“Yeah, if things really go south for me, you’d better remember to take me in when I’m out on the street.”

Max was still the same Max. Two–thirds of what he said was a joke, and you could never take him too seriously.

“Honestly, you camping out on a park bench sounds about right,” Alessia shot back, rolling her eyes.

Laughter echoed from the other end of the line–light, easy.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

Only then did Alessia feel a genuine sense of relief. She looked up, her gaze landing on the framed photo on her desk, and for reasons she couldn’t quite name, her mood soured.

“If you really do go bankrupt one day, I suppose I could let you crash at my place.”

She didn’t bother waiting for Max’s response, simply hung up.

The dial tone droned on. Max, lips curled in a faint grin, didn’t seem bothered at all.

Lately, Tate Holdings had been a mess. These past couple days, he’d barely managed three hours of sleep in total. He rubbed his brow and leaned back in his chair, feeling lighter after that call–the exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

“Ungrateful brat. Guess she does have a conscience after all.”

He muttered as he looked at the darkened phone screen. But a second later, the

screen lit up again.

straightened, voice and

lunch at The Gables. Don’t forget you’re meeting the Winston family’s daughter.” Scott’s tone was

as if he were

Holdings is in. We need the Winston investment–there’s no room for mistakes. I trust you know how

didn’t bother to

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12:42

Chapter

attitude. As soon as he got confirmation, he hung

a cold laugh, tossed his phone onto the table, and didn’t give it

the next day he showed up at the restaurant

was already seated,

late, Sienna didn’t show the slightest hint of guilt. With the Tate family on the brink and her family’s investment the only lifeline, she knew she held all the cards. What did it matter if she made him wait? He had no choice but

A waiter

Max turned his head, slow and

reviewed his background before agreeing to this meeting. With her pedigree, she had her pick of suitors,

his looks–were hard

about it: on paper, Max

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