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Hannah shoots him the death glare.
“I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.” Hugo gives an emphatic shrug. “Troy gets seen with Clara the heiress, and the stock peaks. But Troy marries Clara the heiress? That’s amazing news. For us.” He glances around the table. “Don’t get all judgy. We all know this is a very precarious time, business wise. Go sell this company-adjacent love bomb, I say.”
“I’m not using my personal life to secure Table’s stability.” Said Troy never. Max gives another groan and slides lower in his seat. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Oh, nothing,” he says with a scowl. “It’s not like I have any work to do today.”
“Like he didn’t already tell you,” Hannah accuses before turning her attention my way. “I spoke to you Saturday, and you never said a thing.”
“On Saturday I didn’t know I was about to propose. It was a bit of a whirlwind, Hans. But it’s not like we just met.”
“We should be happy for the bloke—and happy for us!”
“He has a point,” Max says begrudgingly. “Just look at the numbers.”
“Because that’s not suspicious at all,” she mutters, not even trying for convincing.
“It’s not like anyone asked him to do this,” Max replies. “Like he’d listen anyway.”
Come on, Max. Stick with the program.
“Look.” Max puts his hand to the table. “It’s sudden, but it’s not without benefits. Love, obviously.” He glances my way. “The share price, sure. But out there,” he says, pointing to the window, “it looks like Table’s CEO just got the seal of approval from Edwin Forbes himself. The company may be new, but it just got a whole lot less unpredictable to the market.”
Which is funny, considering I just blew up my life.
“Exactly my point,” Hugh agrees. “Troy Boy here is about to enter the hallowed halls of the untouchables. It’s fucking perfect. By the time he gets caught screwing the nanny in a few years, we’ll have sold our stock! I mean, he’ll lose half of his in alimony, but that won’t be our problem.”
“Thanks, H.”
My future in a nutshell? I don’t fucking think so.
Chapter 21
Clara
The sun is shining, and that always makes me feel better. But not today.
That’s not to say I’m sad. More like I’m overwhelmed. Maybe overstimulated? I feel like I’m jacked up to the eyeballs on caffeine and like I’d very much prefer to run away from my current reality. My current morning. Instead, I’m Midtown bound with plans to meet Chelsea for coffee. Probably should’ve made it lunch, carbs over the black stuff.
Chelsea spots me the moment I walk into the café, her face lit with delight. Must be refreshing to not give a thought for appearances.
“Oh my God!” she says, leaping up and hugging me. “Girl, marriage suits you!”
“Thanks.” Which is preferable to You think so?
I fix on a smile as I pull back. It’s been a day, and it’s not two o’clock yet. I place my purse on the table, my wedding certificate folded neatly inside, all officiously smug, having already detonated several areas of my life. There was the way I woke this morning, which, fine, wasn’t the certificate’s fault. Or maybe it was because married couples are supposed to f—
Stop that thought.
Then at my late grandmother’s lawyer’s offices earlier, I’d produced the certificate only to be promptly stripped of my identity. The decrepit senior partner insisted on referring to me as Mrs. Templeton.
I could’ve argued, told him I was keeping my own name. But I already felt like a fraud. The appointment went by in a whir. I signed things I barely understood and nodded through sentences that began with “Now that you’re married . . .” and ended in numbers that made me feel quite dizzy. Not that I have my trust yet. Sounds like it’s a whole process.
Despite my discomfort with how the day began, I found myself wondering why I hadn’t done this eighteen months ago. Maybe because I couldn’t bring myself to let a man save me. Until Troy because, in a way, I’m saving him too.
That’s possibly an overstatement, but I am helping his company. Which is the least I can or should do.
“Let me see the ring,” Chel demands.
