The breakfast tray was a shield. When she pushed it away, she wasn't the prisoner; she was the uncooperative asset.
Adrien sat opposite her at the small table in her suite. He was dressed for the day, immaculate and powerful. She, on the other hand, was in a silk robe provided by the staff. She forced herself to see only a business opponent. A problem. A lock to be picked.
"You need to eat," he said, gesturing to the untouched plate of food.
She poured a cup of black coffee. "I need a terminal."
He extended his arm, tapping his watch. "Your schedule is managed. Physical therapy at ten. Language tutoring at noon. You are a Sargent representative. You will be perfect."
She slid the coffee cup across the table. He didn't flinch. He just watched her. His gaze was heavy, tracking every movement of her hands, searching for a tremor.
"I need to monitor the trust's portfolio," she said, her voice crisp. "You may have my proxy, but the assets are still tied to my name. I will not be kept in the dark."
He considered this, taking a slow sip of his own coffee. The silence stretched.
"Fine," he conceded. "A terminal will be installed in your study. Monitored, of course."
She sighed internally. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. "The market is volatile. Your Chen Industries play is risky. If it fails, our family's reputation is damaged."
"Our family?" Adrien stood up, knocking his chair back slightly. The sound echoed in the silent room. "Don't forget your place, Clarice. You are an accessory."
"An accessory with a nine-figure trust fund," she countered, meeting his gaze. She backed up until her hips hit the counter. "You may be the CEO, Mr. Sargent, but I am the face of the Foundation. A scandal would hurt us both."
He grabbed her wrist, his grip bruising. "Then behave. Attend your appointments. Smile for the cameras when I tell you to. I don't care about your opinions on my business."
"You could lose everything," she said calmly.
"I'm already dead if I lose this company." He let go of her, disgust flickering in his eyes. "We're hosting the Japanese delegation next week. You will be the perfect hostess. But I don't trust you not to make a scene."
"Trust is expensive," she muttered.
"If you fail," he said, walking to the door, "Alfred's new nurse will be replaced with the old one."
She needed to know the layout.
She walked down the main corridor, keeping her head down. She tried to turn toward the West Wing, where the server room was located.
"Miss Clarice."
Alfred, or rather, a man who looked startlingly like him but younger and colder-his replacement, she presumed- stepped in front of her. "The library is the other way."
"Right. Sorry. Still learning my way around."
"Hey! You!"
She turned. A woman was clicking down the hallway in Louboutins. She was blonde, beautiful, and looked at her like she was a stain on the carpet. Ivy Bates. The PR consultant.
"There you are," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. She didn't wait for an answer. She thrust a heavy leather bag at her. "Take this to the study. And be careful, it's worth more than your life."
She mistook her for a servant. Good.
"Yes, ma'am," she said, taking the bag.
Ivy turned her back to check her reflection in a hallway mirror. "God, this place is dreary. Adrien needs to redecorate. Something less... ancestral."
While she preened, she slipped her hand into the side pocket of her bag. Her fingers brushed cool plastic. A keycard.
She palmed it, sliding it into her pocket in one fluid motion.
"Well?" Ivy snapped, turning back. "Go!"
She hurried away, head down.
Back in her room, she pulled out the card. It was a Level 2 security pass. Not enough for the main gates, but enough to get into the communications room.
She looked out the window. The sky was turning a bruised purple. A storm was coming. The satellite uplink would be spotty. The security grid would have momentary lags during the switch to generator power.
She checked the patrol schedule she had drawn on a napkin.
Tonight. It had to be tonight.
