Page 111 of The Contract

“I know,” he mutters. “But he’s calling in a favor to get a track on his cell phone. Won’t be exact, but close enough.”

Not good enough.

“Has he been spotted anywhere useful?”

“Couple of times.” A pause. “He’s been meeting with Norwood & Ellis.”

The name sends a slow, simmering heat through my chest.

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“Wish I was.”

Norwood & Ellis was a predatory investment firm I dismantled years ago—parasitic bastards who preyed on struggling businesses. I didn’t just run them into the ground; I lit the match and watched them burn.

“He’s trying to gather allies,” I mutter.

“Yeah, but even if he did, he doesn’t have the firepower to compete with us.”

Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t planning something.

The jeweler studies my expression, then seems to get an idea. His fingers move to another case, unlocking it with a quiet click before pulling out something else.

A pair of diamond threader earrings. The white gold chains are sleek, elegant, the diamonds catching the light at just the right angle.

Perfect.

I nod once, and the jeweler inclines his head in understanding, setting them aside without a word.

“Hold on, Wolfe. I’m getting another call—it’s James.” Marcus puts me on hold, and I set my phone on the glass counter, stretching my neck and releasing a heavy breath.

The jeweler clears his throat subtly, stepping forward to offer the carefully wrapped package.

“I take it your proposal went well, Mr. Wolfe?”

I hesitate a second too long.

Then, my lips curve into a slow, practiced smirk. “It did,” I say smoothly, exhaling through my nose. “With a ring so beautiful, how could she say no?”

The jeweler beams. “A beautiful addition to your beautiful bride, Mr. Wolfe.”

I don’t correct him.

Because the thought of Elena wearing these—knowing I picked them for her?—

Yeah. I like that too much.

I nod to the jeweler, accepting the bag before heading toward the exit. The town car is waiting at the curb, the driver already stepping out to open the door.

I slide into the backseat, loosening my tie just enough to breathe.

A few moments pass before Marcus’s voice returns. “Back. Where were we?”

“Adrian’s making a play, but we don’t know what it is yet,” I remind him.

“Right,” Marcus hums. “I’ll keep pushing, but let’s be honest—he’s just another trust fund dickhead trying to play in a league too big for him.”

“True.”

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