Chapter 4: The Board Meeting
1009 Words
9AM came too fast.
I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the master bathroom, staring at the woman in the mirror.
She looked like me, but not me.
Hair: Sleek low bun. Not my usual messy ponytail.
Suit: Navy power suit. Jacket tailored to my waist. Pants that made my legs look 10 feet long.
Heels: 4 inches. I was swaying.
And the diamond necklace from last night was gone. Replaced with small pearl studs. "Professional," Selena had said.
"You look like you belong in a boardroom," Damien said from behind me.
I jumped. He was leaning against the doorframe, coffee in hand, watching me.
He was in a charcoal suit today. No tie. Sleeves rolled up like he’d been fighting all morning.
"You look like you didn’t sleep," I shot back.
"I didn’t," he said simply. "Board meetings are worse than funerals. More backstabbing."
My phone buzzed.
*Message: Car downstairs in 5. -D*
It was from him. Even though he was standing 3 feet away.
The ride to Cole Tower was silent. Different from last night. No tension from the gala. This was worse.
This was war tension.
"Rule #1 today," Damien said as the elevator started going up. "Don’t speak unless I look at you."
"Excuse me?"
"You’re my wife. Not my lawyer. Not my PR. You smile. You nod. You let me handle them."
"And if they ask me something directly?"
"Then you say ‘My husband and I are very happy to be here’ and shut up."
I crossed my arms. "I’m not a prop, Damien."
"Today you are," he said, and his eyes softened for half a second. "Just for today. Please."
The elevator doors opened to the 50th floor. Cole Corporation Headquarters.
And it was terrifying.
Glass walls. People in suits running. Assistants with 3 phones each.
And at the end of the hall: 12 people sitting around a table that probably cost more than my house.
The Board.
Vivienne was already there, in red again. Of course.
Two empty seats at the head of the table. For us.
The second we walked in, 12 pairs of eyes landed on me.
Judging. Measuring. Deciding if I was a threat.
"Mrs. Cole," Vivienne said, standing. "How lovely to see you in daylight."
"Vivienne," Damien said, voice like ice. "Sit down."
We took our seats. Me on his right.
The meeting started. Charts. Numbers. A merger with a company in Tokyo. $2.4 billion.
I understood maybe 10% of it.
Then Vivienne cleared her throat.
"Before we vote on the merger, I think we need to address the elephant in the room."
Here we go.
"Damien’s sudden marriage." She smiled at me. "To someone with no background in business. No PR training. No experience."
All eyes on me.
Damien’s hand found mine under the table. Squeezed once.
"My personal life is not on the agenda, Vivienne."
"It is when it affects shareholder confidence," another board member said. Older man. Bald. "We have emails. Investors are nervous.
‘Billionaire CEO marries waitress from Vegas.’ Not a good look."
Waitress?
I was a graphic designer.
I felt my face heat up.
"She’s not a waitress," Damien said. His voice was quiet but the room went silent. "Ava Collins graduated top of her class from NYU.
She runs a freelance design business with 6-figure clients. She’s smarter than half the people in this room."
My head snapped to him.
He just defended me. Publicly.
Vivienne laughed. "Oh please. You married her in a chapel after one night. That’s not stability, Damien. That’s a liability."
"Then let me make it stable," Damien said. He stood up. "The merger needs my signature. And my public image.
You want stability? You’ve got it. Ava is my wife. She’ll be at every event. Every meeting. Every photo op for the next 6 months."
"And after 6 months?" Vivienne asked.
"After 6 months, we’ll discuss it," Damien said. His thumb brushed over my knuckles under the table. "But right now,
if you vote no on this merger because of my wife, you’re voting against $2.4 billion. Your choice."
Silence.
Then the bald man sighed. "Fine. We vote. All in favor of the merger?"
11 hands went up. Vivienne was the only one who didn’t.
"The merger passes," he said. "Congratulations, Mr. Cole."
Meeting adjourned.
The second we were in the elevator alone, I let out the breath I’d been holding.
"You didn’t have to do that," I whispered.
"Do what?"
"Lie. About NYU. About the clients."
"I didn’t lie," he said, looking at me. "I had Selena pull your portfolio last night. You’re good. Really good."
"How did you—"
"I pay attention, Ava."
The elevator stopped at 53. Our floor.
Back in the penthouse, I kicked off the heels and collapsed on the couch.
"That was awful," I said.
"You were great," Damien said, pouring water. "You didn’t flinch. Not once."
"I wanted to."
"I know." He handed me the glass. "For what it’s worth... thank you. For showing up."
I took the water. Our fingers brushed.
"6 months," I said.
"6 months," he agreed.
Then his phone rang. He looked at it and cursed.
"What?"
"Vivienne leaked the marriage certificate to the press," he said. "It’s trending on Twitter. #DamienColeSecretWife"
My stomach dropped.
"So much for keeping it quiet," I said.
"So much for that," Damien agreed. Then he looked at me. Really looked. "We need to do a press interview. Together. Tomorrow."
"Me? Talk to press?"
"You. My wife." He stepped closer. "Can you do it?"
I thought about the boardroom. About 12 people staring at me. About not flinching.
"Yeah," I said. "I can do it."
Damien nodded. Relief flickered in his eyes.
"Good. Because I don’t think I can do this without you."
He walked away before I could respond to that.
I sat there in my power suit, holding water, married to a man who just called me necessary.
The board thought I was a liability.
Damien just called me necessary.
Which one was true?
- Writer
