Page 102

ADRIAN

DAY FOUR

I stared at Marisela from across the boardroom table. I shouldn’t be surprised that this was how we were doing things. Wasn’t exactly how I pictured it over the years. Wasn’t all that romantic either. But fuck if seeing her like this, all primed and ready for an argument, wasn’t a turn-on.

I adjusted myself in my chair and shot my little lamb a grin as I imagined what she would look like spread out on this table, her skirt pushed up around her waist and her hair falling free from her tight ponytail.

Marisela cleared her throat, drawing my attention back to her face.

“You claimed marriage wasn’t a negotiation.

I argue otherwise. What is it if not a deal of some sort?

One party wanting something from the other party in exchange for something else.

So here’s my starting offer.” She paused, shuffling the documents in front of her like I didn’t know they were blank and that this was all for show.

“One year, trial basis and a prenup that says I get all the Prescott assets in a divorce.”

I shrugged a single shoulder. “Forever, no trial about it. You get everything without a divorce because I’m not giving you one.”

She shook her head. Another pause and a sip of her mug, which I knew was more whiskey than coffee by this point. “Five years, trial-basis, prenup, and fifty percent of Briarwood’s profits.” She lifted a challenging brow.

“No trial basis, no divorce,” I repeated. “And seventy-five percent of my profits after you agree to work by my side.”

My boys still had to eat. Even if most of their shares went up their noses or out their cocks somehow.

“Ten years, trial basis, prenup, seventy-five percent of your profits. But I stay at CR&D and you hire my assistant in my place.”

“You mean Emily?” I barked out a laugh before I could stop myself. “The only place that girl is going is in the ground. He plans on killing her.”

Marisela’s head jerked up in my direction. Her expression a mix of skepticism and something else… “I don’t think so,” she balked, her lips tipping up into a smirk she hadn’t earned. “Elliot hardly seems the type.”

“He’s not. But Dr. Michaels is. So let’s keep that boy’s crush between you and me, eh?” I replied, earning my own smirk, seeing as only one of us was in the know right now. “I’m sure she told you what happened to the last guy who got a little too close for the fucker’s comfort.”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s not going to hurt her.” Marisela nodded, and it was obvious she was trying to convince herself. Because she didn’t know the man like I did.

“Mm, no guarantees. My colleague has his heart set on making that girl suffer.” I watched her face contort, her lips twist. But it wasn’t disgust this time. “Is that concern I see? You’ve gotten soft, princess.”

“Not concern,” she was quick to insist. “I just hate wasting talent. Emily’s smart. Taught her everything I know. She will talk her way out of it.”

“I don’t think Dr. Michaels is the listening type. At least not from what I’ve seen. Violence is more his go-to.”

“But he is the obsessed type, isn’t he?” she shot back. “Which means the last thing he’ll do is give up the object of his obsession. Even if he knows he should. Now what’s your counteroffer, Adrian?”

“No divorce. The only way out of this is with one of us dead—” I started to say, and Marisela cut me off before I could finish.

“I can agree to that.”

“I’m not done,” I snapped, my voice harsher than usual.

But she liked it. She liked the shift in power.

She liked pushing me to my limits. And she liked violence too.

I could see her squirming all the way from here.

“No divorce, fifty percent of my profits—I’m assuming I’ll have to give the girl a salary if she survives.

You stay at CR&D, with my blessing, but you live at Briarwood with me.

Nonnegotiable, Marisela.” I tapped the top of the table for emphasis.

“In my bed, every night. If I have to pick you up and carry you there myself, I will.”

She pursed her lips together for a long moment while appearing to chew on her response. “Fine. Deal,” she agreed with a quick dip of her chin. “But what are we going to do about the body in the well?”

“What body?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

“My mother. Isn’t that where you put her?”

“It is. But how do you know that?”

Marisela shrugged. “The staff likes to talk. And I like to listen.”

“Yeah, and what did they say?” I was more curious than anything else, seeing as the only person who knew about the dumpsite was in this room. And it wasn’t the girl sitting in front of me.

“Just mentioned the woman who haunts the well. The rest wasn’t hard to figure out.”

“Right.” I nodded once, not bothering to mention that that story had been circulating since I was old enough to hear the whispers. It was about someone’s mother. It just wasn’t Marisela’s. “I’ll have the boys take care of that one too. We can discuss any arrangements you want to make afterwards.”

She glanced down at her hands before peering back up at me again. There were no tears, though. Just a deeper understanding of the woman who refused to ever let anyone see her cry. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Of course,” I replied. Because if anyone knew what it was like to lose their mother, it was me.