I might’ve been imagining things, but I could’ve sworn I saw just a fraction of tension ease from her shoulders. Then she slowly brought her gaze back to mine. The expression in her eyes was different now, the tiniest flicker of curiosity in them.
“Yeah?”
I scoffed down a laugh I hadn’t been expecting. “Absolutely, yeah. Before my mom passed, it was okay. She was there. Most of the time, anyway, but after? I won’t lie. Our house was mostly one big shit show.”
She laughed, blinking hard like she was surprised about it, but I definitely saw some of the tension leave her shoulders. “Itlooks like we’ve finally found something we have in common. Absent parents. You’re lucky your mom was there. Mine has always been like this, but it’s worse now. After everything that happened with my dad.”
Her jaw tightened and I leaned back, trying to absorb the reality of what our marriage would mean for her. She wasn’t thinking about optics, shared spaces, press releases, or even boardroom power shifts.
She was thinking about a seventeen-year-old kid and whether he would have clean clothes and someone to make sure he had warm meals if she wasn’t there. The silence that settled between us was suddenly awkward, strained despite the moment of connection.
“This doesn’t have to be immediate,” I said finally. “Living together. We’ll figure it out.”
Something flickered across her beautiful face, relief mixed with caution. Like she was afraid to trust me but was kind of starting to want to. I’d take it.
As far as I was concerned, progress was progress and this was progress. We finished our espressos, and eventually, she rose, smoothing the front of her coat with a practiced, graceful ease.
“Okay, then,” she said almost primly, as if she wasn’t sure how to act now that she’d confided something personal in me. “I’ll see you on Monday. For our wedding.”
“Monday,” I echoed, rising as she gathered her purse and watching as she left the cafe, disappearing into a flurry of snow as if the city had swallowed her whole.
My original plan for the day had included checking in on things at the office, and though I’d gotten sidetracked—severely—I still intended on popping in for at least an hour.
It was even more important now actually. Zach and Nate were probably over there, busting their asses trying to push this acquisition through without knowing things had taken a bit of adifferent turn. I would be an asshole to let them keep working when it wasn’t necessary anymore.
Still, I briefly considered letting them keep going. But in the end, I needed to tell someone about this anyway, and since Trent was in Texas and Jameson suddenly had half a million kids and was in San Francisco, it was going to have to be Nate.
As I’d expected, I found him in his office at Westwood and Sons’ HQ, hunched over a screen and scrolling through what appeared to be mountains of paperwork.
“You’re here early,” he said without looking up.
I frowned. “It’s almost two.”
“It’s also Saturday. That means it’s early. By approximately two days.”
I chuckled, but it faded into a groan as I scrubbed both palms over my face and lowered myself into the chair on the other side of his desk. When I’d woken up this morning, I’d been single.
In the space of about six hours, I’d gone from finding out I was betrothed, to getting engaged, to having my wedding set up for less than forty-eight hours from now.
Nate finally glanced over at me, his eyes sharp as he scanned my face like he could read the incredulity in it—and he probably could. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Zach can back off. It’s done.”
Nate’s spine shot straight, his blond eyebrows rising as he blinked at me. “The Thayer acquisition is done? How?”
“It’s no longer necessary.” I exhaled harshly, running a hand through my hair and knowing that once I said this out loud to my brother, it was suddenly going to become very, very real. “My wife will soon be the CEO of Thayer Steelworks. We’ve got them, Nate. The prenup is signed, so tell Zach to back off and come with me. We’re going out. It looks like tonight is going to have to be my fucking bachelor party.”
CHAPTER 11
JANE
If Nora said one more thing about all the ways in which my life could implode before noon, I might actually walk into traffic. Voluntarily. Gladly.
She’d spent the entire ride to the courthouse so far, thirty-seven very long minutes, in the back of the black sedan Alex had sent, rattling off increasingly dramatic scenarios. “What if he changed his mind?”
“What if he’s late and the judge leaves?”
“What if he meant another courthouse? Jane, what if we’re going to the wrong courthouse?”
