Chapter 8
Lena's POV
"You are."
The words landed with the weight of inevitability.
"You have European experience," Sarah Chen added, leaning forward slightly. "That semester you spent studying EU regulatory frameworks in Brussels. Your work on the Hartmann cross-border merger last year. Your language skills—"
"You're the obvious choice," Patricia finished. "The client specifically requested someone with your background."
The client. Not Rowen personally, but someone at Reynolds Industries. Probably Jack Harrison, Rowen's assistant, who handled most of the preliminary legal coordination.
I could feel them all watching me. Waiting for my response.
Say no. Find a reason. Conflict of interest—you're married to the CEO, even if it's just a contract marriage that ends in three weeks.
But I couldn't say that. Not here. Not without exposing the entire arrangement.
"When do they need the preliminary assessment?" I asked instead, pen moving to paper, adopting the posture of professional engagement.
"End of the week," Richard said. "Initial meeting is Thursday. They want a full team presentation—regulatory concerns, timeline projections, potential complications."
Thursday. Three days away.
"That's tight," I noted, already mentally cataloging the research needed. "German manufacturing regulations alone will require—"
"We'll assign Rachel to assist you," Richard cut in smoothly. "And you can pull from the junior associates as needed. This is priority one, Lena. Whatever resources you need."
Patricia nodded. "Reynolds Industries represents a significant percentage of our annual revenue. If this European expansion succeeds, they'll need ongoing legal support across multiple jurisdictions. This could mean—"
"Partnership track acceleration," David said bluntly. "Handle this well, and you're looking at a senior partnership offer by year-end."
Partnership. The goal I'd been working toward since I'd started at Madison & Partners. The thing that was supposed to prove I was more than just Vivian Grant's daughter, more than the girl who'd been shaped and trained and deployed in a contract marriage.
And all I had to do was work directly with Rowen. For weeks, maybe months. Negotiating contracts, coordinating strategy, sitting across conference tables while he watched me with that particular expression he got when he knew he'd maneuvered me into a corner.
"I'll get started on the preliminary research," I heard myself say. "Should have an initial framework by tomorrow."
Richard's smile widened. "Excellent. I knew we could count on you."
The meeting continued—logistics, timeline discussions, assignment of support staff. I took notes in my neat, precise handwriting, asked the appropriate questions, nodded at the appropriate moments.
Professional. Competent. Perfectly controlled.
Inside, I was calculating.
Three weeks until the contract expired. How long would the Reynolds Industries engagement last? Initial due diligence could take two months minimum. If they moved forward with all three expansion initiatives, I'd be tied to this project—and to Rowen—for at least six months.
Six months of conference calls and document reviews and carefully professional interactions while we both pretended our marriage was normal, that it wasn't a business arrangement counting down to termination.
The meeting ended. The partners filed out, discussing something about a lunch meeting with another client. I stayed in my seat, staring at my notes.
Reynolds Industries. European expansion. Partnership track.
Everything I'd worked for, everything I'd built outside the Grant family name, now tied directly to the man I'd agreed to stop being married to in twenty-one days.
My phone buzzed. Text from Rachel, my assistant: Heard about Reynolds project! So exciting! Want me to start pulling EU regulatory files?
I typed back: Yes. Everything related to cross-border M&A in manufacturing sector. Germany primary focus.
Another buzz. This one from a number I recognized—Jack Harrison, Rowen's assistant.
Mr. Reynolds requests preliminary meeting Tuesday, 2pm, his office. Confirm availability?
I stared at the message. Tuesday. Tomorrow.
Not enough time to prepare thoroughly. Just enough time to panic.
But I'd spent my entire life not panicking, not showing weakness, not letting anyone see the cracks forming underneath the perfect surface.
Confirmed, I typed back. Will bring initial framework and questions.
I gathered my things, headed for my office. Twenty-seventh floor, corner view, the kind of space that announced you were on the partnership track without actually being a partner yet.
Rachel was already there when I arrived, arms full of file boxes.
"EU regulations," she announced cheerfully. "Manufacturing compliance, fintech frameworks, and I pulled the Hartmann merger files since that was Germany-adjacent—"
"Perfect." I set my briefcase down, shrugged out of my coat. "Let's start with manufacturing. What are the major regulatory bodies we'll need to navigate?"
She launched into an explanation, pulling documents, arranging them across my desk. I half-listened, mind already working through the angles.
Rowen wanted this expansion. Had probably been planning it for months. The timing—right as our contract marriage was ending—couldn't be coincidental.
Was this his way of keeping me close? Ensuring I couldn't walk away cleanly, couldn't sever the connection between our families without professional consequences?
Or was it just business? Madison & Partners was the obvious choice for this kind of complex international work. I was the obvious choice within the firm, regardless of personal history.
Maybe it was both. With Rowen, it usually was.
"Ms. Grant?" Rachel's voice broke through my thoughts. "Should I schedule the junior associates for a briefing session?"
"Yes." I pulled my attention back to the present, to the work that needed doing. "Tomorrow morning, nine AM. I want everyone up to speed on EU regulatory frameworks before I meet with Reynolds."
"On it." She made a note, then hesitated. "Can I just say—this is huge. Reynolds Industries is like, the crown jewel of Silverton business families. And you're lead counsel. That's—"
"A lot of pressure," I finished quietly. "Yes. It is."
She grinned. "You'll nail it. You always do."
After she left, I stood at my window, looking out over Silverton. The lake was barely visible through the buildings, a strip of gray-blue between glass towers. Somewhere out there, Rowen was probably in his own office, planning strategy, making calls, building his empire with the same ruthless efficiency he applied to everything.
Including, apparently, making sure I couldn't walk away from him as easily as I'd planned.