Page 70 of The Contract

Motherfucker.

I inhale through my nose, keeping my expression cool. “The timeline is aggressive because it needs to be. Calloway Holdings stands to make an additional fifteen percent ROI if we close before the next quarterly shift. If we hesitate, we lose leverage. If we lose leverage, we lose money. Period.”

Calloway nods at that, but Adrian isn’t done.

“I’m just saying, caution isn’t a bad thing. There’s a reason checks and balances exist,” he continues. “After all, I imagine you’d hate to jump into a commitment prematurely and realize it wasn’t what you signed up for.”

I feel like there’s a double meaning there, and my mind immediately runs to my contract with Elena.

My grip tightens around the armrest.

I remind myself that I don’t know what his game is yet, and there’s no way he could know about my arrangement with her.

The pointed look from Marcus is a reminder that I can’t rip his fucking throat out in the middle of a business meeting.

So I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “The difference, Kingston, is that I don’t hesitate when I see a good deal.”

Adrian’s smirk twitches. He wasn’t expecting me to flip it on him so fast.

“Now,” I continue, redirecting the conversation back to Calloway, “if we’re ready to proceed, I’d like to go over the next steps for closing.”

Calloway leans back, stroking his chin.

I wait.

Finally, he nods. “Agreed. Let’s move forward.”

But something lingers in his expression.

Not hesitation.

Something worse.

Doubt.

It’s gone as fast as it appeared, but I saw it. And so did Adrian. Because the smug fucker has the audacity to smirk into his glass like he just won the first round.

But Adrian will soon realize I won’t be as easy to undermine as he thinks.

Because I love a game of chess.

And he just sat down at the board with a fucking master.

Hours have passed.

The meeting dragged through lunch and into the late afternoon, and while the setting may have remained polished and refined, the undercurrents of tension only deepened.

Lunch had been served on the terrace—an immaculate spread of fresh seafood, chilled salads, and perfectly aged wines. An indulgence meant to suggest an atmosphere of ease. But the constant rounds of back-and-forth with Adrian made it anything but.

He never let up.

Every time I thought we’d moved past his concerns, he found a new one to introduce. A minor clause in the contracts. A logistical challenge that wasn’t a challenge at all. A hypothetical risk so far-fetched it was laughable, yet each time, he managed to plant just enough hesitation in Calloway’s mind to keep the conversation going.

By the time the meeting is officially adjourned, I’m two seconds from walking Adrian out to the ocean and seeing if he can swim his way back to New York.

I don’t let my frustration show as Marcus and I take our leave, excusing ourselves with the polite, practiced ease of men who have been in these rooms for years.

We walk back toward the bungalows, the sun dipping lower in the sky, the scent of salt and citrus riding the warm summer breeze. The estate is quiet in the distance, but my mind is anything but.

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