Page 39 of The Rival’s Obsession (The Black Ledger Billionaires #3)

T he lobby is quiet at this hour— too quiet, if you ask me. The marble floors gleam under the downlights, polished to perfection like everything else in this building. But perfection doesn’t steady my nerves.

Dante stands beside me, calm as ever, hands in his pockets like we’re waiting on a cab instead of the elevator that will carry us into the most important meeting of our lives.

I reach out and fix his tie, fingers smoothing the silk against his chest.

He doesn’t move. Just watches me with that annoyingly calm expression that says nothing can touch us.

When I glance up, he’s grinning. Smirking, really. That crooked, infuriating, completely self-assured grin he’s had since we were kids.

I narrow my eyes. “What?”

He shrugs—lazy and infuriatingly unbothered. “Just thinking about the last forty-eight hours. Best of my life.”

Despite everything—the nerves, the pressure, the weight of what’s about to happen—I feel my mouth twitch.

We called out of work and spent two wonderful days together. Much of it in Dante’s bed but also, working. Together. Something we’ve not done in five years.

“You realize we’re about to walk into a boardroom full of men who’ve spent the last five years waiting for us to fail, right?”

“Yep.”

I exhale through my nose, rolling my shoulders once. The knot in my stomach pulls tighter.

“Five years,” I say, quieter this time. “Everything our fathers built. Everything we’ve done to try and honor it. All comes down to one hour.”

Dante doesn’t shift. Just pulls the pack of cigarettes from his jacket—his usual tell—and turns it over in his hand. For a second, I think he’s going to light one. But then, without ceremony, he crushes the pack and tosses it into the nearby trash can.

“They’ll either side with us,” he says, brushing his palms together, “or we’ll kick them out. Either way, they’ll have to pry this firm from our cold, dead hands.”

The elevator dings.

I glance toward it, throat dry.

Dante steps closer.

Without a word, he takes my hand—right there in the open—and rubs his thumb across my knuckles. Slow. Steady. Grounding.

I look at him.

He’s not nervous. And maybe that’s what makes this moment work. Because I’ve spent my whole life trying to prepare for every worst-case scenario... and he’s always been the one who walks in like we’ve already won.

Today, we’re doing both.

The elevator doors slide open.

We step inside—side by side.

Not just partners in the company now.

Partners in everything.

Dante reaches across me and pushes the button for the fiftieth floor, and before the elevator doors close, he’s moving in on me, his hungry eyes fixed on my mouth.

“We have a tradition to uphold in elevators now, so give me those lips and kiss me, bug.”

T he elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and I instinctively wipe my bottom lip with my thumb.

Frankie’s already waiting in the atrium, leaning against the reception desk in a black pencil skirt, navy blouse, and her signature pin-up glam that makes her look like she just walked off a vintage Vogue cover. She's popping a piece of gum, bored and beautiful.

“Disgusto,” she says, not even blinking. “You better sanitize that elevator if you plan to defile it every time you’re in there.”

Dante grins.

I don’t bother replying.

Eve rounds the corner a second later, a vision in her Ledger-red pencil dress, an armful of black folders and a smile sharp enough to slice through steel.

“Morning, boys,” she says brightly. “Glad to see you both look freshly fucked today.”

Frankie gags dramatically. “I just vomited in my mouth a little.”

She pivots on her heel and starts toward the large conference room like she owns the place—which, to be fair, she kind of does in her own way. Eve falls into step beside her, and Dante and I follow.

The hallway’s already buzzing with early arrivals. A few board members mill about, murmuring and sipping coffee, their gazes sharpening as we pass.

“Morning,” I offer with a nod, polite but not warm.

One of them lifts a brow. “Any hints on the room switch, Marchesi?”

Dante doesn’t miss a beat. “We had some last-minute changes to today’s agenda.”

The man frowns faintly but nods and steps aside.

It’s fine. They’ll understand soon enough.

We’re almost at the door when Corrine comes around the corner like a storm in Louboutin heels—face flushed, breath uneven, phone still clutched in one hand.

“Excuse me,” she says, voice clipped. “What exactly is going on here? Why didn’t I receive a memo about the room change?”

Dante’s already there, holding the door open for Eve, who breezes in like she belongs—offering warm greetings to a few board members she’s gotten to know over the last two weeks. The way they respond tells me it was time well spent.

I turn to Corrine, keeping my tone neutral. “This is a meeting with the board. You do recall that meeting was today?”

Her face falters. Irritation flashes across her expression before she masks it with a tight, professional smile. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just walks into the room with her spine straight and her chin higher than necessary.

She takes a seat near the end of the table—far enough to make a point, close enough to remind me she’s not going anywhere.

I glance toward Frankie. “Please bring our other guests in as soon as they arrive.”

Frankie nods once and disappears down the hall.

Corrine’s voice cuts through the room, sharper now as she gestures to Eve. “Grant, this is completely inappropriate?—”

“It’s done,” I say, calm but final.

She stiffens, mouth parting in protest, but the boardroom is already shifting around us.

I step forward, and Dante follows behind me, still holding the door with one hand. Just before it closes, he touches the small of my back—subtle, grounding.

Inside, Corrine sits like a statue, her eyes fixed on me with a quiet fury that simmers just beneath the surface. Anger, hurt, disbelief—layered in her gaze like sediment no one’s disturbed in years.

Dante steps forward, smooth and controlled, and calls out, “Let’s take our seats, please.”

The chatter begins to fade.

One by one, the board members settle around the oblong mahogany table, their tailored suits and polite expressions concealing a thousand predictions and private bets about how this morning will play out. They’ve spent five years watching us circle each other like predators in a glass cage.

Now, they’re about to see what happens when we fight on the same side.

I step up beside Dante, nodding once to the room. “Thank you all for adjusting your schedules on such short notice.”

Eve moves silently through the space, a red flash of elegance and confidence, handing out the sleek black folders she and I finalized late last night.

“There will be no vote today,” I continue, leveling my voice. “No discussion on a CEO transition. Because Marchesi and Harrow isn’t changing hands?—”

“—it’s changing direction,” Dante finishes, his voice easy but firm.

I glance at him briefly. We didn’t rehearse that line together. But we didn’t need to.

“The last five years have seen their share of turbulence,” I say, turning back to the board.

“Mistakes were made—on both sides of this partnership. But Dante and I spent the last forty-eight hours working through everything we let suffer. Every breakdown. Every blind spot. Every inch of ego. And what came out of that wasn’t just clarity—it was vision. ”

Eve places the final folder and steps back beside Corrine, who did not get a one.

“Looks like I didn’t prepare enough.”

I absolutely do catch the smile in Dante’s voice as he takes over.

“Modern meeting classic. Innovation rooted in legacy. Design that doesn’t just follow trends, but tests boundaries—environmentally, structurally, conceptually. This is the future of Marchesi and Harrow. And we’re done waiting for permission to pursue it.”

As if on cue, the double doors swing open behind me, and Damien Wolfe enters like a storm in a black suit.

His presence shifts the temperature of the entire room. People sit straighter. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Power recognizes power.

Behind him, his business partner Marcus steps in, followed by several members of their own board—all sharp-eyed and silent, radiating billionaire-level scrutiny.

After them, a new acquaintance.

Jaxon Kane.

Eve’s referral. Tech genius. And apparently someone with a stupid amount of free time on his hands.

As Eve and I worked the deck, he and Dante finalized the digital renderings. He’s brilliant. Slightly unhinged. And exactly what this presentation needed.

He slides me a remote with a nod. “All tee’d up and ready to razzle-dazzle.” With a smirk and a wink, he steps to the back of the room, leaning against the wall with his face in his phone.

Across the table, Corrine’s eyes narrow—just slightly—but enough. She wasn’t briefed on any of this, and the realization is beginning to crack her composure.

We move forward to greet Damien and his team—all firm handshakes and polite nods. They take the remaining open seats along the left side of the table, directly across from several of our more skeptical board members.

I return to my spot next to Dante, posture steady, heart pounding slow but strong.

Beside me, Dante leans in slightly, his voice pitched low enough only I can hear.

“You okay, bug?”

Corrine adjusts her blazer that doesn’t need fixing, her fingers stiff. She forces a smile at me—two seconds too late, two shades too tight.

Then I look at the table full of board members—ours and Wolfe’s. And at the future about to unfold in the room we are finally taking back.

And I realize...

“Yes,” I say quietly. “I am.”

The lights dim with a quiet hum, and I press the remote in my palm.

Across the polished surface of the mahogany boardroom table, the room lights up with a low electric glow—and then the projection begins.