Hating You Was My Full Time Job

CHAPTER 11: THE BOARD MEETING

The boardroom was glass. Floor to ceiling windows. 80 floors up.

You could see all of Lagos. The traffic. The ocean. The slums next to the skyscrapers.

You could also see how far you’d fall.

12 chairs. 12 suits. 12 pairs of eyes on me.

I was the only one in red. The only woman. The only one who didn’t belong.

Adrian walked in 2 minutes after me. Perfect timing. Late on purpose. Power move.

"Mrs. Blackwood," he said, voice smooth as ice. Gesturing to the seat beside him. "Sit."

*Rule #1: Broken.* His hand brushed my back as I sat. No one saw. I did. My whole body remembered it.

"Good morning," Adrian started. He didn’t sit. He stood at the head of the table like a king. "I know why we’re here. So let’s get it over with."

A man with white hair stood. Mr. Whitmore. CFO. 70 years old. He’d been with BlackCorp since Adrian was in diapers.

"Mr. Blackwood, the board has concerns. Serious concerns." Whitmore adjusted his glasses. "This marriage was announced 72 hours ago. To Ava Carter. Daughter of Marcus Carter. The man whose company you acquired in a hostile takeover 3 years ago."

Whispers. Papers shuffling.

"Your personal life is affecting stock," Whitmore continued, clicking a remote. A graph appeared on the wall. Red line going down. "Down 4% this week. Investors think this is a scandal. Or worse, a PR stunt. They think you’re unstable."

"And?" Adrian leaned back in his chair. Arms crossed.

"And we’re requesting an annulment. Effective immediately." Whitmore slid a paper across the table. "We can pay Mrs. Carter the $5 million severance outlined in clause 9.1 and make this go away. Quietly. Before it damages the brand further."

The room went silent.

They were offering to buy me out. Again. Just like 3 years ago.

I kept my face blank. That’s what Adrian taught me on the way up. _Don’t react. Don’t give them anything._

But inside, my heart was pounding. $5 million. To leave. To walk away.

Adrian didn’t look at me. He looked at Whitmore.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said no. The marriage stands."

Whitmore sat down hard. "Adrian, think about the company. Think about your shareholders."

"I am," Adrian said. "This marriage shows stability. Family values. It shows I’m settled. It shows I’m not a risk. The stock will go up once the initial shock wears off. It always does."

"And if it doesn’t?" Another board member spoke. A woman in a gray suit. "What if this blows up in 3 months?"

"Then I’ll buy you all out too," Adrian said flatly. "Every single share. And I’ll run this company without a board."

Gasps.

*10:15 AM: The Vote*

They debated for 45 minutes.

About me. About Adrian. About "reputation" and "optics" and "fiduciary duty."

Not once did anyone ask me what I wanted.

I sat there. Back straight. Hands folded. The perfect wife. The perfect prop.

Finally Whitmore called for a vote.

"All in favor of annulment?"

5 hands.

"All opposed?"

7 hands.

Adrian won. 7-5.

But the conditions were brutal.

1. Monthly public appearances together. Minimum 2.

2. Interview every 2 months. To "humanize" us.

3. "Consider starting a family within 6 months." Clause 7.2 was being enforced.

That last one made me choke. I coughed into my hand.

In the elevator after, it was just me and Adrian.

"You didn’t have to do that," I said quietly.

"Do what?"

"Fight for me. You could’ve taken the easy way out."

Adrian pressed the button for the penthouse. He didn’t look at me. "I wasn’t fighting for you. I was fighting for me. For control."

"Right." The word tasted bitter.

Silence for 20 floors.

"About last night" I started. My voice was small.

"Don’t," Adrian cut me off. But his voice was tired. Not cold. Tired. "The board can’t know. About that. About the kitchen. About... anything."

I nodded. "I understand."

*3 PM: My Mom’s Hospital Room*

Mom was being discharged today. Finally.

"You did good, baby," she said, squeezing my hand. She looked 10 years younger already. "I saw the interview."

"Mom"

"I’m not stupid," she said. "That look in your eyes when you talk about him. That’s not in the contract. That’s real."

I didn’t answer. I just laid my head on her shoulder.

The driver dropped me back at the penthouse at 6 PM.

Adrian was in the living room. No suit. Just gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. Whiskey in his hand. Tie on the floor.

"The board wants an heir in 6 months," he said without looking at me. "Clause 7.2"

"I know."

"That’s not happening."

"I know."

We stared at each other across the room. 10 feet of marble and tension between us.

"You should’ve let them annul it," I said.

"Why?"

"Because of last night. Because we’re going to ruin this. Because I’m going to ruin you."

Adrian stood up. Walked to me. Stopped 1 foot away. Close enough that I could smell his cologne.

"Then let’s ruin it," he whispered.

His hand came up. Cupped my face. Thumb brushed my cheekbone.

*Rule #1: Dead.*

And he kissed me again.

This time it was slow. This time it was real.

This time neither of us pulled away.

His other hand went to my waist. Mine went to his chest.

For a minute, maybe two, we just kissed. Like we had all the time in the world. Like there was no contract. No board. No $10 million.

When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.

"What are we doing?" I whispered.

"I don’t know," Adrian admitted. "And I don’t care."

*12 AM: His Room*

We didn’t go to separate rooms that night.

I woke up at 5 AM in Adrian’s bed. In his shirt. His arm around me.

He was awake. Staring at the ceiling.

"Regret it?" I asked. My voice was rough from sleep.

"Every second," he said. "And not at all."

We didn’t talk about the contract.

We didn’t talk about the 11 months left.

We didn’t talk about the board or the $5 million.

We just lay there.

And for the first time since signing, it didn’t feel like a deal.

It felt like us.

At 7 AM, Adrian got up. Made coffee. Came back to bed with two mugs.

"Morning," he said.

"Morning."

We drank coffee in bed. In silence. But it wasn’t awkward silence. It was comfortable.

"Board wants us at the gala Saturday," Adrian said.

"I’ll be there."

"Wear red."

"I will."

*9 AM: My Wing*

I went back to my room to shower. To think.

My phone had 40 messages. Vanessa. Reporters. My old friends.

I deleted them all.

There was a note on my dresser. Adrian’s handwriting. Sharp. Messy.

Don’t tell anyone. About us.

Not yet.

-A

I folded it and put it in my drawer.

*11 PM: Alone*

I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about his hand on my face.

About the vote. About the heir clause.

About how 6 months ago I hated him.

And now I was lying in his bed, wearing his shirt, wanting more.

The contract said 1 year.

The contract said $10 million.

The contract said no feelings.

But contracts could be broken.

I just didn’t know who would break first. Him or me.

END OF CHAPTER 11