Claire's in my office at 10 PM because apparently healthy work-life boundaries are for people who don't work for me. She's got the Montgomery proposal spread across my desk, three different colored highlighters attacking the pages with the kind of violence usually reserved for opposing counsel.
"This is a Trojan horse," her pen stabs at Section 4.7 hard enough to nearly puncture the paper. "The performance benchmarks look achievable on surface analysis but the equity distribution formula is weighted so heavily in their favor it's almost insulting."
"I saw the benchmarks. They're aggressive but fair—"
"Fair?" She looks up and her expression could freeze nitrogen. "Year three, if you hit every single target—which requires sustained 15% growth in a market that averages 8%—they still control 51% voting rights. You're handing them majority control of Colorado operations."
My stomach drops. "That can't be right."
"Section 8.3, subsection C," she slides the document across. "The voting rights clause is buried in governance language but it's there. Clear as day if you're actually looking instead of being distracted by blonde hair and pretty presentations."
The accusation in her tone makes my jaw tighten.
"The capital infusion is substantial," I try. "We could triple our client base in eighteen months—"
"—because they're buying control, not investing as partners." Claire's voice goes sharp, precise, the way it does when she's eviscerating someone in depositions. "This is a takeover disguised as partnership. Slow enough you won't notice until it's too late. Smart, actually, respectful even, but still a takeover."
She's right. I know she's right because my gut's been screaming the same thing since Caroline left, but my body's been screaming something else entirely and apparently my dick is louder than my business instincts.
"Caroline wouldn't deliberately—"
"She is Robert Montgomery's daughter!" Claire cuts me off with surgical efficiency. "She built her career in his firm, learned strategy at his knee, absorbed his tactics through osmosis if nothing else. And her father built an empire by being ruthless enough to make opponents think they're winning while he's systematically dismantling them."
She stands, starts gathering her materials with sharp, angry movements.
"I know you have feelings for her. The coffee dates, the texts that make you smile at your phone during meetings, the way you get distracted when her name comes up," Her hands are shaking slightly. "But don't let those feelings blind you to what this actually is."
"I'll be careful," I promise.
"Will you?" She's at the door now, portfolio clutched tight. "From where I'm sitting, you're already compromised. You can't see her clearly anymore; you don’t see anything clearly when she's involved."
"Claire—"
"I'm going home, and you should too," her voice goes quieter, and that's somehow worse. "But you won't, you'll sit here obsessing over this proposal, texting her about it, letting her spin whatever narrative makes you feel better about signing away your firm."
She leaves without looking back. I sit there in the wreckage, staring at Section 8.3, subsection C until the words blur.
The video call with Seattle takes twenty minutes to set up because pack IT infrastructure was apparently designed by sadists. Finally Kieran and Magnus materialize on screen.
"Walk us through it," Magnus doesn't bother with pleasantries.
So I do. Every section, every clause, trying to present objectively while my gut churns. Kieran sees the problems immediately—his face does that thing where his jaw tightens and I know he's calculating risk factors.
Magnus is quieter. He studies me through the camera with uncomfortable intensity.
"The terms are aggressive," he says finally. "but not unusual for firms looking to expand rapidly. Standard private equity playbook—offer generous capital, build dependency, extract control incrementally."
"Right. So we pass."
"The question is why Montgomery needs this partnership at all." Magnus leans forward and suddenly he's not just Alpha of Silvermoon Pack but CEO who built Fenris Legal into what it is. "They have resources to compete independently, and they could crush your Colorado operation if they wanted. So why offer partnership?"
"Caroline said her father wants to see the expansion complete before—"
"Before?"
"He's not well. Health issues, and he wants his legacy secured."
Magnus's expression doesn't change but something flickers in his eyes. "Robert Montgomery has been 'not well' for five years. He uses it as negotiating leverage with clients, partners, even his own associates: creates urgency, sympathy, pushes people into rushed decisions."
My stomach drops further. "You think she's lying?"
"She's repeating what her father told her," Magnus's voice stays level. "But there's something else here, something you're not telling me."
The silence stretches, with Kieran's watching me with that brotherly intensity that sees too much.
"Do you have a personal connection with Caroline Montgomery?" Magnus asks directly.
The question detonates in my chest. "We've had coffee a few times," the words come out too fast.
Magnus's tone makes it clear he's calling bullshit. "Lysander, I ask you directly: are your feelings for this woman affecting your judgment on this deal?"
My throat goes tight: "No."
The lie tastes wrong. It sits in my mouth with weight and texture, obvious to anyone paying attention, and Magnus is always paying attention. His eyes narrow:
"If you sign this partnership and it goes badly, it doesn't just affect Colorado but the entire Fenris organization. Every pack-affiliated firm, every wolf who works under our umbrella, every family depending on our protection."
"I understand—"
"Do you?" His voice goes harder. "I've seen smart men make catastrophically stupid decisions because a woman smiled at them the right way. I've made those decisions myself, and every time, it cost more than I expected to pay."
The weight of that statement fills the screen.
"Review it carefully and run every scenario," Magnus leans closer to the camera. "And for the Moon’s sake, don't sleep with her until after the contract is signed or rejected. The last thing we need is your judgment further compromised by oxytocin and regret."
He ends the call before I can respond.
Kieran texts separately thirty seconds later: Dad's right but also—be careful. Caroline's smart. If she's anything like Thalia, she's playing chess while you're thinking you're playing checkers, and you're already three moves behind.
I sit alone in my office at midnight, the proposal glowing on my screen, and realize I'm in deeper than I thought.
Claire's right that I can't see Caroline clearly. Magnus is right that my judgment's compromised. Kieran's right that I'm outmaneuvered before the game even started.
I pull up the contract again. The voting rights clause is exactly what Claire said: buried but brutal.
This is a takeover, but I'm considering it anyway because Caroline Montgomery smiles at me and makes me want things I'm not supposed to want with women whose fathers hunt my kind for sport.
I'm so completely fucked.