Chapter 7
Marcus stared at the door Elara had just walked out of.
She’d said no.
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No one told Marcus Thorne no. Not the board. Not his competitors. Certainly not his assistant. Yet she’d stood there in his office, turned down one million dollars, and walked out like he’d offered her pocket change.
“Well.” Dante leaned back in his chair, grinning. “That went well.”
Marcus turned to glare at him. “Shut up.”
“I’m just saying, maybe leading with ‘marry me‘ wasn’t your strongest opening.” Dante was trying not to laugh. Failing. “You approached it like a business meeting. Women don’t typically respond well to contract proposals delivered with the
warmth of a tax audit.”
“It is a business meeting.”
“No, it’s a marriage proposal. There’s a difference.”
Marcus walked to his desk and sat down heavily. Three years. He’d spent three years working alongside Elara Vance. Three years watching her handle every impossible task he threw at her without complaint. He’d made her life hell on purpose. Unrealistic deadlines. Middle–of–the–night emails. Constant criticism designed to break her composure.
She never cracked.
Obedient. Efficient. Annoyingly professional.
And now, when he actually needed her to say yes to something, she’d refused.
“You have a backup plan?” Dante asked.
“No.”
“Well, you better come up with one fast. Your birthday is in what, three months?”
“Eleven weeks.”
Marcus pulled out the document his lawyers had delivered two days ago. The will. His grandfather’s final act of control from beyond the grave.
*To Marcus Thorne, I leave sixty–five percent controlling interest in Thorne Dynamics, provided he is married before his thirtieth birthday. Said marriage must be genuine and entered into for love, not convenience.*
Eleven weeks to find a wife. To fall in love. To convince the board and his grandfather’s lawyers that the marriage was real.
It was impossible.
“I don’t understand,” Marcus said quietly. “He knew how I felt about marriage. Watched my father replace my mother in three weeks like she’d never existed. Watched me grow up in a house with a stepmother who wanted nothing to do with
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- me. And he still put this in the will.”
“Maybe he thought you needed a push.”
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“A push toward what? A loveless marriage like my parents had? That worked out great.”
Dante stood and walked to the window. “Your grandfather raised you after the accident. Gave you everything. Maybe he just wanted to make sure you didn’t end up alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have the company.”
“That’s exactly his point.”
Marcus didn’t respond. His grandfather had been the only stable thing in his life after his mother died. The old man had taught him everything about business, about control, about never showing weakness. And now, even in death, he was testing him.
The marriage had to be real. Or at least look real enough to fool the lawyers who’d be watching.
“Okay.” Dante turned from the window. “New plan. Marry your assistant.”
“She just said no.”
“Because you asked like a robot. Try again. Better this time.” Dante started pacing. “Think about it. She’s worked with you for three years. She knows the company. She’s smart, professional, and based on what I saw at the gala, you two have chemistry.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Don’t mention the gala.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely mentioning the gala. You disappeared with her for thirty minutes. Came back looking like you’d been in a fight. She had your fingerprints on her dress.”
“Dante.”
“I’m just saying, the attraction is there. Use it. Tell people you’ve been secretly dating. No one will question it. The board already thinks you’re married to your work. A secret office romance is believable.”
It wasn’t a terrible plan.
Elara knew how he operated. Knew the company inside and out. She’d be able to handle the public appearances, the board meetings, the scrutiny that came with being Mrs. Thorne.
And the gala proved she could handle him in other ways too.
Marcus pushed that thought away.
“She said no,” he repeated.
“Because you didn’t give her a good enough reason to say yes.” Dante sat back down. “You offered money like she’s some
gold digger. But that woman works eighty–hour weeks without complaint. She’s not doing it for fun. She needs something.
Find out what it is.”
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Marcus thought about the parking lot yesterday. Victor. The debt collector who’d cornered Elara like she owed him more
than just money. The fear on her face when she’d begged for more time.
She needed money. Desperately.
But apparently not desperately enough.
“What if she says no again?”
“Then you’re screwed.” Dante shrugged. “Penelope gets control of the company. All your work for the past decade goes to the woman who made your childhood hell. Your choice.”
Penelope. His stepmother. The woman who’d married his father three weeks after his mother’s funeral and spent the next
twenty years making sure Marcus knew he’d never be enough. She already owned thirty percent of Thorne Dynamics through his father. If Marcus didn’t secure his inheritance, the board would vote her in as CEO within months.
Everything his grandfather built would be hers.
Marcus couldn’t let that happen.
“I need her to say yes.”
“So make her an offer she can’t refuse.” Dante stood. “And maybe try smiling this time. You look like you’re negotiating a
hostile takeover, not a marriage.”
“It is a hostile takeover.”
“Of your own life, maybe.” Dante grabbed his coat. “Call me when she agrees. I’ll start drafting the contract.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
Dante paused at the door. “Then start practicing your retirement speech. Penelope’s going to love firing you.”
He left.
Marcus sat alone in his office as the sun set over the city. His phone sat on the desk, dark and silent. No calls. No
messages.
Elara wasn’t going to call back.
The realization settled over him like a weight. He’d miscalculated. Pushed too hard, too fast. Now he was stuck with eleven
weeks and no backup plan.
His phone rang.
Marcus stared at it. Unknown number. He almost didn’t answer. Then something made him pick up.
“Yes?”
“Sir.” Her voice was quiet. Shaky. “Your offer.”
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Marcus sat up straighter. “Okay?”
“I’ll do it.” A pause. “But I need half the money upfront.”
Something loosened in his chest. Relief. Or maybe just the satisfaction of getting what he wanted.
“Good. Meet me at the office tomorrow. Nine AM.”
He ended the call before she could change her mind.
Dante had been right. Everyone had a price. Elara’s was just higher than he’d initially offered.
Marcus looked out at the city lights and allowed himself a small smile.
In eleven weeks, he’d be married. The company would be his. And Penelope would finally lose.
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Chapter 8
