Chapter 7 - The Family Dinner
The dining room at the Hartwell estate had never seen so much laughter.
By Friday evening, the initial shock of the boardroom incident had rippled through Seattle’s financial sector, turning Claire from a mysterious outsider into a legendary figure. Rumors were already circulating that she had single-handedly tamed the most ruthless CEO in the Pacific Northwest.
Eleanor Hartwell sat at the head of the table, stabbing a fork into a slice of gourmet meatloaf with immense satisfaction.
"Vance called me this morning," Eleanor announced, her dark eyes sparkling with wicked delight. "The poor man sounded like he had swallowed a cactus. He wanted to know if you were planning to bring me my medical charts at the office every day, Claire."
Claire took a sip of her sparkling water, smiling. "I told him I’d consider it if he learned how to knock."
Grant, sitting directly beside her, let out a low, rumbling laugh, his hand resting securely on her knee beneath the mahogany table. His thumb traced lazy circles against her thigh, a grounding, intimate anchor amidst the storm of their new reality.
"You terrified him," Grant murmured, leaning close to her ear. "He hasn't called a single emergency board meeting since."
"Good. Maybe he can spend that time learning basic manners," Claire whispered back.
The atmosphere around the table was warm, thick with the kind of generational security that money couldn't buy, but character could sustain. For the first time since she had arrived at the iron gates three weeks ago with mud on her boots and a cheap leather folder pressed to her chest, Claire felt like she actually belonged here.
Not because of the diamond necklace. Not because of the midnight-blue silk gown or the penthouse suite.
Because Grant looked at her not as an applicant, not as a risk, but as his equal.
"So," Eleanor said, tapping her silver-tipped cane lightly against the floor to regain their attention. "The wedding planner sent over the floral arrangements for the conservatory. She wants to use white orchids and cascading ivy. I told her absolutely not. We are using red roses and winter jasmine. It has much more... bite."
Grant groaned, rubbing his temples with his free hand. "Mother, please. We haven't even been engaged for a week. Give us at least forty-eight hours before you turn our wedding into a state funeral."
"Nonsense!" Eleanor snapped, though her eyes were twinkling. "At my age, you don't wait for forty-eight hours. You strike while the iron is hot. Isn't that right, Claire?"
Claire smiled, leaning her shoulder against Grant’s broad chest, feeling the solid, steady beat of his heart beneath his crisp shirt.
"I don't know, Mrs. Hartwell," Claire said, her voice laced with quiet confidence. "I think we’ve already caused enough damage for one month."
May you like
Grant looked down at her, his storm-gray eyes softening into something infinitely warm, and kissed her gently right there at the dinner table, completely ignoring his mother’s approving nod.
---
