CHAPTER 13

Oliver's POV

The vote had passed nine to three.

By three o'clock that afternoon, Uncle Richard’s planned coup was officially dead in the water. Once the board saw the marriage certificate we’d signed yesterday morning and heard Elena's smooth speech about "keeping me grounded," the older investors fell right back into line. They liked stability. They liked a man who looked settled.

Now, I was leaning back in the leather chair in my office, staring at the financial projections on my laptop screen. The board issue was settled, but the real prize was still on the table: the massive merger with Sterling Global.

The heavy glass door to my office swung open.

Julian walked in, tossing a leather portfolio onto my glass coffee table before dropping himself onto the sofa. He unbuttoned his custom Italian suit jacket, kicked his feet up on the corner of the table, and pulled a silver flask from his pocket.

"How’s the fund doing?" I asked, watching him unscrew the cap without looking up from my monitor. "Still bleeding money on those commercial real estate shorts?"

"Up four percent this quarter, actually," Julian said, taking a quick sip. "My clients are happy, my traders are quiet, and I have enough free time to come watch you survive a board meeting." He set the flask down with a soft clink and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Your uncle looked like he swallowed glass when he walked out of the elevator. I almost felt bad for the guy."

"He thought he had the votes," I replied softly. "He didn't account for Elena."

Julian stopped. The sarcastic edge in his posture vanished. He stared across the room at me, his brow furrowing as he studied my face.

"Yeah. Speaking of her," Julian said, his voice dropping an octave. "What the hell was that, Oliver?"

I tapped a key on my laptop, opening the Sterling file. "What was what?"

"You had us over for drinks two nights ago, dropping vague hints about meeting someone," Julian said, his gaze fixed on mine. "Then I come over here today and find out you two went down to the courthouse yesterday morning, signed a marriage license, and just dropped her into a board meeting like a bomb. You don't do impulsive. You don't do 'love at first sight.' So tell me what's actually going on."

I kept my expression entirely static. "I told you at my place. She's different."

Julian let out a dry, breathless laugh and stood up. He walked over to my desk, leaning both hands flat against the dark wood and lowering his head to meet my eyes.

"Cut the crap, Oliver," he said quietly. "I saw the way you looked at her when she stepped into that room today. You were checking her timing like she was reading off a cue card. And she didn't look at you like a woman who just got married—she looked at you like a soldier reporting for duty."

I picked up a pen, rolling it slowly between my thumb and forefinger. "Julian."

"Is she blackmailing you?" he pressed, refusing to step back. "Are you paying her? Because if Richard catches wind that this is a stunt to lock in the Sterling deal, the SEC is going to pull this entire building apart brick by brick."

"Back off," I said, my tone flat and even.

Julian held my gaze for three long seconds, searching for a crack in my composure. Finding none, he let out a sharp breath, pushed himself off the desk, and ran a hand through his hair.

"Fine," he muttered, reaching down to snatch his portfolio off the table. "Keep it to yourself. But if this blows up, don't pretend you didn't see it coming."

"It won't," I said, leaning back in my chair. "My team is already setting up a formal banquet for next Friday."

Julian paused near the door, turning his head. "A banquet?"

"A joint announcement," I said. "We finalize the Sterling Global merger, and we introduce Elena to the press as my wife. Every major investor in the city in one room. Once the photos hit the wire, the merger is locked, and Richard is completely finished."

Julian stared at me for a moment, a mix of disbelief and quiet frustration in his eyes.

"A press banquet in eight days," Julian said, reaching for the door handle. "Make sure she knows her lines, Oliver. Because next Friday, every camera in New York is going to be pointed right at her."