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I click out of the weather forecast video on my browser and stride to the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office at Fleur.

Lightning splinters the gloomy sky, the bruised clouds sinking low on the horizon. Muted sounds of traffic and screeching tires filter up from the streets, the heavy rain making it difficult to make out the details of the ruckus in the city.

Despite the dreary weather and the somber surroundings, a sharp energy sizzles through me. I’m a live wire, ready to combust.

Because tonight is ghost pepper curry night.

And I’m going to propose to her. For real. With a ring.

Taking out the classic Tiffany’s blue box from the inner pocket of my suit, I flip open the lid and marvel at the glittering gems nestled inside a bed of black velvet.

A halo of clear diamonds surrounding a three carat, round-cut, flawless red diamond—one of the rarest diamonds out there—the color of the hummingbird’s belly on my cuff links and in the stained glass window at the library.

A shade that’ll forever remind me of her fiery tresses and the life and energy that is Alexis Vaughn.

I thought I’d be nauseous. I thought my palms would be clammy.

But I’m not.

I’m beside myself with anticipation. I want to see my ring on her finger. I want to show the world this woman is mine.

Knock. Knock.

“Come in.” I close the lid and slide the box back into my pocket.

“Delaney. The auditors are here and they’re giving the team a lot of grief over sample selections. I need your help to run this because the fucking lawyers are on my case.” Trey saunters in and runs his hand through his hair.

He’s been extra stressed lately because he’s going through a contentious divorce.

I told him I could take on more work to help him out—budget approvals, cash flow analyses—but he said he got it, that keeping busy was good for him.

“I got this. How many selections did they pull?” I walk back to my seat and pull up the audit portal.

“Five-fucking-hundred, and this is just for the Kensington Hotels division alone.”

“What? Who the hell has time to pull all that for them?” Ridiculous. They can pull the shit themselves.

“That’s what I said. But we’re on a deadline and come hell or high water, we need to file the 10K with the SEC for the sub. Talk some sense into them, will you? Their partner is coming on site in an hour to discuss our concerns.”

My earlier good mood instantly evaporates. The looming deadline to file the annual financials to the Securities Exchange Commission for our publicly traded subsidiary. And Chuck Raynes, the audit partner, is an asshole—smug as shit and looks down at anyone who’s younger than thirty because he deems us as unworthy of his time. If it weren’t for the board liking him so much, I’d ask Dad to fire him.

That motherfucker.

Little does he know, I own this department, and my official coming out as Ethan Anderson is quickly approaching. Dad wants me toannounce it after the 10K filing. He thinks I’m ready to take on more responsibilities, work closer with him and Maxwell, and eventually take on the CFO role.

An hour later, I’m knee deep into a stare down with Chuck.

“We’re not paying for this. It’s overkill. I won’t subject my department to this nonsense.”

Chuck arches his brow at my emphasis onmydepartment. His senior manager, a quiet brunette who looks like she wants to shrivel up in her seat and die, speaks up, “Delaney, the new guidance indicates we need to—”

“Guidance is to be interpreted and executed by you.” I hold up my hand. “Surely, this is why you test our controls, right? I’m not an auditor, but if we passed your control testing with flying colors, why the hell are you wasting our time in pulling POs, cash receipts, and God knows what for all these transactions? It’s sample testing, not coverage testing. Come on, Martha.”

“Delaney, you’re smart and Trey favors you,” Chuck begins, the condescending tone already grating in my ears, “but like you said, you’re not an auditor, so you don’t understand how the PCAOB and SEC are cracking down on Fortune 500 audits now.”

Martha shifts in her seat, a blatant tell if there ever is one. I tamp down the impulse to roll my eyes. This is getting ridiculous.

“I get it, but I disagree with—”