Chapter 15
Serena
The study room was tucked behind the West Gallery, a private space I'd only glimpsed once during a graduate seminar. Pale blue walls, white molding, windows overlooking the garden. A crystal vase of white peonies on a mahogany desk filled the air with their delicate scent.
Eleanor settled into a wingback chair and gestured to the one across from her.
I sat.
"Well," she said, folding her hands in her lap. "That was quite a performance. Sharp-tongued, utterly ruthless, and impossible to refute." Her dark eyes studied me with new interest. "I'll admit, Miss Vance, you have a certain... talent for devastation."
"Thank you." I kept my voice steady. This was the real test. "Though I'm sure you didn't bring me here to compliment my debating skills."
"No." She leaned back slightly. "This is my sanctuary. My place of peace. I don't invite people here lightly." A pause. "So tell me—quickly and clearly—what makes you think you have anything to offer me?"
I took a breath.
This was it.
"I can stop Lance's engagement to your niece."
Eleanor's expression didn't change. But her stillness was answer enough—she hadn't expected such directness.
"Can you?" She arched one elegant eyebrow. "Forgive me, but your family's situation is hardly a secret in our circles. The Vance debts are common knowledge. You're on the brink of bankruptcy. Your father's debts are substantial. And yet you sit here claiming you have the power to derail a union between two of New York's most prominent families?" A delicate pause. "That's quite ambitious for someone with so few resources."
"I have resources you don't." I met her gaze. "And I need your help to use them effectively."
Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of resources?"
"The kind that can make Lance Lawson fall in love."
For three full seconds, she just stared at me.
Then she stood up so fast her chair scraped against the floor.
"Are you JOKING?" Eleanor's composure cracked for the first time, disbelief bleeding into her voice. "Lance—Lance—the man who hasn't so much as looked at a woman with interest in over a decade? The same Lance who treats romance like a waste of shareholder value?" She laughed, sharp and incredulous. "And you think—what? That your pretty face and quick wit are going to make him suddenly discover his heart?"
I let her finish. Then, very calmly: "Where was Lance last night, Mrs. Lloyd-Lawson? Do you know who he spent the evening with? Who kept him out until dawn?"
Her laughter died.
"What are you—"
"He likes his bath water at exactly 102 degrees Fahrenheit." The words came out steady, factual. "Not 101. Not 103. Precisely 102. He times it with a thermometer built into the faucet."
Eleanor went very still.
"His cologne is Tom Ford Ombré Leather. But underneath that, he smells like cedar and black coffee. No sweetness. Nothing soft." I paused. "Last night, he wore a charcoal Brioni suit. Three-piece. The vest had mother-of-pearl buttons, six of them, and one was slightly loose on the second hole."
"Anyone could—"
"He has a scar on his left shoulder blade." I cut her off. "Shaped like a crescent moon. About two inches long. You'd only see it if he took his shirt off."
The color drained from her face.
"How—"
"I've seen it," I said simply. "Touched it. Traced it with my fingers while he—" I stopped. Let the implication hang there.
Eleanor sank back into her chair. Her hand pressed against her mouth.
"I saw that scar once," she whispered. "Years ago. He was sixteen, swimming at the house in the Hamptons." Her eyes lifted to mine, wide with shock. "You were really with him? Last night? Lance brought you to—" She stopped. Shook her head. "He never brings anyone anywhere. He doesn't date. Doesn't slip. Doesn't—"
"Doesn't lose control?" I finished. "I know. That's what makes me valuable."
Eleanor stared at me for a long, long moment.
Then she sat back, exhaling slowly. When she spoke again, her voice was different—sharp, calculating. The voice of a woman who'd survived decades in a family that chewed people up and spit them out.
"Let me make sure I understand," she said slowly. "You're telling me you can seduce Lance Lawson. Make him fall in love with you. And in doing so, destroy any possibility of him marrying my niece?"
"Not seduce," I corrected. "I've already done that part. Now I need to make him choose me over duty. Over his grandfather's demands. Over the alliance Arthur Lawson wants to cement with your family." I leaned forward. "I'm not asking you to trust my intentions, Mrs. Lloyd-Lawson. I'm asking you to recognize an opportunity. You hate Arthur. You hate being used as a pawn in his games. And I'm the only weapon you have that he won't see coming."
She was silent for a full minute.
Then, abruptly: "Lawson Capital. Strategic Acquisitions Division." Her voice was crisp, businesslike.
"It's under Lance's direct oversight. The team is small, elite, and has access to his schedule. I'll get you in as a junior analyst."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"But understand this." Eleanor's eyes bored into mine. "I will be watching. Every move you make. Every interaction with him. If you fail to make that man lose his mind over you—if I see even a HINT that you're wasting my time or playing games—I'll have you fired before lunch." She stood. "Do we have a deal, Miss Vance?"
I rose to meet her. Extended my hand.
"Deal."