Page 95 of Dial F for Finance

“I’ll hold you to that, Ms. Pemberton,” Xavier says, his image still crisp and imposing on the large monitor. He pauses, his gaze weighing me with clinical intensity. “And if you ever find yourself looking for a change in scenery—San Francisco, perhaps, or even a remote arrangement—let me know. Canfield Group will double whatever Mercer is currently paying you. Consider it an open-ended offer.”

The air in the room shifts. Beside me, Dominic’s posture changes. He lets out a sharp, incredulous laugh that vibrates through my shoulder.

“Are you seriously trying to poach my wife right in front of me, Xavier?” Dominic asks, his voice tight with a mixture of amusement and that proprietary edge he wears like a custom suit. “I haven’t even finished the implementation review and you’re already trying to raid the staff?”

Xavier offers a rare smile. “I’m poaching her from Mercer, Dominic, not from you. Keep your personal and professional interests in their respective lanes. Talent like that is wasted on mid-market equity plays.”

I find myself laughing, a genuine sound that cuts through the lingering tension of the Nakamura threat. The idea of being a commodity Xavier Field would double-pay for is a significant data point, but my loyalty isn’t for sale—at least not today. “I appreciate the offer, Xavier. Truly. But I’m happy where I am for now. Thank you.”

“For now,” Xavier repeats, the pragmatist to the end. “Goodnight.”

The screen goes black, plunging the office back into the soft, amber glow of the Chicago skyline. Dominic’s hands move to my waist as he leans back against the mahogany, pulling me deeper into his space.

“You know, that’s not the first time Canfield has asked me about poaching you,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of my hip. “Xavier’s been circling your LinkedIn like a shark for months. He also wanted me to ask if you had anyone you could refer. Thomas needs a new executive assistant now that his has officially put in her notice.”

I go still. My mind immediately flips through a Rolodex of contacts, filtering for the specific blend of steel and empathy required to manage someone as exacting as Thomas Canning.

“My sister,” I say, the thought hitting me with the force of a confirmed projection. “Hailey. She’s looking for a pivot, and she’s brilliant with logistics.”

Dominic tilts his head, considering it. “If she’s anything like you, she’ll be perfect.”

“She’s a hell of a lot friendlier than me. Which is why I think she’ll suit Thomas. Xavier’s cool detachment would send her running. But Thomas has a warmth to him. They’ll gel.”

He reaches out, his hand sliding up to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in the loose hairs at my nape. “Get her CV to Roz. She’ll give it a look, and if it passes her sniff test—which it will, because she’s a Pemberton—she’ll forward it to Xavier with my personal stamp.”

“I’ll tell her tonight,” I say, feeling a strange, warm rush of satisfaction. Helping Hailey find a fortress of her own feels like a win that doesn’t need a spreadsheet to justify.

“Good,” Dominic whispers, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “Now that the referrals are handled and the supply chain is secure . . . back to that implementation review?”

“With one caveat.”

“I’m listening.”

“You need to stop bragging about me.”

He takes my hand and presses a kiss to my palm. “I can’t promise you that. The world needs to recognize your brilliance.”

“I thought we only cared what each other thinks.”

“We care what we think. The world still requires educating.”

“You understand I was already considered competent before you started issuing press releases.”

“Competent?” His brow pulls together, genuinely offended. “You’re terrifying. There are men on three continents reviewing their life choices because you opened a folder.”

“That may be slightly overstated.”

“It’s not stated loudly enough.”

He kisses me before I can answer.

I reach for him on instinct, my hands sliding up his chest as the kiss deepens, but then his arm stretches past me without breaking contact. A soft click echoes from the door panel behind us. The lock engages and I remember the last time he used it on me—the same day I delivered those annulment papers.

Right now, with his mouth on mine and his hands grabbing fistfuls of my ass, I want nothing more than to set those papers on fire and burn along with them.

“Turn around and bend over,” he commands.

CHAPTER 24