Chapter 7 - The Only Woman Who Didn't Try to Buy Him
Six months later, Nora Hale walked into my study without knocking.
I looked up.
“You've become extremely comfortable.”
She dropped a thick report onto my desk.
“You're losing $1.8 million annually through three logistics contracts.”
I stared at the folder.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Good morning.”
She sat across from me.
No maid uniform.
No lowered eyes.
No attempt to disappear.
Nora now ran the Moretti Internal Intelligence and Risk Division.
Thirty-two employees reported to her.
Accountants.
Investigators.
Cybersecurity analysts.
Former prosecutors.
And, at Nora's insistence, several people nobody else would have hired.
A hotel housekeeper.
A retired chauffeur.
A warehouse receptionist.
Two night janitors.
People who noticed things.
People others ignored.
Dominic had been removed permanently from the organization and faced charges connected to financial crimes uncovered during the investigation.
Victor DeLuca's conspiracy collapsed with him.
Camille left New York.
Evelyn became one of my legitimate corporate attorneys after admitting Nora had beaten her fairly.
Sloane disappeared back into the social circles that had created her.
And the marriage advisers?
I fired them.
Every one.
Nora tapped the report.
“Are you listening?”
“No.”
She sighed.
“Why?”
“Dinner.”
“What about it?”
“Tonight.”
“We have dinner meetings constantly.”
“Not a meeting.”
She stopped.
I continued.
“You. Me. Restaurant.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Is this another competition?”
“No.”
“Business alliance?”
“No.”
“Are there black cards involved?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Underbosses?”
“Hopefully not.”
“Potential assassinations?”
“I've made reservations somewhere respectable.”
She tried not to smile.
I stood.
“Nora Hale, I'm asking you on a date.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“No.”
I stared.
She walked toward the door.
“Nora.”
She turned.
Then smiled.
“Ask me again without sounding like you're negotiating a shipping contract.”
I exhaled.
She waited.
I walked around the desk.
No guards.
No advisers.
No empire.
Just me.
“Nora, would you have dinner with me tonight because I like being around you?”
Her expression softened.
“And?”
“And you make me laugh.”
“Sometimes.”
“You challenge me.”
“Constantly.”
“You terrify my accountants.”
“They deserve it.”
“And because for three years, you were standing right in front of me while I was too arrogant to notice.”
Silence.
Nora studied me.
Then nodded.
“Dinner.”
I smiled.
“Seven?”
“Eight.”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Eight.”
“You negotiate everything.”
“I learned from you.”
“Eight.”
She started toward the door.
“Nora.”
She looked back.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
I opened my desk drawer.
Her expression immediately became suspicious.
“Adrian.”
I removed a small velvet box.
“No.”
“You haven't even seen it.”
“I know what boxes that size mean.”
I laughed.
“Relax.”
I opened it.
Inside was not an engagement ring.
It was a small silver key.
Nora frowned.
“What is that?”
“The penthouse.”
“I already have access.”
“Staff access.”
Her expression changed.
“This one means you don't need permission.”
She stared at the key.
“I don't understand.”
“You told me you wouldn't be something I could win.”
“Yes.”
“And you were right.”
I placed the box on the desk between us.
“So this isn't ownership. It isn't a proposal. It isn't payment.”
“What is it?”
“Trust.”
Nora slowly picked up the key.
For once, she had no immediate answer.
I smiled.
“Finally.”
“What?”
“I found something you can't argue with.”
She looked at me.
“Don't get comfortable.”
Then she closed the box.
“I'll see you at eight.”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Eight, Adrian.”
She walked out.
I laughed.
Six months after three women spent more than forty million dollars trying to prove they deserved to become my wife, the woman who had spent nothing became the person I trusted most.
A year later, I asked Nora another question.
There were no advisers.
No candidates.
No competition.
No unlimited credit cards.
We were standing in the kitchen at midnight, eating leftover pasta because she'd worked late.
I placed a ring beside her plate.
She stared at it.
Then at me.
“This better not be a test.”
“It isn't.”
“No business conditions?”
“None.”
“No seventy-two-hour deadline?”
“You can take seventy-two years if necessary.”
She smiled.
I took her hand.
“Nora Hale, will you marry me?”
She remained silent long enough to make the most feared man in New York nervous.
Then she leaned closer.
“I have one condition.”
“Of course you do.”
“No wife competitions ever again.”
“Agreed.”
“No treating employees like furniture.”
“Agreed.”
“And I keep my department.”
I stared at her.
“You thought marriage was getting you out of work?”
She laughed.
Then she kissed me.
“Yes.”
That was her answer.
We married quietly the following spring.
And when someone eventually asked Nora what she had purchased with the unlimited black card that started everything, she always gave the same answer.
“Nothing.”
Then she'd look at me and smile.
May you like
“I just figured out what was worth protecting.”
For once in my life, I didn't argue.
