I walk across the space, mentally rearranging furniture, clients, files. I can already picture the transformation. Clean lines. Light wood. A reception desk bathed in sunlight. “Perfect.”
“The location is incredible,” he says, following behind me—closer than before. “And private parking? That’s a diamond in London.” His voice drops a tone. “Just like you, Mrs. Weister.”
I freeze for a second, then slowly turn around.
“Excuse you?” I ask, my voice sharp, but polite.
He chuckles like we’re sharing some private joke. “I mean—you strike me as someone who’s got it all together. Beauty, brains, power. Most women in your position don’t have your kind of presence.”
I stiffen, adjusting my bag on my shoulder and putting some distance between us. But he closes the gap again, undeterred.
“You know,” he continues, lowering his voice further, “I could always show you other properties… in a more personal setting. Maybe over a drink? Purely professional, of course.” His eyes slide over me in a way that makes my skin crawl.
I take another deliberate step back, pretending to glance around the room again.
“I’m not interested in renting. Go ahead and prepare the contract for purchase.”
His eyes light up with a touch too much enthusiasm. “Well, that was fast. I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
“I’m not in the market for anything else,” I say coolly, locking eyes with him. “This office will do just fine. Prepare the contract.”
“Straight to the point,” he mutters, then smiles. “I like that. Though I have to say, if I were your husband, I’d be worried about letting a woman like you out alone. You could cause all sorts of trouble.”
My lips press into a thin line. The chill in my spine becomes ice. I feel a presence before I even see it.
Morris.
He steps inside, slow and silent, but with that imposing calm only trained men have. He doesn’t say anything, but his presence alone slices through the tension like a knife. I see Landlon’s eyes flick to him, and just like that, the swagger deflates a little.
“Well then,” I say, turning back to Mr. Landlon with the sweetest smile I can muster, laced with steel. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be waiting on that contract.”
“I—of course,” he says, adjusting his collar and clearing his throat. “I’ll be in touch, Mrs. Weister.”
I don’t say another word. I walk away, heels echoing on the floor like punctuation marks, and step into the safety of the corridor with Morris right behind me.
“Everything alright, ma’am?” he asks, his voice low and even.
I nod, chin high. “Yes. Just one more man who thinks the rings on my fingers are decorative.”
Morris doesn’t reply, but I catch the subtle shift in his jaw, the tension there. I appreciate it more than I let on. Morris stops and turns back.
I rush my steps to stop him. “He doesn’t deserve more of our time,” I cling to his arm. “We have something important to do.”
I can feel how tense he is. But he nods, and I let him go only when we’re outside the building.
“We have another stop,” I tell Morris, handing him the business card for the WAVC. The Women’s Anti-Violence Centre. He gives it to Kennet who nods and takes the driver’s seat.
It’s more than just a job. It’s something that matters.
When we arrive, I spot the swarm of reporters hovering outside. Of course. They’re always hungry for something—especially with the Weister name attached. I lower my sunglasses, heart racing, but Morris handles them with practiced precision, shielding me all the way in.
“Mrs. Weister, welcome,” Helen Fairlane greets me with a warm, genuine smile.
Inside, the air is quieter, heavier, full of stories that haven’t been told. We walk through the hallway lined with framed pictures and soft-colored murals, toward her office.
We talk about the centre’s mission. Their struggles. The women who come in with nothing but bruises and broken pieces. Then I pitch it—the fundraiser. An event that could bring in donations, awareness, change.
She blinks in surprise when I mention Grace may help us to organize it. “Duchess Grace Weister?” she gasps, clutching her chest. “My God, I think I might faint.”
