Chapter 81
Serena
The morning sun felt like victory on my skin as I walked down the driveway, the signed contracts practically singing in my bag. I'd done it. One dollar. Twenty million in debt. And a company that was finally, finally mine.
Then I saw the Bentley.
Sleek, black, idling at the curb like it had been expecting me. The rear window rolled down smoothly, and Vincent's face appeared with that professional half-smile he'd perfected.
"Miss Vance," he said pleasantly. "I have a feeling you might need a ride."
I stopped, raising an eyebrow. "Is your boss stalking me now? Because that's a level of concern that's bordering on creepy."
Vincent's smile widened. "Mr. Lawson prefers the term 'ensuring your welfare.' Though judging by the way you just marched out of that house looking like you own the world—" he glanced at the estate behind me, "—I'd say you're doing just fine without supervision."
Despite the tension still coiled in my shoulders, I laughed. "You're not wrong."
I pulled open the door and slid into the backseat, the leather cool and expensive. The interior still carried that faint trace of Lance's cologne—sandalwood and something darker. I tried very hard not to notice how much I liked it.
"Actually, your timing is perfect," I said, settling my bag beside me. "I need to get to a law firm. Fast. These contracts need to be notarized and filed before anyone gets cold feet or develops a conscience."
"Of course, Miss Vance." Vincent was already pulling away from the curb. "Which firm?"
I thought for a moment, mentally cataloging the options. I needed someone reputable, someone who could handle this quickly, someone who wouldn't ask too many questions about why the CEO of a failing company just acquired it for one dollar.
"Lloyd & Partners," I said. "It's the closest to Midtown. That one."
The car nearly swerved.
Vincent's eyes shot to the rearview mirror, his professional composure cracking just slightly. "Lloyd & Partners? As in, the Lloyd & Partners?"
"Is there another one?"
"Miss Vance—" He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "That's Mrs. Lawson's family firm. Lance's stepmother. They handle the Lawson family's private legal matters." He paused. "It's not exactly the kind of place you can just walk into. They require three days minimum notice for appointments. Sometimes more if you're not a regular client."
I pulled out my phone, already composing a text. "Give me ten minutes. By the time we get there, I'll have an appointment."
Vincent looked like he wanted to say something—probably something cautious and sensible—but instead he just shook his head and focused on driving. "You're either very confident or very optimistic, Miss Vance."
"Both," I said, fingers flying across my screen. "And right now, I'm betting on the former."
I pulled up Eleanor Lawson's contact—Lance's stepmother, the ice queen who'd been tolerating my existence solely because I was useful.
Time to remind her why she needed me.
Me: Mrs. Lawson, I need access to Lloyd & Partners this morning. Preferably VIP treatment. I'm on a tight schedule and can't afford to wait.
I hit send and watched the screen, counting the seconds. One. Two. Three—
Eleanor: ???
Eleanor: I'm curious about this newfound audacity of yours, Serena. Last time I checked, I have zero obligation to help you. Even if it's just a phone call.
I smiled at the screen. There it was—that trademark Eleanor Lawson condescension, the reminder that she held all the cards and I was just a piece she'd chosen to play.
Except we both knew that wasn't quite true anymore.
Me: Of course you don't have to help me. But everything I'm doing—every move I'm making—serves our mutual goal, remember? Keeping your beloved niece safe from a marriage she doesn't want. And getting me closer to Lance. We both win.
The dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. I could practically feel her irritation through the phone.
Eleanor: You better be serious about this. Because let me tell you something, Serena—your timeline just got a lot tighter.
My stomach dropped.
Eleanor: Arthur's already making moves. He's been arranging dinner meetings between Lance and my niece. Private. Intimate. The kind designed to "let them get to know each other naturally."
My fingers tightened on the phone.
Me: When?
The response came immediately, and I could feel Eleanor's satisfaction bleeding through the screen.
Eleanor: When? ANY time. That's the point. Arthur doesn't need a special occasion. He just needs to get them in the same room long enough for them to realize they're perfectly compatible.
Eleanor: And trust me—they ARE compatible. My niece is brilliant, accomplished, and comes from the exact kind of family Arthur respects. If they actually spend time together? If they actually like each other?
She let that hang for a moment before delivering the killing blow.
Eleanor: Everything you've worked for becomes irrelevant. You'll be yesterday's news. A footnote. The employee who thought she could play in the big leagues.
Something cold and sharp twisted in my chest. Jealousy. Fear. Anger. All of it mixing together into a cocktail of motivation that tasted like gasoline.
I forced myself to breathe. To think. To not let Eleanor see that she'd gotten to me.
Me: Then I guess I better work faster.
Me: The lawyer access?
A long pause. Longer than before. I could imagine her in her penthouse, weighing the options, deciding whether I was still worth the investment or if she should cut her losses and pivot to a new strategy.
Finally:
Eleanor: Fine. I've made the call. When you arrive at Lloyd & Partners, give them your name. They'll take you to a VIP office.