Adison’s POV
Jake won the argument this morning. I couldn't find the words to stop him, couldn't manufacture a reason strong enough to keep him outside when he looked at me with that stubborn set to his jaw and said, "I'm done waiting in hallways."
So here we are.
He sits along the wall, silent but present, watching every board member with the careful attention of a man who survives by reading situations.
His cowboy hat rests on his knee. His posture looks relaxed, but I know better. He's coiled tight, cataloging threats.
The gala proposal sits in front of each board member. Victoria flips through her copy, nodding at details she's already approved in private.
"The guest list is comprehensive." Her voice carries the authority of someone who's been doing this for decades. "And the investor outreach strategy is sound. I support moving forward."
Relief loosens something in my chest. Victoria's endorsement means protection.
Gideon leans back in his chair, mouth curling into something that isn't quite a smile.
"The question isn't whether the proposal looks good on paper." His gaze finds mine with pointed skepticism. "The question is whether Miss Ward can actually handle these people. Titans of industry. Old money. Entrenched power."
My jaw tightens. I open my mouth to respond, but Zachary beats me to it.
"Miss Ward's social credentials—"
"Her social training makes her perfect for exactly this." Jake's voice cuts through the room like a blade.
Everyone turns. The cowboy who's been silent for the entire meeting is suddenly speaking, and the shift in attention is immediate.
Jake doesn't stand. Doesn't raise his voice. Just delivers his assessment with the same directness he uses to explain fence repair.
"She was raised in this world. Knows the language, the customs, the unspoken rules. But she also has something most socialites don't—scientific credibility. Graduate research at UT Austin. Published papers. An actual brain behind the pretty face."
Gideon's expression flickers. Uncertainty replacing contempt.
"She can code-switch between worlds." Jake's eyes move around the table, meeting each board member's gaze in turn. "Talk philanthropy with old money and then pivot to discussing her thesis with anyone who challenges her intelligence. That's not common. That's valuable."
The room goes quiet.
I watch the board members process his words. Watch them recalculate their assumptions about the cowboy who just delivered a devastatingly intelligent analysis of my positioning.
Juliana's lips twitch. Almost approval.
Gideon's jaw works. He's searching for a counterargument and failing to find one. Finally, he exhales through his nose.
"Fine." The word comes out grudging. Reluctant. "We'll see how the gala goes."
The meeting concludes shortly after. Board members file out, conversations already shifting to other matters.
Soon only the three of us remain. Jake hasn't moved from his position along the wall. Zachary gathers his tablet with practiced efficiency.
"That was impressive, Miss Ward." Zachary's voice carries genuine warmth. "You handled their resistance beautifully. And the proposal itself—flawless execution. You fit this role perfectly."
I feel my shoulders relax slightly. "Thank you."
"I've often wondered why Richard never recognized your capability." He shakes his head, something almost frustrated in the gesture. "All those years of preparing you for political marriage when you were clearly built for this."
The observation stings in ways he probably doesn't intend. Built for this. Like I'm a tool finally finding its proper use.
"She doesn't need the flattery."
Jake's voice cuts through the moment. He stands now, crossing his arms, and there's something hard in his expression I don't understand.
Zachary's composure flickers. "I'm not—"
"You're sucking up." Jake's words are blunt. Direct. Almost harsh. "Maybe you should just admit what you actually want. You're tired of being Richard's assistant. You see an opportunity to become her right hand instead."
The accusation lands like a slap.
Zachary's face goes carefully blank. The professional mask sliding into place over whatever he's actually feeling. His hands still on his tablet, frozen mid-movement.
I stare at Jake, confusion and frustration tangling in my chest. "That's not fair. Zachary has been nothing but helpful since I arrived."
"Helpful has a price." Jake's jaw is granite. "Everyone in this world wants something. He's no different."
"Jake." My voice sharpens. "He's been supportive. Loyal. Maybe try being polite instead of suspicious of everyone who isn't from Texas."
Something flickers in Jake's eyes. Hurt, maybe. Or just that stubborn refusal to bend that I've come to know so well.
"I'll wait downstairs." He grabs his cowboy hat. Doesn't look at either of us again. "Take your time."
The door closes behind him with a soft click.
Silence stretches through the conference room. I feel it pressing against my skin, heavy with everything unspoken.
Zachary clears his throat. When I turn back to him, his expression has smoothed into professional neutrality, but something uncomfortable still lives behind his eyes.
"Mr. Sullivan's personality..." He chooses his words carefully. "It may present challenges at the gala. These are people who expect certain... social conventions."
My stomach tightens. I know he's right. I also hate that he's right.
"Everything will be fine." I force confidence into my voice. "Jake understands the stakes. He'll adapt."
Zachary nods, though his expression suggests doubt he's too diplomatic to voice. Then something shifts in his posture—a new idea forming.
"Actually, there's something that might help." His tone turns thoughtful. Calculating. "The silent auction always needs unique offerings. Things money can't usually buy."
"What are you thinking?"
"A weekend at Mr. Sullivan's ranch." He sets down his tablet, warming to the concept. "Something exotic for high society. Authentic Western experience. Horseback riding, cattle work, star-gazing in that observatory you mentioned."
The suggestion startles me. But the more I consider it, the more sense it makes.
"They'd bid on that." I can already see it—Manhattan socialites paying obscene amounts for a taste of Jake's world. "It's different. Exclusive. Exactly the kind of thing that generates buzz."
"And it gives Mr. Sullivan a defined role." Zachary's smile is careful but genuine. "Something concrete to offer beyond his... personal connection to you."
I turn the idea over in my mind. Jake might hate it. Might see it as his home being commodified for people who don't deserve to experience it.
But it's also an opportunity. A way to integrate him into this world on his own terms.
"I'll propose it to him." I meet Zachary's eyes. "Thank you. For everything."
He inclines his head. The professional mask is fully restored now, whatever Jake's accusation stirred already buried beneath smooth competence.
I gather my notes and head for the elevator, where Jake waits like he promised. Silent. Stubborn. Mine.
The ranch raffle might work. Or it might start another fight.
Either way, we're figuring this out together.