“What’s the board saying?” I ask Roger.
“Most of them haven’t even heard about the article,” he says with a shrug. “They don’t spend too much time trafficking in online gossip. The ones who have heard about the contract aren’t bothered. The way they see it, you did what you had to do to make the deal with Pages happen. That makes their pocketbooks thicker, so they’re happier.”
“What are they saying about the child-bearing part of the contract?” Sharmi asks.
“Honestly? They don’t find it all that strange. Lots of our board members are worried about their own legacies. They think James and Victor came to a practical arrangement about their heirs. I even heard one board member say she wished she had locked down James for her own daughter.”
Roger and Sharmi laugh, but Jack frowns.
“It's not just the board or the public that matters,” Jack says. “Have you thought about how this all looks to Maura?”
I frown. “Maura signed the contract. She assured me she wanted it.”
“Still, it can’t be easy for her to be under so much scrutiny. Don't you think it'll bother your wife to hear people talking about her like this?”
“I’ll talk to her.” I suspect Maura will avoid reading anything the tabloids have to say about our marriage. Still, I should make sure it hasn’t rattled her.
Jack sighs. “I just can’t stop thinking about your parents, James. When they came up with the idea for Sequel, they wanted it to have a heart and soul. It wasn’t about profit for them. Do you really think they’d approve of all this?”
Cold resentment slithers into my chest. It’s so easy for Jack to drag up the ghosts of my parents, threatening me with their imaginary disapproval. Words bubble up in response—bitter, hateful words I don’t want to let escape my mouth.My parents didn’t have to actually build the business. They didn’t have to answer to a board demanding profits. They had no idea of the compromises they’d have to make to grow Sequel into what it is.
My mother’s face flashes into my mind, sweet, smiling, loving. The corners of her lips turn down when she hears that I agreed to marry a near-stranger just to grow the company.
I shake my head, forcing the image away. There’s no way to know what Mom would have thought about my choices.
“Maura consented to the contract,” I tell Jack coolly. “So did I. That’s all there is to say.”
He tilts his head in silent acknowledgment. I’ve seen Ryan make the exact same expression, whenever we agreed to disagree about something. It’s hard to believe they’re still not talking to each other, that the man urging me to think about what would make my parents happy won’t acknowledge the relationship that makes his own son happy.
Sharmi clears her throat. “So the priority is still on finding Peppermint and preventing further leaks. Once we’ve done that, we can focus on the partnership with Pages.”
“Good.” I push my chair back and stand. “If there’s no other business, let’s call this early. Report to me immediately with any news.”
Nodding to Sharmi and Roger, I stride out of the room before Jack can say anything else.
I have too much to do to let him fill my head with doubts.
12
MAURA
Ihaven’t been able to paint all day, and I’m starting to get antsy.
The contractors finally left the penthouse in the early afternoon, giving me five glorious moments alone in my beautiful new studio. It turns out, they were doing more than installing more storage space. They also widened the doorway, replacing the plain wood with double doors, finished in frosted glass. It gives me even more light in the studio while still giving me privacy.
Looking at the open, beautiful space, all I wanted to do was put up a canvas and start mixing up my paint. The only problem was that I didn’t have any supplies to paint with.
I was just about to run down to an art store and grab some acrylics when the movers arrived, along with my boxes. My many,manyboxes.
I failed to mention to James that when it comes to art supplies, I’m a bit of a hoarder. I’ve got hundreds of brushes in different sizes and textures. My paint collection is even bigger, a wide variety of hues in both acrylic and oil paints. Then, there are the minerals.
If I weren’t a painter, I’d probably be a geologist. Nothing gets me excited like holding a rock in my hand, feeling the weight of it and watching how the light falls on it. Nothing makes my heart race like taking a hammer or a chisel to that rock, seeing how brittle or strong it is, watching how it falls apart and transforms. Transforming them into something new gives me a sense of control and creativity that’s intoxicating.
Which means I’ve acquired a lot of minerals, waiting to be turned into art.
Watching the movers lug my heavy boxes full of literal rocks, I couldn’t stop cringing in sympathy for their poor backs. Maybe I should have sorted through them and done some decluttering. Soon, the movers ran out of space to put the boxes in my studio, and the boxes started spilling out into the hallway.
Already, my promise to keep my mess inside the studio has been broken. Whoops. Hopefully, James won’t hold it against me. Hell, he might not evenseethe mess. It's not like he spends a lot of time hanging around the apartment.
