Page 2 of If the Ring Fits

“Sorry!” I exclaim, feigning mortification. “I’m so clumsy. My hand slipped.”

One attorney, a severe-looking woman with a tight bun, fixes me with a steely glare. “It’s alright, Mrs. West. These things happen.” She can hardly hide her irritation. “We’ll print another copy.”

As the lawyers bustle about, trying to restore order, I chance a glance at Adrian. His dark eyes are fixed on me, even more piercing, but a flicker of something deeper stirs in their depths. Curiosity? I can’t quite put my finger on it.

Adrian lifts an arm, his tall frame commanding attention even while seated. “Counselors.” His deep voice cuts through the chaos. “I’d like a moment alone with my wife. Please clear the room.”

The lawyers exchange puzzled looks, but they don’t dare argue with Adrian West. They gather their papers and file out of the conference room, leaving us with the tension of our unresolved future as our only companion.

My husband leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze locking with mine. The intensity in his eyes causes the hairs on my arms to rise in alarm as I wait for him to speak.

“Why did you spill your latte on the papers?”

The question is soft-spoken but cracks through the air like lightning. My heart is pounding so hard, I’m sure Adrian can hear it from across the table. Why is he asking? It doesn’t matter. I wanted an opportunity to speak out and this is it. Okay, here goes nothing…

2

ADRIAN

Many months earlier

The city blurs past in a hazy mosaic of lights and shadows as I recline in the plush leather backseat of the town car, lost in thought. The first rays of sunlight glint off the gleaming skyscrapers, piercing the tinted windows and forcing me to avert my eyes. I check my watch—6.47a.m. Right on schedule, as usual.

My driver glances up at me in the rearview mirror. “Everything alright back there, Mr. West?”

“Fine, thanks. Just getting ready for another day in the trenches,” I reply with a wry smile. Sam chuckles and returns his eyes to the road.

I take a sip of steaming coffee from my Thermos, savoring the rich aroma and mentally preparing myself for the day ahead. The Calloway deal needs to be closed by the end of the week, and there are still a few sticking points to iron out. I also need to finalize the quarterly report for the board meeting andtouch base with our legal team about the new compliance regulations.

As the car weaves through morning traffic, I pull out my phone and scan my inbox, firing off a few quick replies. The familiar motions center me, pulling my mind into work mode.

Ten minutes later, we slow to a smooth stop in the shadow of the imposing glass office tower where my office is. Another day, another battle. Time to enter the fray.

I tuck my phone away. “Thanks, Sam. See you tonight.”

“Of course, Mr. West. Good luck today.”

I flash him a confident grin as I step out onto the curb. “Won’t need luck. But I appreciate the sentiment.”

I stride past the spinning doors, my steps echoing through the luminous lobby as I cross the wide space, nodding at the security guard.

“Good morning, Mr. West,” he greets me with a hint of deference.

“Morning, Reggie.” I flash him a grin.

I check more emails as I ascend sixty-six floors to nearly the top of the building. With a chime, the doors open on my reign: the trading floor—the business core of any hedge fund. I emerge into the expansive space, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a magnificent view of the sun rising over the cityscape. Dozens of eyes flick up from glowing Bloomberg terminals as I enter the trading pit. The cacophony of loud chatter and clacking keyboards fades to a hush.

My traders, already hunched over their desks reviewing the latest market news and pre-bell indicators, shoot furtive glances my way before hastily dropping their gazes. I allow myself a small satisfied smile, basking in their respect and slightly intimidated dispositions.

“Good morning, team,” my voice slices through the quiet. “Let’s go make some money.”

As if broken from a spell, the floor springs to life once more in a frenzy of activity and catcalls. I nod to the junior traders and enter the glass-walled office in the corner, where Sarah Lopez, my head of trading, is already waiting for me. Shutting the door, I turn to her.

“Alright, Sarah, what do we have on deck for open? I want to hit the ground running today.” I loosen my tie as I slide into my chair.

“Futures are pointing to a higher open, but that employment report on GGY is going to be key.” She swipes on her tablet. “If it beats expectations, we could see a rally…”

I nod along, ready to plunge into the deep waters of high finance where I’m the deadliest shark. There are millions to be made or lost in the blink of an eye. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m built for this game.

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