure inside what is supposed to be my office.

"Who..."

The woman who rushed over answers before I can finish. "Mr. Tristan."

My eyebrows shoot up. I'm already angry but I try to rein it in as I walk toward the door and push it open.

My eyes go cold.

Tristan is sitting behind my desk.

One ankle is propped over the opposite knee, posture loose and comfortable like he owns the floor beneath him. The chair reclines slightly beneath his weight.

He's dressed in a grey suit tailored well enough to remind everyone he's a Halberg. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. His expression barely shifts when I walk in, though there's something smug lurking beneath it. The look of a man who's gotten a little too comfortable while the owner was away.

His gaze drifts over me.

"You know, when I heard that the 'boss' will be coming this morning, I didn't think it'd be you," He says, lips curving as he leans back slightly. "Uncle just lets you do anything, doesn't he? You disappear for two weeks while the company burns and you walk back here like you're in charge."

I walk inside, stopping before the desk before I pull out the chair opposite him and sit.

"I am in charge."

"Well, you suck at being in charge, Ariana." He huffs a laugh. "You've been gone for weeks after firing your boyfriend," My teeth clench at the word boyfriend. He continues. "Investors are nervous. The board is unstable. At some point someone has to make decisions."

My expression remains neutral even as I tilt my head. "And naturally, you volunteered?"

"Somebody had to."

"How noble!" I scoff.

"Ariana—"

"Tristan." I stand before he can continue. "Let's save ourselves some time."

Uncertainty flickers across his face for the first time as he looks at me.

"You think because my dad isn't here, the company is unattended and available." I state.

He shrugs. "A lot of people think that."

"Then they're going to be disappointed."

"Are they? Who will handle everything? You?" He laughs like it's the funniest thing he's thought of in a while. "This company deals with production... finance. We don't write here. Even if we did, you'd lack experience for that kind of writing like you do with running the company."

He pauses and searches my face for a reaction. I don't give him the luxury.

"You're right. But I own the company."

The smile slips from his face.

He knows very well experience can be debated but majority ownership cannot. That is why he's been trying so hard to suck up to the board and given his expression, that isn't really doing much for him...yet.

His mouth presses into a thin line. "That doesn't make you competent."

"Neither does sitting in my chair."

His jaw flexes at that. He holds my stare as he stands, smoothing a hand over his jacket. For a moment, I think he's going to continue arguing.

Instead, he smiles. The same smile he's used since we were children whenever he doesn't get his way.

"Good luck, Ariana," His voice drops. "But I'll warn you since you're my dearest cousin. You're going to need more than that chair to keep you here."

"Thank you, Tristan." I smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

He frowns and starts toward the door.

"Tristan."

He pauses, turning slightly.

"Before you go, I want to give you something."

He smirks arrogantly. "What could you possibly gift me, that wouldn't cause an atrocious headache."

"Don't worry, you've tested the set a few times and you seem quite attached so you'd love it." I say as I point toward the desk and the chair he rose from.

Glancing at Mark who has been standing silently by the door the whole time, I gesture at both furniture. "Have them moved to Tristan's office."

"What?" Tristan grits, brows narrowing into furious slits.

"Uh...uh..." Mark stutters as he steps forward. "The desk too?"

"Of course, Mark," My smile is taunting. "It would be cruel separating them."

Mark nods and immediately heads out.

Still, glaring at me, Tristan growls. "Are you insulting me, Ariana?"

Good to know he's gotten brighter over the years.

"Oh please, Tristan," I wave my hand about as I walk over to the armchair, dropping onto it and crossing my legs. "It's just a little token. I notice you've grown attached to them so why keep it with me?"

Tristan chuckles angrily as he lifts his index to point at me, eyes flashing with rage and challenge. Then, without another word, he turns and storms out.

The moment he's gone, I let myself collapse against the backrest, my gaze fixed on the ceiling.

That was a temporary fix at best. It bought me what... five minutes?

Yeah... I'm fucked.