“A gala,” I repeated flatly. “Of course.”
“It’s a MME,” he added, amusement suddenly shimmering in those deep green eyes.
“MME?” I asked.
He smiled just slightly, that infuriatingly confident curve of his mouth that always made wings flutter in my stomach. “A Mandatory Marriage Event.”
A laugh escaped me. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
“I hate you,” I muttered without any heat to the words whatsoever. “A gala. Shit.”
“You don’t hate me,” he said, and damn it, he was right.
We were still strangers. Still a business arrangement. Still a dozen unspoken truths away from anything real. But as he poured us each another glass of champagne, I couldn’t shake one consuming, unsettling thought, that this really might not be the disaster I expected.
In fact, it might just turn out to be something else entirely.
“MME?” I repeated, skeptical, but again, I really was curious about his expectations. “How many of these are there going to be and what exactly do they entail?”
“I’m not sure, but I anticipate there will be occasions to which we would be expected to show up together, hence, aMandatory Marriage Event,” Alex said casually, like this was a term normal couples used. “I suspect it’s mostly going to be you, me, a bunch of other rich people with money to pour into whatever foundations they think make them look like better people.”
I snorted. “Charming.”
“For us, this particular gala will be the first public event for our relationship. It’s also an opportunity for word to spread about the convergence of Thayer Steelworks and Westwood and Sons. I’m hopeful that will put pressure on our target board members to leave their seats.”
I felt a furrow forming between my eyebrows, convinced I was misunderstanding him. “Why does it matter if they leave? You have two votes now. Our seats take the board from seven to eight. Even numbers. That’s better leverage. My mom will always vote with us too.”
“Yes, but it might not be enough if the board is stacked against us,” he said, swirling the champagne in his glass. “If the current members stay, we still won’t have a majority. Don’t want that.”
“You’re making it sound like them resigning is inevitable,” I said. “That’s pretty optimistic.”
“It’s strategic,” he corrected, leaning back. “Once those seats vacate, and they will, I’ll move one of my brothers into that empty seat. Or one of your brothers, if they’re interested. Zach would be lethal on a board like that. He’d fucking love it.”
I stared at him, my fork stalling halfway to my mouth. “You’ve thought this far ahead?”
“Obviously.”
I set the bite of my appetizer I’d just speared back down slowly. “Okay, and you’re telling me this because…?”
“Because it affects you,” he said simply. “It affects us.”
There it was again.Us. We.
He kept saying it like it was the most natural thing in the world, like we were a seamless unit instead of two people thrown together by circumstance and desperation. It was confusing as hell. He wasn’t treating me like a pawn.
“What exactly do you have in mind if we get a majority?” I asked.
“We’d retake the board,” he said without skipping a beat. “Stabilize Thayer Steelworks. Rebuild what your father let rot and then we’ll move forward.”
“We,” I echoed softly. “You really keep saying that.”
His brow lifted and amusement flickered in his eyes again. “Should I not?”
“I’m not sure.” I pushed a piece of asparagus around my plate. “I’m not used to being part of a team.”
“You’ve been running a collapsing empire by yourself,” he said. “You shouldn’t have had to.”
