0008 ~ Vincent ~ The meeting was already going to shit, and I’d barely been sitting down for ten minutes.
Richard Pemberton—sixty-three years old, owner of half the prime real estate in the northern district, and currently the biggest pain in my ass—sat across from me in his ostentatiously decorated office, nursing a glass of whiskey and looking apologetic in that infuriating way rich old men did when they were about to waste your time.
“I like you, Vincent,” he said, swirling his drink.
“I really do.
You’re sharp, you’re ambitious, you understand the business.
Hell, you remind me of myself thirty years ago.” I kept my expression neutral, but my jaw was already tightening.
Compliments before bad news.
Classic negotiation tactic.
I’d used it myself a thousand times.
“But?” I prompted, because there was always a but.
Pemberton sighed heavily, setting down his glass.
“But my wife has certain…
opinions about who I do business with.” “Your wife.” I leaned back in my chair, forcing myself to stay calm.
“We’re discussing a fifteen-million-dollar land deal, and you’re telling me your wife has opinions.” “Not just opinions.
Instructions.” He had the decency to look embarrassed.
“She’s very particular about the company we keep.
Old-fashioned values, you understand.
Family man values.” I could feel my blood pressure rising.
“And I don’t fit that description.” “You’re a single man, Vincent.
No wife, no family, no…” He waved his hand vaguely.
“Stability.
Margaret—that’s my wife—she thinks single men are unreliable.
Reckless.
Too focused on themselves to be trusted with long-term partnerships.” This was insane.
I’d come here to close a deal I’d been working on for three months.
Three months of negotiations, of reviewing contracts, of greasing the right palms and making the right promises.
I’d cleared my schedule for this meeting and now this fossil was telling me his wife didn’t approve because I wasn’t married?
The old Vincent — the street kid who’d clawed his way up through the Hamish family ranks — would have already had his hand on a weapon.
Would have made it clear that Margaret Pemberton’s opinions were irrelevant when a gun was pointed at her husband’s head.
But I wasn’t that kid anymore.
I was a businessman now, at least on the surface.
I ran legitimate operations alongside the family business.
And threatening Richard Pemberton would cause a rift in this industry that I couldn’t afford.
The man was connected—city council, planning commission, half the real estate moguls in the state.
Going after him would be like kicking a hornet’s nest.
I took a slow breath, trying to calm the rage building in my chest.
“Mr.
Pemberton…” “Please, call me Richard.” “Richard,” I said through gritted teeth.
“With all due respect to your wife, I don’t see how my marital status has any bearing on…” “I know, I know.” He held up his hands defensively.
“It seems arbitrary.
But Margaret’s been my partner for forty years.
I don’t make deals without her blessing.
That’s just how it is.” I stared at him, my mind racing through options.
I could walk away—cut my losses and find another property.
But this land was perfect.
Prime location, zoning already approved, exactly what I needed for the development project I’d been planning.
Walking away meant starting over, and I didn’t have time for that.
I could threaten him.
Make it clear what happened to people who wasted my time.
But that would burn bridges I needed intact.
Or…
An idea struck me.
A terrible, complicated, absolutely ridiculous idea.
“I am married,” I heard myself say.
Pemberton blinked.
“I’m sorry?” “I’m married.” The words felt foreign in my mouth, but I pushed forward.
“As of this morning, actually.
That’s why I was running late — I was at my wedding.” It wasn’t technically a lie.
I had been at a wedding.
I had signed papers.
There was a marriage certificate with my name on it, even if the whole thing was supposed to be a proxy arrangement for Logan.
Pemberton’s entire demeanor changed.
His face lit up like I’d just told him he’d won the lottery.
“You’re married?
Vincent, that’s wonderful!
Why didn’t you mention this earlier?” “It was a small ceremony,” I said, my mind working fast.
“Very private.
We wanted to keep it quiet.” “Well, congratulations!” He was beaming now, all his previous reservations apparently evaporating.
“This changes everything.
Margaret will be thrilled.
She always says a married man is a man who understands commitment, responsibility…” “So we can move forward with the deal?” I cut in, wanting to close this before he asked too many questions.
“Absolutely!
But…” He pulled out his phone.
“You’ll have to forgive me, but Margaret will want proof.
She’s very thorough about these things.” Of course she would.
“We took photos,” I said, already pulling out my own phone.
“At the courthouse.
For the marriage certificate.” I found the image that Luca had sent me on the drive here — that awkward, stiff photo where Elodie and I had stood like strangers at a bus stop.
We looked nothing like a happy couple.
But we looked married, and right now, that’s all that mattered.
I turned my phone toward Pemberton.
He leaned forward, studying the photo with the intensity of an art appraiser.
“She’s beautiful,” he said finally.
“What’s her name?” “Elodie.” The name felt strange on my tongue.
“Elodie Lockwood.” Saying her name with my last name felt even stranger.
Wrong, somehow.
Like I was claiming something that didn’t belong to me.
“Elodie Lockwood,” Pemberton repeated, smiling.
“Has a nice ring to it.
And she looks lovely.” “Thanks”.
He was already dialing his phone.
“Margaret is going to love this.
Hold on, let me call her.” Wait.
No.
I didn’t want him calling his wife.
I didn’t want this getting more complicated than it already was.
But Pemberton already had the phone to his ear.
“Darling?
Yes, it’s me.
I’m still in the meeting with Vincent Lockwood…
Yes, the land deal…
Well, that’s why I’m calling.
Turns out he just got married this morning!” I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, excited and loud.
“I know, I know!
I’m looking at the wedding photo right now.
Lovely girl…
Yes, I’ll send it to you…” Pemberton was grinning at me while he talked.
“Her name is Elodie…
Yes, very proper…
Hold on, let me ask.” He pulled the phone away from his ear.
“Margaret wants to know if you two would be available for dinner.
She loves meeting newlyweds, and she’d like to get to know your wife.” The words hit me like cold water.
Dinner.
With Pemberton and his wife.
With Elodie.
“I…” I started, trying to think of an excuse.
But Pemberton was already back on the phone.
“He’s checking his schedule, dear…
Yes, I’ll make sure he brings her…
today at seven, perfect!” He hung up and looked at me expectantly.
“So?
Seven?
The earlier the better.
Our place in the hills.
Nothing formal, just dinner.
Margaret’s an excellent cook, and she’s already excited to meet Elodie.” I could feel a headache building behind my eyes.
This was spiraling out of control.
What was supposed to be a simple business transaction had just become exponentially more complicated.
But the alternative was walking away from the deal.
And I didn’t walk away from deals.
“Today at seven,” I confirmed, my voice flat.
“We’ll be there.” “Excellent!” Pemberton was already pulling out the contracts.
“Now, let’s get this paperwork finalized.
I’ll have my lawyers draw up the final documents by tomorrow.
With a married man, Margaret says I can move forward with confidence.” I barely heard him.
My mind was already racing ahead, calculating how I am going to steal Logan’s wife for a while.