Chapter 236
Claire's POV
The words hit me like a physical blow.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Madame Reynolds."
I felt my entire body go rigid. My fingers, looped through Lucas's arm, clenched so hard I could feel my nails digging into my palm through the fabric of his suit jacket.
The client—Richard Morris, some middle-aged French businessman with too-eager eyes—was smiling at her.
Madame Reynolds.
The rage that surged through me was white-hot, blinding. I wanted to scream. I wanted to launch myself across that pristine reception area and claw her eyes out.
I'm his fiancée! Me! Not that secretary bitch!
But before I could open my mouth, Lucas moved.
"Actually," he said, his voice smooth as glass, and his arm slid around my waist, pulling me against his side. "This is my fiancée, Claire Whitemore." He gestured toward me. "And this is Sophia Cruz, my secretary."
Secretary.
The word should have been enough. Should have put her in her place. But the way Richard's gaze lingered on Sophia—curious, assessing—made my stomach churn.
"My deepest apologies," Richard said, turning to shake my hand. His grip was warm, professional, but his eyes kept flicking back to Sophia. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Whitemore."
I forced my lips into what I hoped passed for a gracious smile. "The pleasure's all mine, Mr. Morris." My voice came out way too bright, too eager, and I cringed at the desperate edge creeping in.
---
In the conference room, I positioned myself directly next to Lucas, my hand resting on his forearm in a way that screamed mine. Sophia took a seat farther down the table, her laptop already open.
The meeting started smoothly enough. Lucas and Richard discussed market projections, partnership terms. I nodded along, interjecting when I could with comments about how proud I was of Lucas, how exciting our future together would be.
But then Richard's assistant brought in a stack of documents.
"Before we proceed," Richard said, pulling out a thick contract, "I need to clarify some terms. The English translation has ambiguities regarding tariff exemptions under EU regulations." He frowned at the pages. "Does anyone here read French fluently?"
Silence.
Then, quietly, Sophia spoke. "I do."
Richard's face lit up. "Excellent." He slid the contract toward her. "Could you look at Article 12, Section 3? The clause regarding exonération des droits de douane?"
Sophia pulled the document closer, scanning the dense text. When she started speaking, her voice was clear and confident.
"This section specifies that tariff exemptions apply only to goods classified as exportations culturelles—cultural exports—under EU Regulation 952/2013," she said, her French flawless. "However, there's a footnote that's critical. Classification requires approbation préalable—prior approval—from the French Ministry of Culture. Without that, standard import duties apply."
Richard leaned forward, nodding. "And the timeline for approval?"
"According to the annex, sixty days statutory review, but often longer in practice—especially under heritage protection laws."
"Which means," Lucas interjected, "we'd need at least ninety days."
"Exactly," Sophia said. "If you're importing this quarter, you'd need to submit immediately."
Richard's expression shifted to genuine admiration. "That's incredibly helpful, Ms. Cruz."
Lucas was also watching her with keen interest, as if he hadn't expected this surprising side of her.
I wanted to vomit.
---
It only got worse. Every question involving French regulations went to Sophia. Not Lucas. Not me. Her. And she answered with that same calm competence that made my nails dig into my palms.
"Ms. Cruz, could you clarify the distinction between marchandises sensibles and produits réglementés?"
"Certainly. Marchandises sensibles refers to goods subject to export controls due to security concerns. Produits réglementés are consumer goods subject to health and safety standards..."
By the time we wrapped up, Richard was practically glowing. "This has been incredibly productive," he said, shaking Lucas's hand.
Then mine—perfunctory, distracted. Then Sophia's, his grip lingering. "Thank you again, Ms. Cruz. Your expertise was invaluable."
Invaluable.
---
When Richard excused himself for a phone call, I sat there watching Sophia gather her notes with quiet efficiency. Lucas scrolled through emails, expression unreadable.
I couldn't stand it.
When Richard returned and announced he needed the restroom, I stood immediately. "I'll just freshen up as well."
---
I caught Richard in the hallway.
"Mr. Morris," I called warmly. "Do you have a moment?"
He turned, surprised. "Of course, Ms. Whitemore. Is everything all right?"
"Oh, everything's wonderful." I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "I actually wanted to talk about Sophia."
His eyebrows lifted. "Ms. Cruz?"
"Yes." I glanced around, ensuring privacy. "I couldn't help but notice how impressed you were. She really is something, isn't she?"
"She is. Very knowledgeable. Very professional."
"And beautiful," I added, watching his reaction.
He hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. She's striking."
There it is.
I leaned in, smile widening. "Can I tell you a secret? Just between us?"
"Of course."
"Sophia's single," I said, letting the words hang. "She's been so focused on her career that she hasn't had time for a personal life. Lucas mentioned it's a shame someone as talented as her is spending all her time alone."
Richard's eyes flickered with interest. "Is that so?"
"Mm-hmm." I tilted my head playfully. "Between you and me, I think she could use someone like you. Someone sophisticated. Successful. Someone who appreciates intelligence and... refinement."
He chuckled, but there was a gleam now. "You're very kind."
"I'm just being honest." I paused, then with a sly smile asked, "Can I ask you something? Off the record?"
"Of course."
I let my gaze drop, then back up. "Do you find her attractive?"
He blinked, caught off guard. But he didn't deny it. "She's... yes. Beautiful."
"She is." I stepped closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "And I think she'd be very receptive to the right kind of attention. Sophia's... well, let's just say she knows how to appreciate a man who can offer her certain... opportunities."
The implication hung thick and ugly between us.
Richard studied me, then slowly smiled. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"
I shrugged, playing innocent. "I'm just saying, if you were interested in getting to know her better outside business hours, I don't think she'd turn you down. Sophia's very... accommodating."
His smile sharpened. "You seem to know her quite well."
"Oh, Lucas has told me all about her." I waved dismissively. "Anyway, I just thought you should know."
Richard's gaze drifted toward the conference room. When he looked back, there was something calculating in his eyes.
"Well," he said slowly, "I appreciate you sharing that information."
"Of course." I beamed. "I just want everyone to be happy."
He reached for the restroom door, then paused. "Tell me—does Ms. Cruz know you're doing this?"
I blinked, feigning confusion. "Doing what?"
His smile widened. "Exactly."
---
I stood there, heart pounding, vicious satisfaction curling in my chest.
Perfect.
Let Sophia have her moment of glory. Let Richard fawn over her expertise. Because the second he made a move—the second Lucas saw her entertaining another man's attention—everything would change.
She wasn't irreplaceable. She was just another secretary who thought she could climb into Lucas's life by being useful.
But I was the one wearing his ring.
I smoothed my skirt, checked my reflection, and walked back with my head held high.
Let the games begin.