Chapter 16 - The Choice That Cost Him Everything
The board meeting lasted two hours and seventeen minutes.
Adrian spoke for eleven.
He did not beg.
Did not threaten.
Did not remind anyone how much money he had personally invested.
He simply explained what he had turned over to investigators and why.
When he finished, the chairman removed his glasses.
“Your actions exposed the company to catastrophic reputational risk.”
Adrian nodded.
“Yes.”
“You acted without full board authorization.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve potentially triggered federal investigations into historical transactions.”
“Yes.”
“Do you regret it?”
“No.”
That ended any possibility of compromise.
The board voted.
Six to four.
Adrian Vale was removed as chief executive officer effective immediately.
Marcus waited outside the conference room.
“So?”
Adrian handed him his access badge.
Marcus stared.
“Six-four?”
“Six-four.”
“Idiots.”
“They may be right.”
“No.”
Marcus followed him toward the elevator.
“What now?”
“I own thirty-one percent of the company.”
“You could challenge.”
“I could.”
“Will you?”
“No.”
Marcus stopped.
“Adrian.”
He turned.
“For seven years I told myself I was cleaning my father’s empire.”
“You were.”
“Maybe.”
He looked back toward the boardroom.
“Maybe I was trying to prove I could keep everything without becoming him.”
“And?”
“I don’t need to keep everything.”
Marcus stared.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“What will you do?”
Adrian thought of Marin’s flower shop.
Her ridiculous Subaru.
Her tiny apartment.
Theodore stealing his chair.
Normal.
He smiled.
“I have no idea.”
Meanwhile, Marin stood inside Whitlock Floral arguing with a bride about blush roses.
“I understand you saw something on Pinterest,” Marin said patiently, “but that variety is unavailable in Boston in November unless we invent agriculture.”
The bride frowned.
“But my planner said—”
The door opened.
Paige froze.
Marin followed her gaze.
Adrian stood there.
No security visible.
No suit.
Dark sweater.
Coat.
Hands in his pockets.
He looked younger.
Also strangely lost.
The bride turned.
Her mouth dropped open.
Marin sighed.
“Five minutes.”
She dragged Adrian into the back room.
“What happened?”
“I was fired.”
Marin stared.
“You were what?”
“Removed.”
“From your own company?”
“Technically the company is public.”
“This is not the time for technicalities.”
He smiled.
Marin stopped.
“You’re smiling.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have a nine o’clock tomorrow.”
“You just lost your job.”
“I still own enough stock to be annoyingly wealthy.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“I know.”
His expression softened.
“I thought I’d feel like I failed.”
“And?”
“I feel relieved.”
Marin studied him.
“Then maybe you didn’t fail.”
He looked around the back room.
Buckets.
Ribbon.
Cardboard boxes.
Chaos.
“Are you hiring?”
She laughed.
“You wouldn’t survive one Saturday.”
“I managed a multinational corporation.”
“Can you strip rose thorns?”
“No.”
“Then you’re useless to me.”
He stepped closer.
“What about dinner?”
Her pulse shifted.
“What dinner?”
“The one we scheduled for after Corwin.”
“Is Corwin over?”
“Not legally.”
Investigators had frozen several accounts.
Maddox was cooperating.
Samuel Vance had provided testimony.
Richard Corwin was fighting everything.
But he no longer controlled the board.
And he had stopped contacting Marin.
For the first time, the immediate danger had passed.
Adrian continued.
“You said when this calmed down, we would see what remained.”
Marin looked at him.
“And?”
“I’m asking.”
“Properly?”
He straightened.
“Marin Whitlock, would you have dinner with me Friday?”
“No fake boyfriend?”
“No.”
“No six-hour contract?”
“No.”
“No billionaire tricks?”
He hesitated.
“Define tricks.”
“No buying the restaurant.”
“That seems unnecessarily restrictive.”
She smiled.
“Then yes.”
His expression changed.
Not triumph.
Something gentler.
“Friday.”
“Friday.”
They stared at one another.
Still no kiss.
The tension had become almost comical.
Paige shouted from the front:
“IF YOU TWO DON’T KISS SOON I’M QUITTING.”
Marin closed her eyes.
Adrian laughed.
“Is she always like this?”
“Yes.”
“Can I fire her?”
“No.”
He leaned slightly closer.
“Still a rule?”
Marin knew exactly what he meant.
Her breath caught.
“The no-kissing rule was for pretending.”
“And we’re not pretending.”
“No.”
He waited.
Always waited.
Marin stepped forward.
Then stopped.
Fear flashed unexpectedly.
Bennett.
Failure.
Corwin.
Everything.
Adrian saw it.
He stepped back.
“It doesn’t have to be today.”
The patience nearly destroyed her.
“Friday,” she whispered.
“Friday.”
He left.
Marin leaned against the counter.
Paige walked in.
“You didn’t kiss.”
“No.”
“You’re both exhausting.”
Marin smiled.
Maybe.
But for once, she wasn’t rushing toward an ending just because she feared uncertainty.
Friday arrived.
No limousine.
Adrian showed up in a normal car.
Not Marin’s Subaru, thankfully.
He took her to a tiny Italian restaurant in the North End.
The fake first-date location had become the real one.
They ate pasta.
Adrian pretended to hate olives.
Marin stole them from his plate.
They talked for three hours.
No Corwin.
No board.
No Bennett.
No security conversation.
Just life.
When Adrian walked her home, they stopped outside her apartment.
“This is the part where our fictional history said you came upstairs,” he said.
Marin smiled.
“Our fictional history was very presumptuous.”
“I blame the writer.”
“You were the writer.”
“Then I blame myself.”
She laughed.
Then quiet.
Adrian looked at her.
“Good night, Marin.”
He turned.
“Adrian.”
He stopped.
She stepped toward him.
“Wait.”
He faced her.
Marin reached up.
Touched his coat.
Then kissed him.
Soft.
Brief.
Real.
Adrian did not move at first.
Perhaps afraid she would change her mind.
Then his hand touched her cheek.
The second kiss lasted longer.
When they separated, Marin was smiling.
“So,” Adrian whispered, “how did I do?”
“Too ambitious.”
“I can improve.”
“I’m sure.”
She opened her apartment door.
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
Adrian walked toward the stairs.
Then Marin remembered something.
“Adrian.”
He turned.
“Your car.”
“What?”
“You parked illegally.”
He looked outside.
A ticket sat beneath the windshield wiper.
Marin laughed so hard she had to hold the door.
Adrian stared at the ticket.
Then at her.
“Normal life is terrible.”
May you like
And for the first time in years, both of them were happy enough to find that funny.
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