Sterling’s Fortune

Chapter 12

The ride back to Manhattan was quiet, but it wasn't the silence of strangers. It was the silence of two people trying to figure out how to fit two very different lives into one car.

Elodie held the envelope tight. The deed to her building. The representation agreement.

"I can't sign this," she said suddenly.

Alistair looked over from the driver’s seat. The blizzard had passed, leaving the city sparkling and sharp under the winter sun.

"The deed?" he asked. "It’s already filed. You can't un-own a building, Elodie."

"Not the deed," she said. "The art contract. The gallery representation."

Alistair frowned, his brow furrowing. "I don't understand. You want to paint. I have the best gallery space in the city. It is a logical synergy."

"It’s nepotism, Alistair," she said gently. "If I debut at the Sterling Gallery as Alistair Sterling’s girlfriend, no one will look at the art. They’ll just see the checkbook behind it. They’ll say you bought my career just like you bought my building."

Alistair tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "I don't care what they say."

"I do," Elodie said firmly. "I need to know, and you need to know, that I can do this on my own merit. If I’m going to be with you, I can't be your dependent. I have to be your partner."

Alistair pulled the Bentley up to the curb of Sterling Tower. He put the car in park and turned to her.

"So what are you proposing?"

"I'll take the studio space," Elodie negotiated. "I’ll paint. But I won't show in your gallery. I'm going to submit to the Winter Solstice Showcase at the Met. Anonymously. If I get in, then we know."

Alistair looked at her. He looked at the stubborn set of her jaw, the fire in her eyes. He smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips.

"You are infuriatingly independent, Miss Rose."

"It’s part of my charm."

"Fine," Alistair conceded. "No Sterling Gallery. But you live in the penthouse. That is non-negotiable."

"Deal."

They stepped out of the car. The paparazzi were there, of course, camped behind velvet ropes. But this time, Alistair didn't shield her. He took her hand openly. When a camera flashed, he didn't scowl; he looked down at Elodie and smirked.

They walked into the lobby.

It was pristine. The water damage from their first meeting had been repaired. The marble shone.

But the atmosphere was wrong.

Usually, the lobby was a hum of respectful silence. Today, it was buzzing with whispers. Employees were huddled in corners, glancing at phones. When they saw Alistair, the conversations stopped abruptly.

"Something is wrong," Alistair murmured, his instincts flaring.

Arthur was waiting by the elevator. He looked pale.

"Sir," Arthur said, his voice low. "You need to go upstairs immediately. The Board Room. They started the meeting without you."

"I didn't call a Board meeting," Alistair said, his voice dropping to absolute zero.

"I know, sir. Mr. Rutherford called it. And... Ms. St. James is there."

Elodie felt Alistair stiffen. The warmth of his hand turned into a vice grip.

"Bianca?" Alistair asked. "She has no seat on the board."

"She does as of this morning," Arthur whispered. "She bought out the Kensington shares. She’s the new minority whip."

Alistair’s face went rigid. The "Luck" of the last few days—the crash survival, the romance, the art discovery—suddenly felt very far away.

"Go to the penthouse, Elodie," Alistair ordered. "Lock the door."

"No," Elodie said. She squeezed his hand. The rose gold bracelet hummed—a low, warning growl. "I'm your partner. Remember?"

Alistair looked at her. He saw the fear in her eyes, but he also saw the steel.

"If you walk into that room," he warned, "they will tear you apart."

"Let them try," Elodie said. "I survived a car crash and a blizzard with you. I can handle a few suits."

Alistair nodded once. "Let’s go."

The Board Room was on the 80th floor. It was a glass box in the sky, smelling of lemon polish and shark blood.

Twelve men and women in expensive suits sat around a table that cost more than Elodie’s entire education. At the head of the table sat unexpected trouble.

Silas Rutherford. The Chairman. A man who had hated Alistair’s father and tolerated Alistair only because the stock price was high.

And next to him, looking like a sleek, venomous panther in a white suit, was Bianca St. James.

When Alistair pushed the doors open, the room went silent.

"Alistair," Rutherford said, not standing up. "So kind of you to join us. We were just discussing your... severance."

Alistair didn't blink. He walked to the other end of the table, pulling out a chair for Elodie before sitting down himself.

"Severance," Alistair repeated calmly. "Interesting topic, considering the stock is up twelve percent this week."

"Volatility," Bianca interjected. Her voice was smooth, like poisoned honey. She smiled at Elodie—a smile that didn't reach her cold blue eyes. "Hello, Elodie. Nice dress. Thrift store?"

Elodie smoothed her skirt. "Actually, it’s vintage. But I wouldn't expect someone who buys their personality off a mannequin to understand the difference."

A few board members coughed to hide chuckles. Bianca’s smile tightened.

"Cute," Bianca snapped. She turned to the board. "This is exactly the problem. Alistair is bringing... chaos into the firm. A flooded lobby. A missing CEO during a blizzard. A public affair with a woman who has a documented history of financial instability."

She slid a file folder across the table.

"We have a motion on the floor," Rutherford said heavily. "A vote of no confidence. We believe your judgment is compromised, Alistair. We believe you are suffering from... emotional distress."

"I am perfectly sane," Alistair said, his voice dangerous.

"Are you?" Bianca asked. She tapped the file. "I have witness statements here. Staff members who claim you talk about 'magic bracelets'. That you believe your luck is tied to this... girl. That you make business decisions based on superstition."

Elodie’s heart stopped. She looked at Alistair.

He hadn't told the staff. But Arthur knew. And maybe others had overheard.

"It’s absurd," Alistair said, but Elodie noticed his hand clenched on the table.

"Is it?" Bianca pressed. "Then take off the bracelet."

The room went deadly quiet.

Bianca pointed a manicured finger at Elodie’s wrist.

"Rumor has it," Bianca smirked, "that you think that piece of costume jewelry is the source of the company's recent success. If you are a rational CEO, Alistair, surely you can fire the girl and ban the jewelry. Prove to us that you are the man of logic we hired."

All eyes turned to Alistair.

It was a trap. A perfect, vicious trap.

If he defended the magic, he looked insane and unfit to lead. If he denied it and fired Elodie to prove a point, he kept the company but lost her (and the actual luck).

Alistair looked at Rutherford. He looked at Bianca. Finally, he looked at Elodie.

He didn't look scared. He looked... bored.

"You want me to prove my judgment is sound?" Alistair asked.

"Yes," Rutherford grunted.

Alistair stood up. He walked over to Elodie.

"Give me your wrist," he said softly.

Elodie trembled. Was he going to do it? Was he going to take it off to save the company?

She held out her arm.

Alistair took her hand. He didn't unclasp the bracelet. instead, he leaned down and kissed the inside of her wrist, right over the pulsing rose gold.

"The bracelet isn't the source of the success," Alistair said, turning to face the board, keeping Elodie’s hand in his. "It is a reminder. A reminder that for ten years, I ran this company with fear. I squeezed every penny. I cut every corner. And yes, we made money. But we were stagnant."

He looked at Rutherford.

"Miss Rose didn't bring magic. She brought perspective. Since she arrived, we have secured the Waterfront Deal. We have merged with Takahashi. We have survived a PR crisis and turned it into a market rally."

He slammed his free hand on the table.

"You call it instability. The market calls it vision. If you want to vote me out, go ahead. But know this: If I walk out that door, Miss Rose comes with me. And so does the luck. And by the time the market closes today, Sterling Industries will be worth less than the suit Bianca is wearing."

He stared them down. The "Ice King" was in full effect.

Rutherford looked at the stock ticker on the wall screen. It was green. Very green.

Rutherford looked at Bianca. Then he looked at his portfolio.

"Motion denied," Rutherford grunted. "Sit down, Alistair. We have work to do."

Bianca stood up, her face a mask of fury. She grabbed her bag.

"You're making a mistake," she hissed. "It’s a house of cards. And when it falls, I’ll be there to buy the wreckage."

She stormed out.

Elodie let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Her legs felt like jelly.

Alistair sat back down. He looked cool and collected, but Elodie felt his palm against hers. It was sweating.

"Now," Alistair said to the stunned board, opening his laptop. "Let’s discuss the Q1 projections. And someone get Miss Rose a coffee. A latte. With oat milk."