Boardroom Warfare

The boardroom of Hart Industries was a glass-walled fortress perched on the 40th floor, all sharp angles and colder-than-ice air conditioning. Jace sat at the head of the table, his posture rigid, his gaze locked on Clara Whitmore as she smirked from the opposite end. Between them sat a dozen investors, their expressions a mix of boredom and calculation.

"Gentlemen," Clara purred, tapping a manicured nail against her tablet. "Let's cut to the chase. Hart Industries' latest financials show… instability. A 12% drop in Q3 projections, delayed product launches, and—" she paused, her smile sharpening, "—a CEO distracted by his… personal life."

Jace's jaw tightened. On the screen behind her, a photo flashed—a paparazzi shot of him and Cora laughing outside the gallery, her paint-streaked hand in his. The caption: "Tech Titan's New Hobby?"

"Irrelevant," Jace said, his voice clipped. "My personal life has no bearing on this company's performance."

"Doesn't it?" Clara leaned forward, her tone honeyed poison. "Rumor has it you've been funneling funds into your wife's little art project. A gallery, was it? How… quaint."

The investors shifted, murmuring. Jace's assistant, Ethan, shot him a panicked look, but Jace remained still.

"Let's address the real issue," Jace said, swiping open a file on his tablet. "Whitmore Industries' offshore accounts in the Caymans. The ones you've been using to inflate your stock value."

Clara's smile faltered.

Jace projected the data onto the screen—spreadsheets, wire transfers, damning timestamps. "Care to explain why you're funneling $20 million through shell companies, Clara? Or should I let the SEC do that for you?"

The room erupted.

Cora burst through the boardroom doors just as Clara's face turned the color of spoiled milk, followers by a panic secretary trying to stop her from coming inside.

"Jace!" Cora trilled, waving her phone like a flag. "You'll never guess what happened—oh!" She feigned surprise at the room full of suits. "Am I interrupting?"

"Yes," Clara snapped.

"Perfect!" Cora plopped into the nearest chair, ignoring the glares. "Jace, darling, I just got off the phone with Art Monthly. They want to feature Mateo's work on the cover! Isn't that amazing?"

Jace fought a smile. "It is."

"And," Cora continued, her voice dripping with faux innocence, "they loved how supportive you've been. 'A modern CEO with work-life balance,' they said. Such a rare trait these days!"

One of the investors—a silver-haired man with a fondness for golf—chuckled. "Balance, eh? My wife's been nagging me about that for years."

Clara's knuckles whitened around her pen. "This is a board meeting, Miss Hayes. Not a… garden party."

Cora blinked. "Oh, I'm sorry! I just thought you'd want to know Jace's 'distractions' are earning him better press than your entire PR team."

The investor laughed louder. Clara looked ready to vault across the table.

Twenty minutes later, the meeting dissolved in Clara's humiliation. Investors filed out, clapping Jace on the shoulder and murmuring about "due diligence." Clara lingered, her heels clicking like gunfire as she cornered Cora in the hallway.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" Clara hissed.

Cora shrugged. "I think I'm hungry. Did you see the spread in there? Tiny sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Who does that?"

Clara stepped closer. "You'll ruin him. You're a liability—a spoiled heiress playing businesswoman. When he realizes that, he'll drop you faster than a bad stock."

Cora's smile faded. "Funny—he says I'm the best thing that ever happened to him."

"Men say a lot of things when they're desperate."

"And women like you?" Cora tilted her head. "They just do a lot of desperate things."

Clara's eyes narrowed, but before she could retort, Jace appeared, his hand settling possessively on Cora's lower back.

"Clara," he said, his tone glacial. "Your car's waiting."

Clara straightened her blazer, her composure cracking at the edges. "This isn't over, Hart."

Jace's smile was razor-thin. "Looking forward to it."

Back in Jace's office, Cora collapsed onto his leather couch, her adrenaline fading. "Remind me why I agreed to marry you again?"

Jace loosened his tie, sinking into the chair beside her. "Because I'm charming. And you're a masochist."

Cora snorted. "Charming? You threatened to sic the SEC on Clara. That's not charming—that's terrifying."

"Worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah," Cora admitted, grinning. "It kinda did."

Jace studied her, his gaze softening. "Why'd you come today?"

Cora hesitated, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. "Ethan told me Clara was making moves. I didn't want you to face her alone."

Jace reached for her hand, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "I had it under control."

"I know," Cora said. "But you shouldn't have to."

The air between them thickened, charged with something deeper than gratitude. Jace leaned in, his lips grazing her ear. "You were brilliant in there."

Cora shivered. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Hart."

Their lips met—slow, deliberate, a promise of more to come—until Ethan barged in with a stack of paperwork.

"Sorry!" Ethan yelped, backpedaling. "Just… carry on!"

Jace groaned, resting his forehead against Cora's. "Remind me to fire him."

Cora laughed, the sound bright and warm. "You'd be lost without him."

Later, as they left the office, Cora's phone buzzed. A text from Mateo: "Gallery lights are flickering. Are we cursed?"

Cora grinned, typing back: "Just haunted by bad taste. Fix it."

Jace glanced at her. "Trouble?"

"Always," Cora said, slipping her hand into his. "But we've handled worse."

As they stepped into the elevator, Jace pressed the button for the lobby. "Dinner?"

"Only if it's tacos."

Jace smiled. "You definitely have a preference for food. Tacos it is."