Chapter 7

Raymond's POV

I was sitting in the chair at the head of the huge mahogany table, hoping for the meeting to end as soon as possible.

Mara was halfway through her pitch on Project Synergy. Her voice kept resounding in my ears, backed by a slideshow of graphs that looked like every other graph I’d seen in the last decade.

“…which means our market entry window is narrow but optimal,” she said, a laser pointer circling a bar chart.

I leaned back in my chair as I found myself watching a single bird glide past the window—lucky bastard.

It wasn't like I hated board meetings, just that I wasn't in the mood for this one. Not when she was on my mind.

I kept thinking about what happened in the morning. I still couldn't believe I had called her Nuelle. That was stupid of me.

I had suggested breakfast to help clear her mind and try to make her let it go.

The truth was, I wasn't ready for her to find out who I was. And I never might be.

“Mr. Jefferson?” Mara’s voice cut through my thoughts like a branch suddenly getting snapped under a person's foot.

I blinked and straightened slightly, pretending to have been following.

“Go on,” I said flatly, gesturing for her to continue.

She hesitated, then pressed a button. The next slide flicked up. It contained buzzwords, projections, and risk assessments.

It was impressive if you were the kind of person impressed by effort instead of outcome.

“We’ll need to reallocate about six percent from the advertising budget,” she added. “And approval for a soft rollout in Q3.”

David from Finance cleared his throat. “And if it fails, we lose a key portion of our Q4 safety net. It's a gamble.”

I smiled vaguely. “So is breakfast, Dave. Have you ever eaten eggs and just… hope they’re not bad?”

A few chuckles erupted in the room. Mara looked irritated, and David mortified. But I didn’t care. It's not like they could do anything about it.

I glanced at the clock—fifteen minutes longer than I intended to stay. My patience, just like the coffee in front of me, had long gone cold.

I stood abruptly, pushing my chair back. “You have my answer. Move forward. If it burns, we learn. If it wins, I’ll pretend I believed in it the whole time.”

“But sir—”

“Meeting adjourned.” I buttoned my blazer as I cut Mara off and strode out.

Behind me, the air shifted with whispers and quick tapping on tablets. I knew they would hate me for what I did, but I didn't care.

It would just be like adding a few more names to the list.

The elevator was too slow. I stared at my reflection in the mirror-like doors.

My hair was styled as usual. Elle always said it made me look “presidential.” And with a smirk that made me forget half the world wanted my head on a platter of gold.

She was better at this game than I was When Elle smiled, people leaned in. When I did, they stepped back. She was everything I wasn't and more.

I glanced at my watch. It was already late, which meant she would be home. I couldn't wait to see her.

As I stepped into the lobby, the sound hit first—a swarm of voices. Then the flashes, one after another like a firing squad of white light.

“Mr. Jefferson!”

“Mr. Jefferson, just a minute—”

“Over here, sir!”

The security faltered, caught off guard by how many of the media personnel had slipped through.

I raised a hand to my face to prevent the lights from getting into my eyes but didn’t slow down.

“Is your wife on the executive board?” one reporter barked.

“What’s Elle Jefferson’s official title?”

“Why hasn’t her position been disclosed in the last filing?”

“Is it true she married you after two months of dating?”

I kept walking, jaw tight as I ignored them.

Why were they interested in my and Elle's lives suddenly?

“Is Elle qualified for her role or did she marry into it?” another called out, sharper than the rest.

“Many believe she’s a gold digger—any comment on that?”

That made me stop. I turned slowly. Microphones towards me as eyes widened eagerly.

“Wasn’t she a bartender before meeting you?” someone else shot back.

I ignored them and turned to keep walking.

“But did she marry you for the numbers?”

A wave of silence flooded the place as I halted in my tracks in my tracks. That was it.

I turned to find the person who had asked the question. Everyone seemed to have gotten the message. They moved, making a path towards a young man. I guess he was the one who had asked.

He looked young and cocky with a microphone trembling slightly in his hand.

“Ask her,” I said simply, a frown on my face. “She’s not the kind of woman who lets people speak for her.”

Then I turned and stepped into the car waiting at the curb. The door slammed, muting the chaos.

But even behind the glass, I could see the headlines forming in their eyes.

And in the center of them all—Elle.

A chuckle escaped from my lips as I replayed everything in my head. If a headline is what they want, then a headline is what I would give to them.

I pulled out my phone from my pocket and dialed a number.

"Hello, Sir," Curtis, my assistant replied. "Good evening."

"Contact the COO, I want Elle to be promoted to the highest level in her department."

"But Sir, that would mean—"

"Yes," I muttered, my lips curving into a smile. "She will be the new Managing Director."