Chapter 62
Serena
The coffee Chloe brought tasted like salvation.
I wrapped both hands around the paper cup, letting the warmth seep into my fingers as I took a long sip. The office around us had gone silent hours ago—just the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant whir of the cleaning crew's vacuum somewhere on another floor.
My desk was a battlefield of spreadsheets, market analyses, and appraisal reports, all meticulously organized into what would become tomorrow's presentation to the board.
"Well," I said, setting down the cup with a satisfied sigh. "Thanks for the caffeine. Though I'm guessing you're really here to make sure I haven't died at my desk."
Chloe perched on the edge of my workspace, scanning the organized chaos of spreadsheets and reports. "You've been stumbling home past midnight for three days straight. Someone had to check if you were still breathing."
"Barely." I rotated my neck, feeling the vertebrae crack. "But it'll be worth it. Tomorrow's board presentation is going to be flawless."
"Yeah?" Chloe's smile turned sly. "So how's the preparation going?"
I reached across the desk and plucked up a small USB drive, holding it between two fingers like a trophy. "Perfect. Everything they need to see is right here. I've got comps from Christie's, Sotheby's, and Phillips. Historical sale data going back fifteen years. " I paused, allowing myself a small smile. "I can guarantee that tomorrow—"
"Holy shit, is that from Caviar Russe?"
I blinked as Chloe dove toward my trash can, fishing out an empty container that still smelled faintly of sturgeon and crème fraîche. She held it up like evidence in a trial, her eyebrows climbing toward her hairline.
"This is a hundred-dollar tin of caviar, Serena. And this—" She pulled out another container. "This is from Le Bernardin. Someone sent you a three-hundred-dollar midnight snack?"
Heat crept up my neck. "It arrived around nine. I was hungry."
"Uh-huh." Chloe's grin turned positively wicked. "No wonder you're burning the midnight oil for Lance. If the man's going to feed you like a Michelin-starred princess, the least you can do is deliver a killer presentation."
"You're missing the point," I said, snatching the containers from her hands and dropping them back in the trash with perhaps more force than necessary. "I'm not doing this for Lance. I mean, yes, it's his project, but I'm doing this for myself. For my career. For the chance to prove I'm more than just—"
"More than just the girl who wasted three years playing housewife to Wesley Lawson?" Chloe's voice softened, losing its teasing edge. "Babe, you don't have to convince me. I've been waiting for you to remember who you are since the day we met at Yale."
The words settled over me like a blanket—warm and suffocating at the same time. "You're right," I admitted quietly. "I wasted so much time trying to be what he wanted. What my family wanted. If I'd thrown myself into my career instead of into that relationship..." I trailed off, shaking my head. "I could have been financially independent by now. Could have had my own firm, my own reputation."
"Well, it's not too late." Chloe squeezed my shoulder. "You're still young, still brilliant, and now you've got the backing of one of the most powerful men in New York. That's not nothing."
I nodded, taking another sip of coffee to hide the complicated tangle of emotions that mention of Lance always brought. Not too late. The words felt like both a promise and a warning.
"So," Chloe said, settling back against the desk. "Have you figured out what you're doing about Arthur's birthday gift? You've got ten million burning a hole in your pocket. Even if you can't get that Napoleon sketch, you could still make a statement with something else. Jewelry, art, a vintage car—something that screams 'I belong in this world.'"
I set down the coffee, my mind crystallizing around an idea that had been forming for days. "Actually, I've been thinking about that. A lot."
"Yeah?"
"Here's the thing." I stood, needing to move, to pace out the energy building in my chest. "That Napoleon sketch was the one gift that would've actually mattered to Arthur. Everything else is just expensive. It only proves I can drop ten million dollars, not that I understand his world." I turned to face her. "So if the perfect gift's gone, I need to stop playing that game. I need a different move."
Chloe's eyes sharpened. "What kind of move?"
"Right now, I walk into that party as 'Lance's project specialist.' Maybe 'the girl who works for him.'" I paused, letting that sink in. "Meanwhile, Eleanor's niece? She's an associate attorney at Lloyd & Partners. That's what Arthur sees when he looks around that room—people who own things, who run things."
I turned to face Chloe fully, feeling the idea crystallize. "But what if I walked in as the CEO of my own company? What if I spent that ten million on something Arthur actually respects—not a gift, but leverage?"
"Leverage. Ownership." Her expression shifted as the pieces clicked together. "Wait—CEO of your own company. You're not seriously thinking about buying back your family's business. The one that's hemorrhaging money and drowning in debt."
"Why not?" I leaned against the desk, crossing my arms. "It's going to sell eventually. My father's already looking for buyers—anyone desperate enough to take on the liability. If I can acquire it for the right price, restructure it, leverage the Vance name and the remaining collection..." I felt my pulse quicken with the audacity of it. "Then I'm not just some employee. I'm a peer. A player. Someone with her own power, her own assets."
"That's..." Chloe paused, then laughed. "That's completely insane. And I kind of love it."
"It's a risk," I admitted. "The company's a mess. But it's also got history, connections, a reputation in the art world that still means something. With the right management, the right strategy—"
"You could turn it around." Chloe's smile turned sharp. "Or at least make it look viable enough to command respect. Either way, you'd be walking into Arthur's birthday party as someone who controls her own destiny, not someone dependent on Lance's favor."
"Exactly." The word came out fierce, certain. This was right. This was the move that would change everything.
"Well, then." Chloe slid off the desk, gathering her coat. "I should let you get back to work. You've got a presentation to nail tomorrow, and apparently an empire to build." She headed for the door, then paused with her hand on the handle. "For what it's worth? I think you're going to crush it."
The door clicked shut behind her, and I turned back to my desk, ready to dive back into the final review of tomorrow's materials. But before I could sit down, I heard Chloe's voice from the hallway, loud and disgusted:
"Fuck! Running into something this revolting at midnight should be illegal."
I froze, confusion giving way to dread as the door swung open again.
Wesley stood in the doorway, that familiar smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He looked tired—there were shadows under his eyes I'd never noticed before, and his usually impeccable suit was slightly rumpled. But his posture was all arrogance as he strolled into my office without invitation, dropping into the chair across from my desk and propping one ankle over his knee.
"Serena," he said, my name dripping with false warmth. "I think it's time we had a little chat."