Chapter 3 BOARDROOMS

(AMELIA)

The car was quiet at first, then he broke the silence.

"Did you see the news this morning, baby?" He asked casually, "Can you believe Paul Marchant just resigned from Primark over some messy allegations?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "It is all over the internet; it's sad. That man was practically Primark."

Because even in luxury, even on the way to a board meeting that could shape the next quarter of their careers, they knew someone was always listening.

The car moved smoothly as the chauffeur drove through the city streets. Amelia's eyes were fixated on the fleeting scenery, admiring the skyscrapers glinting past the Tesla's tinted window. Then the car crept through the grand gates of the Chedwards Group Head Office and rolled to a smooth stop at the private parking area for senior executives.

A member of his private executive team stepped forward with practiced grace, pulling open the door on George's side. Then he stepped out immediately; he moved with deliberate ease to the other side of the car. With a gentleman's poise, he reached for the handle and opened the door for Amelia to step out.

He extended his left hand to her, eyes soft. "Shall we?" She hesitantly gave her hand in his with a small smile forming on her lips. It was the day of the quarterly board meeting, and they had prepared for it.

Chedwards Group's head office, located in a highbrow area, is a structure that is a seamless blend of modern luxury and functional design; every corner was perfectly curated to reflect innovation.

From high-relief masonry to modern glass structures, tall ceilings. Each floor was thoughtfully designed with an integrated electrochromic dual-skin system to control every one of its light areas.

As they both made their way to the executive floor, locking hands together like a newlywed couple, staff greeted them with subtle nods and respectful smiles.

The boardroom was almost filled up with top executives and managers from various branches: men in suits and women in tailored dresses, the scent of fresh coffee and ambition thick in the air.

They took their seat with practiced grace, sitting side by side, ready for the day ahead.

And as the minutes rolled on and the discussions grew more intense, Amelia spoke when it mattered.

As someone who had navigated the evolving corporate landscape for over a decade, she had witnessed firsthand the transformative power of diverse perspectives in the boardroom.

"From today, we will be making major changes in our operations, and I will personally oversee this is put into effect. We must onboard more influencers to showcase our new products."

Most of the executives nodded in approval

George echoed, raising his head. "Good, that is a very good suggestion, Mrs. Grange. Now, let the marketing team get to work."

Amelia sat forward slightly in her chair. Our stakeholders have made it clear: stability matters, yes, but so does our ability to seize new opportunities."

"At our current share capital limit, we're in now. We need to embrace a greater appetite for expansion, but the legal structure is still operating on the assumptions of where we were a year ago. That's no longer sustainable; the status quo shouldn't be maintained."

"I propose we alter the Memorandum of Association.

But just as Amelia's words began to settle in the minds of the executives, George spiraled around the table, ensuring he had everyone's attention. He cleared his throat.

"I get your point, Mrs. Grange," he began, his eyes locking with hers across the table, "but altering the memorandum shouldn't be considered for now. If need be, this should be left for the legal team if they think it fit.

He glanced at the legal officer sitting right opposite him, then back at Amelia.

"With all due respect, Mr. Grange, "let's not forget, I'm a Harvard-trained lawyer, summa cum laude.

The room went quiet. No one spoke up.

"Mr. Grange, you know I can't make decisions alone." "That is why we have a board. We aren't operating a monarchical system at Chedwards." She said plainly

"Any alteration to the memorandum of association of any company requires a formal board resolution, and that means a vote.

The majority decides, as it should. I'm just presenting a proposal, not issuing a decree."

"You're right; this is not some sort of monarchy. I respect your training. "You're intelligent. Sharp. Always have been. Harvard and all, but business isn't just law and logic," he replied.

"Let's all not pretend that influence happens before hands go up."

"Well," she replied him, her voice low and deliberate, "just know it is left for the board to decide. The majority wins at the end of the day"

When the meeting finally ended, chairs scraped back and murmurs rose as people stretched and gathered their files.

George rose from his seat first; he adjusted his cuff, adorning a professional smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Ready for lunch?" he asked lightly, one brow raised.

Amelia looked up. "Yes, I'm starving."

Without a word, he gently tugged her up from her seat and began to lead her out of the boardroom. The soft click of Amelia's Jimmy Choo heels echoed alongside the low thud of his shoes as they walked side by side, still locking hands together as he led her to the office breakaway area right opposite the boardroom.

The space was spacious and humming with quiet elegance. It had high ceilings that stretched above and were supported by sleek pillars that glinted under soft pendant lighting. The centerpiece of the space was a round oak table, polished to a deep sheen, with just four leather-upholstered chairs circling it.

A long buffet console stood to one side, where the catered lunch had already been laid out with steaming trays of varieties.

What would you like to eat, my love?" He asked.

Anyone could walk in. So, she gave him that smile, the one that looked effortless but cost her something each time. It curved her lips just enough to pass for affection and softened her eyes just enough to sell the illusion.

"I think I'm in the mood for something sweet," she said lightly, her tone smooth and polished. George returned with a smile, just as rehearsed, nodding as though her words warmed him.

He returned moments later with a small porcelain plate in his hand, placing it gently in front of her like it was something precious. On it sat a delicate slice of honey-glazed salmon, resting on a bed of garlic wild rice with roasted butternut squash and a simple broccolini on the side. and a glass of her favorite orange juice.

"There," he said, with that soft, crafted smile. "Something sweet. Just for you."

She looked down at the plate, then up at him, that same flawless smile tugging at her lips again, because, of course, anyone could still walk in.

Then George turned back to the buffet, taking his time as he served himself a balanced portion of grilled steak, a scoop of creamy mashed potatoes, and a small side of sautéed spinach.

He returned to the table and eased into his seat across from her.

"Baby," he said smoothly, "I hope you're enjoying your meal."

"I am," she replied as she nodded with a graceful smile.

But behind the poised exchange, beneath the charm and civility, sat two people who had grown far too skilled at pretending.

"You did so well in the boardroom; Harvard must be proud of you." He said and looked up to her, and gave her a wicked smile.

She froze for just a second. She knew what it meant; a quiet unease began to bloom in her chest under the table, and her hand had begun to tremble.

A quiet unease began to bloom in her chest, creeping in like a slow fog.

Now, she knows she should be prepared for the new night to ask her questions she wasn't ready to answer.

She knew she was in for it tonight...