Chapter 9 - His Fiancée

Ailsa had ninety minutes to become the kind of woman people thought they already understood.

Sinclair communications moved fast.

By the time she and Callum reached the private meeting room two floors below his office, a photographer was waiting, along with Callum's chief of staff and two people whose job appeared to be removing every accidental detail from the next hour.

"No proposal story," Ailsa said.

"We agreed," Callum replied.

"No wedding date," Ailsa said.

"We agreed."

"No statement about Exit endorsing this."

His chief of staff glanced at Callum.

"We agreed," he said again.

The photographer asked them to stand near the window.

Ailsa did.

Callum stepped beside her.

Too far away.

One of the communications people looked at them, then at the ring on Ailsa's hand.

"You look like colleagues."

"We're improving already," Ailsa said.

Callum's mouth shifted.

The photographer lowered the camera. "Closer, please."

Ailsa felt every clause they had negotiated turn into something physical.

Callum did not touch her.

He only moved half a step and waited.

Her choice.

Fine.

Ailsa closed the remaining distance until her shoulder rested lightly against his arm. Callum looked down at her. She gave the smallest nod.

His hand settled at her lower back.

Not gripping. Not claiming.

A public fact they had invented together.

The camera clicked.

"Look at each other."

That was worse.

Ailsa turned.

Callum was already watching her.

For one ridiculous second, she forgot what expression she was supposed to wear. His face was too close, his attention too direct. Then his fingers shifted once against the fabric at her back.

A signal, not a caress.

Ready?

She understood him.

Ailsa let herself smile as if he had said something private.

The camera clicked again.

"That's the one."

Callum released her immediately.

Good.

The image went out eight minutes later with a short statement: Callum Sinclair and Ailsa Fraser were engaged. The engagement was recent and private. They would share no further details that night.

Ailsa watched the first thousand reactions arrive before the room had finished pretending the statement was controlled.

The replacement-match rumor vanished under it.

Everything else caught fire.

EXIT FOUNDER ENGAGED TO SINCLAIR CEO DAYS AFTER RUNAWAY BRIDE SCANDAL.

One headline asked whether Ailsa had "rescued" Eilidh Sinclair only to enter the family herself.

Another used a photograph of Eilidh leaving the wedding beside a photograph of the diamond now on Ailsa's hand.

The implication did not need to be written.

She had helped one Sinclair woman leave a marriage and rewarded herself with Sinclair wealth.

"Don't read the comments," Callum said.

Ailsa kept scrolling.

"I'm not reading comments. I'm reading what people are being told about my company."

Her phone began vibrating.

Mairi.

Ailsa answered. "I know."

"Do you?"

That was not a good opening.

Ailsa moved away from the table. "Tell me."

"Our main account has gained twelve thousand followers in twenty minutes."

"That's not necessarily bad," Ailsa said.

"Half of them think we're a cult for rich men's girlfriends."

Ailsa closed her eyes.

Mairi continued. "The intake inbox is flooded. People are asking whether Sinclair money bought access to client information. Someone has posted that Eilidh was a setup."

"It wasn't."

"I know that. You know that. The internet has apparently formed a committee."

Callum looked over.

Ailsa turned her back to him.

"What else?"

"A volunteer took a call from a woman who wanted help leaving a financially controlling partner. She hung up after asking whether Sinclair Group funds us."

The sentence landed harder than every headline.

Ailsa's grip tightened around the phone.

"Did we get a number?"

"No."

"Can we trace the call?" Ailsa asked.

"Not without violating exactly the kind of privacy we tell people we protect."

Of course.

Ailsa stared at the wall.

This was the cost. Not embarrassment. Not strangers calling her a hypocrite.

Someone who might have needed Exit had looked at Ailsa's ring and wondered whether the door was still safe.

"I'll come in."

"Tomorrow morning," Mairi said. "Tonight you'd bring every camera in Edinburgh with you."

Ailsa hated that she was right.

"Keep the team on the existing privacy script. Nobody discusses the Sinclairs. Nobody discusses Eilidh," Ailsa said.

"Already done."

"And no one promises funding changes we haven't finalized."

A pause.

"Also already done."

Mairi was angry, not incompetent.

Ailsa exhaled. "I'll call you in an hour."

"You'd better."

The line went dead.

When she turned, Callum was no longer looking at his phone.

"What happened?"

"Exit happened."

Before he could ask more, his own phone rang.

He checked the name and put it on speaker.

Alistair.

"I assume this is deliberate," his father said.

"Yes."

"Then it is either very clever or very expensive."

Ailsa folded her arms.

Callum said, "The Campbell match is no longer a credible option."

"No. You have made sure of that."

There was no congratulations in Alistair's voice. No welcome to the family for Ailsa. Only assessment.

Malcolm Campbell, apparently, had already requested a conversation. Two family shareholders wanted to know whether Ailsa's relationship with Exit created reputational exposure for Sinclair Group.

Ailsa almost laughed.

Everyone was worried about contamination. They simply disagreed about which direction it flowed.

Alistair ended with, "If this is your solution, make it hold."

The call ended.

A minute later, a message appeared on Callum's screen. He read it and handed the phone to Ailsa.

Moira Sinclair.

If you're going to ask the world to believe this, stop standing beside her like she's a witness you're cross-examining.

Ailsa looked up.

Callum looked offended.

"Your mother may be my favorite Sinclair."

"Don't encourage her."

His chief of staff opened the door. "Press are outside the main entrance. More than expected. We can move you through the garage."

Callum looked at Ailsa.

The easy answer was yes.

The believable answer was not.

"If we hide after announcing it, it looks wrong," Ailsa said.

"I agree."

"That's becoming disturbing."

They went downstairs together.

The doors opened onto light.

Questions hit first.

"When did this begin?"

"Did you meet through Eilidh?" a reporter asked.

"Ms. Fraser, did Exit arrange the relationship?"

"Callum, is this why your sister left?"

Ailsa's body locked for half a beat.

Callum's hand appeared between them, palm up.

Not taking.

Offering.

She put her hand in his.

The noise changed.

They walked.

At the car, a reporter shouted, "Ailsa, did helping Eilidh leave make you part of the Sinclair family?"

She stopped.

Callum stopped with her.

His fingers did not tighten.

Ailsa could feel the question he was not asking aloud.

Keep moving?

Answer?

Her choice.

She faced the cameras.

"Exit helped Eilidh exercise a choice she made herself. My private life does not change that."

"Did Sinclair money pay for Exit's help?"

"No," Ailsa said.

"Will it now?"

That one struck close enough to make her pulse jump.

Callum shifted beside her.

Not forward. Not in front.

Just enough for her to register that he was waiting for her lead.

Ailsa looked straight at the reporter.

"Exit's independence is not for sale."

She got into the car.

Only after the door shut did she let go of Callum's hand.

Her phone vibrated again before the driver pulled away.

An email notification.

Then another.

Then six.

The subject lines were all variations of the same question.

Can we still trust Exit?

Ailsa looked at the ring on her finger.

The engagement was fake.

The damage was already real.