POV — Catriona
He doesn't corner me.
He schedules me.
"Ten minutes," the message from Charles reads.
"Conference Room B. 4:30."
No explanation.
Which means it's intentional.
At 4:29, I step into the smaller glass-walled conference room overlooking the east side of the city. It's quieter here. Less visible than the main boardroom. More controlled.
Charles is already seated.
No laptop.
No documents.
Just observation.
"Close the door," he says lightly.
Not a command like Shawn.
A suggestion that assumes compliance.
I close it.
"I assume this isn't about formatting contracts," I say.
His mouth curves faintly.
"You assume correctly."
He gestures to the chair across from him.
I sit — posture straight, expression neutral.
He studies me like data.
"You're accelerating fast," he says.
"I'm working."
"You're being positioned."
That word lands carefully.
"By whom?" I ask.
He doesn't answer immediately.
"Do you know what happens to people who rise too quickly here?" he asks instead.
"They plateau?"
"They fracture."
Silence.
"Reid doesn't mentor," Charles continues calmly. "He tests durability."
"I don't break easily."
"That's not the concern."
His gaze sharpens slightly.
"The concern is whether you're being built… or used."
Used.
There it is.
I don't react.
"If I were being used," I say evenly, "I'd know."
"Would you?"
A pause.
"Power feels flattering when it's new."
"And what does it feel like when it's not?" I ask.
"Transactional."
That word hangs heavier than the others.
He leans back slightly.
"I'm offering you an alternative," he says.
There it is.
Clean. Direct.
"I head strategic development for three subsidiaries," he continues. "International expansion. Regulatory structuring. You'd gain exposure without being… politicized."
Meaning: without being visibly aligned to Shawn.
"You want me under your division," I say.
"Yes."
"And why?"
"Because you're intelligent."
That's not enough.
He sees that in my expression.
"And," he adds, "because you don't belong to him."
There it is.
The first open line drawn.
I tilt my head slightly.
"I don't belong to anyone."
"Not yet," he replies softly.
Interesting.
"Is this about me," I ask, "or about him?"
Charles doesn't flinch.
"It's about trajectory."
"Yours?"
"Ours," he corrects.
Calculated.
Strategic.
If I move under him, it weakens Shawn's position.
If I stay with Shawn, I remain exposed.
"You think he's elevating me for leverage," I say.
"I know he doesn't do anything without advantage."
"And you do?"
His mouth lifts faintly.
"I prefer mutual benefit."
Silence stretches between us.
This is not flirtation.
It's positioning.
"Why now?" I ask.
"Because the board is watching."
"And?"
"And I don't intend to let you become collateral."
That word hits harder than "risk."
Collateral implies sacrifice.
"You think he'd sacrifice me?" I ask evenly.
Charles holds my gaze.
"If preserving the firm required it?"
He doesn't answer.
He doesn't need to.
That silence says enough.
"You're asking me to choose sides," I say.
"I'm offering insulation."
Insulation.
From what?
Shawn?
Politics?
Emotion?
"Do you want an answer now?" I ask.
"No," he says calmly. "I want you to think."
He stands.
I remain seated.
"You're ambitious," he continues. "Ambition should be strategic, not emotional."
"I'm not emotional," I say.
His gaze lingers for half a second too long.
"Make sure that remains true."
He walks to the door, opening it before I can respond.
"Take the weekend," he adds. "Consider where your leverage is safest."
Then he leaves.
Just like that.
No pressure.
No demand.
Which makes it more dangerous.
I remain seated for a full minute after he's gone.
Because this isn't about attraction.
It's about alignment.
Shawn offers acceleration.
Charles offers insulation.
Both offer power.
But only one of them believes I'm a risk.
The question isn't who wants me.
It's who benefits most from me.
And for the first time since this began—
I don't know which move strengthens me more.