Page 15 of The Final Contract
His brow ticks.
“Whatever I do,” I add, “I’ll do it without the Irish.”
That’s a wound I won’t reopen.
I shift in my chair, restless, ready to drag us off this subject before he digs deeper. My eyes rake over him, taking in the faint shadows under his eyes, the tight line of his mouth. “You looklike shit, Vale. Go take your old lady to bed and stay there a week or two.”
For the first time this morning, an actual chuckle rumbles out of him. He turns toward the espresso machine tucked into the corner, dark roast filling the air a moment later. “You’re not wrong.” He offers me one with a tilt of his chin.
I wave it off. “I’m wired enough.”
Lucian takes the cup for himself, leans against the counter, and exhales. “It’s getting to be too much. I can’t keep my attention where it needs to be. That’s why I’m looking for someone to run the Italians for me.”
My head lifts. “Step down?”
“Not completely.” His eyes glint over the rim of his cup. “They’ll still be under me. Under the Ledger’s shadow. But the day-to-day… someone else can bleed for that throne.”
He shakes his head, almost smiling to himself. “And I think Sienna will sic her dog on me if I don’t pick someone soon.”
The mental image of Sienna’s oversized mutt tearing through Lucian’s marble halls nearly drags a laugh out of me, but I rein it in, rubbing my jaw instead.
“She’s turned your attack dog into nothing but a cuddle monster.”
“Fuck if I don’t know it.” He cocks a brow and tips his cup to me before taking a sip.
But he would tear this world down for her—and that cuddle monster—if it came to it.
And that’s my cue to get the hell out of here. Because the longer I sit in this office listening to Lucian Vale play house, the more I start admitting dangerous things to myself. Like how I’d do the same for one very particular, very challenging Companion.
Only because I’m charged with her safety. That’s all.
Even as the thought forms, I know it’s bullshit.
I push up from the chair, rolling the tension out of my shoulders. “I’ll check in with Jaxon. We’ll have this fucker flushed out soon enough.”
“I’ll admit it,” I murmur, sliding another glossy profile across the table. “I didn’t think there would be this many.”
Eve smirks, her red lips curling around the rim of her teacup before she sets it down. “You’re surprised? Please. You’re the Black Ledger’s crown jewel. Half these men would sell their souls for a night with you. A marriage contract?” She lifts a brow, sifting through another folder. “That’s a feeding frenzy.”
I roll my eyes, though she’s not wrong. The stack in front of us is a mountain—files, photos, summaries of backgrounds, wealth, influence. Every one of them a man with too much power and not enough warmth in his life. Every one of them looking for a bride.
We wade through them together, Eve flicking her fingers like she’s shuffling a deck of cards. “Too old. Too boring. Definitely a serial killer.”
I snort, pushing a candidate into the discard pile. “What about this one?”
“Prospective,” she decides, tapping the page with a scarlet nail. “He’s handsome enough to keep you entertained at galas, and his net worth makes my eyes water. That’s a maybe.”
Eve has been at this game a long time. Loves what she does, just like me. But I think she’ll probably be a lifer. Even if she stops taking contracts one day, she’ll do something else for the Ledger.
Lucian would hand over pretty much anything to her to run if she asked for it.
We poke fun at some, laugh at others, and slowly build a small pile of men who might actually fit. It feels strange, staring at my potential future on paper, clinical as a shopping list.
But it feels strangely freeing too.
Across the room, Killian looks like he’s trying to bore a hole through the wall with nothing but the daggers in his gaze. He hasn’t said a word since we started this, hasn’t protested the process. Not a whisper of thetoo riskyargument he threw at me in the conference room.
But I can feel his storm brewing.
