The silence in the boardroom after Serene's departure was deafening. Britney stood alone, the thick, creamy weight of James Finch's business card burning a hole in her palm. Know your place. The words echoed, but they now sparked defiance instead of fear. Her place wasn't in the shadows. It was at that table. And she had just proven it.
A soft click broke the silence. Klaus's assistant had closed the main door, leaving her alone with the CEO. He hadn't moved from his seat at the head of the table, watching her with that unnerving, analytical stillness.
"A job offer from James Finch," Klaus remarked, his voice cutting through the quiet. It wasn't a question. "An interesting development."
Britney carefully slid the card into her portfolio, a shield against his probing gaze. "It was a polite gesture, sir. Nothing more."
"James Finch doesn't make polite gestures. He makes strategic acquisitions. He sees talent, and he acquires it." Klaus leaned back in his chair, the leather sighing softly. "Much like I do."
The comparison hung in the air between them. Britney's heart, which had just begun to slow its frantic pace, kicked up again. Was she talent? Or an acquisition?
"The risk you identified with the Aether patents," he continued, switching gears with his characteristic abruptness. "Draft the language for the footnote. Have it on my desk by end of day."
It was a direct order, bypassing Higgins entirely. A massive responsibility for an intern. And a massive show of trust.
"Yes, sir," she said, her voice firm.
He gave a curt nod, a clear dismissal. But as she turned to leave, he spoke again. "Carter."
She paused, hand on the door handle.
"The gala. At the Metropolitan Museum next week. For the children's hospital fundraiser." He stated it as a fact, not an invitation. "You'll attend."
Britney's mind went blank. A gala? With him? It was a world away from patent footnotes and due diligence reports. It was the world of Serene Finch. "Sir? I'm not sure… my role…"
"Your role," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument, "is to be prepared to discuss the Verity acquisition with potential donors and partners who will be present. The Finch Foundation will be a major sponsor."
Of course. This wasn't a social invitation. It was a tactical move. He was putting her back on the battlefield, this time in a silk gown instead of a suit of armor. He was testing her in a new arena.
And he was offering her a weapon. An invitation to that world was a legitimacy that Serene could not easily undermine.
"I understand," she said, though she didn't, not really. The rules of this game kept changing.
"HR will provide the details," he said, already turning his attention to his tablet, the conversation clearly over.
Back at her desk, the reality of the day crashed over her. The high of the meeting, the shock of James's offer, the venom of Serene's threat, and now… a gala. She opened a new document to draft the legal language, but the words blurred.
Her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.
Unknown: Saw you left the boardroom. Still employed? Color me surprised. That dress for the gala better be rented. You'll want to return it after he fires you for being a boring little know-it-all. -S
Serene. She'd gotten her number somehow. The message was childish, but its intent was clear: to rattle her, to make her feel like an imposter who didn't belong.
Instead of despair, a cold smile touched Britney's lips. Serene was scared. Scared enough to resort to petty texts. Britney didn't reply. She simply saved the number under "Poisonous Finch".
The act of drafting the legal clause was calming. This was her power. Her precision. She crafted the sentence, each word chosen for its unassailable clarity, building a fortress of text to protect a billion-dollar deal.
As she finished, an email from HR arrived with the subject: Invitation to Metropolitan Museum Gala - Attire Guidelines & Plus-One Policy.
A plus-one. The idea was almost laughable. Who would she bring? A law school friend who thought black-tie meant a clean pair of jeans? This was a solo mission.
She sent the finished footnote to Klaus, feeling a small surge of pride. It was perfect.
Within minutes, a reply popped up. Not from his assistant, but from him directly.
From: Klaus Smith
Subject: Re: Aether Innovations Footnote
Adequate.
A car will pick you up at 7:30. Be ready.
No pleasantries. No questions. Just a statement of fact. He'd known she would have it done, and done well. The trust, the expectation—it was more unnerving than any compliment.
Later that evening, walking toward the subway, her phone buzzed again. This time, it was a call from an unknown number. Hesitantly, she answered.
"Britney Carter?" a warm, older male voice inquired.
"Yes?"
"This is James Finch. We met briefly today." He sounded… genuinely warm. "I hope this isn't too forward, but my wife and I are hosting a small dinner party this weekend for some of the Foundation's board members. After seeing you in action today, I'd be delighted if you could join us. I think you'd find the conversation stimulating."
Britney stopped walking, the sounds of the city fading around her. This was moving too fast. An offer, then a dinner invitation? Was this a father's intuition, or was she walking into another one of Serene's traps?
"Mr. Finch, I… I'm honored," she stammered, buying time. "Could I possibly check my schedule and get back to you?"
"Of course, of course," he said amiably. "No pressure. Just let my assistant know. I'll have her text you the details."
They hung up. Britney stood on the crowded sidewalk, feeling utterly alone. She was being pulled in three directions: by Klaus into a corporate war, by James into a family she couldn't claim, and by Serene into a shadow war of threats and sabotage.
She had the weapon of her reputation. But she was starting to realize she needed a map to navigate this new world. And the only person who might have one was the king who had thrown her into it in the first place.