And then the cancer diagnosis. Diagnoses, plural—first Mom in my freshman year of college, then Dad just last year.

But even though I’d had a front-row seat to Mom’s mortality, Dad’s still came as a shock. He’s as wise and proud as ever, and he puts up a brave front for the rest of us, but I can tell what the cancer is doing to him. I’ve been his daughter for twenty-six years; I know where to look. It’s those little moments, like when his hands shake when we talk about the future, or he gets that faraway look in his eyes.

Dad has so little time. Sometimes it’s still hard to remember that. All too soon, Rachel and I will be each other’s only remaining family. And my little sister sure as hell won’t run Tate & Cane Enterprises. She has never been interested in the business world; she loves fashion, not finance. Although maybe I should ask her advice on graphic design, for revamping our marketing campaign styles . . .

I frown into my sangria. Damn, I’m thinking as if Tate & Cane is already mine. As if I’ve subconsciously taken my responsibilities for granted.

Well, why shouldn’t I? Dad always told me that his seat would be mine someday. This company is my birthright. It’s Dad’s legacy—the hard-won fruit of all his blood, sweat, and tears. He shouldn’t spend his last days worrying about what will happen to it. And soon, this company will be all I have left of him. Assuming I actually manage to hold on to the damn thing.

Personal sentiment aside, T&C also employs over six thousand people. Six thousand lives that will be turned upside-down if our rivals take over.

Fuck. I can’t believe I’m even considering this ridiculous contract.

But my career is everything to me. It always has been. While other girls enjoyed normal social lives, I studied for hours every night. While they picked out homecoming dresses and sneaked booze from their parents’ liquor cabinets, I did internships. While they rushed sororities, I co-chaired my university’s Women Entrepreneurs Club. I aced every single one of my undergrad and MBA classes. No partying and barely any dating. I never coasted on Dad’s reputation; ever since I was old enough to understand what a huge responsibility waited in my future, I wanted to be ready for it.

Well, I’m ready now. I’ve worked hard all my life, and I’ve earned the right to prove myself as head of Tate & Cane. I’m confident that I can fill Dad’s shoes.

I can’t let Dad down. I can’t let my younger self down. This company is mine; the thought of losing it to a rival is even worse than the thought of Noah making suggestive comments at me for the rest of my life.

This company can’t slip through my fingers, so I won’t let it—even if that means I have to partner with Noah. Not just partner, but dear God, marry the son of a bitch. Our fathers must have gone temporarily insane when they wrote their wills. Then again, they always did have weird, old-fashioned ideas about dating and courtship.

But no situation is impossible. If I can just calm down and think clearly, an optimal solution will emerge. Any seemingly impossible goal can be managed by breaking it down into bite-sized component tasks.

I breathe deeply to calm myself and try to let my training take over.

Camryn has made two important points. First, both Noah and I want to save Tate & Cane Enterprises. This company is our birthright, our fathers’ legacy—and its employees are our responsibility. And second, this marriage is just another form of legal partnership. Which means it’s a contract open to negotiation.

Yes, it royally sucks that I’m not marrying for love. My closet romantic side cringes at the thought. But I try to set aside as much emotional baggage as I can. Not every marriage has to be like a Hollywood romance, after all. Noah and I don’t need to be in love with each other to successfully co-pilot a company.

The $100 billion question here is: How well would we work together?

Can we even get along? Will our partnership be stable and productive? Or will it implode . . . taking Tate & Cane down with us?

This decision doesn’t rest entirely on my shoulders. Our fathers have always said that we’re stronger together—that’s why they paired us off in the first place. So Noah ought to do some heavy lifting too. In fact, I could argue that it’s his job to convince me, since he’s already on board.

So, let him make his sales pitch. Let him prove himself to me. Let him demonstrate how and why this relationship could actually succeed. I’ll do my part too—I’ll try to maintain good faith and stay receptive to the idea of us becoming friends. But I’m not the type to commit to something unless I know I can follow through. If I’m going to marry Noah, then by God, I want to win at it.

The end of my inner debate must show on my face, because Camryn reaches across the table to squeeze my hand.

“I’m going to order us dessert.”

“I love you,” I say on a sigh. Even with my newfound determination, I’ll need some serious chocolate to get through this.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re really brave.”

I force a smile. “Thanks.”

Grumbling to myself, I fish my phone out of my purse and call Dad to schedule another meeting with Noah and Prescott. I have to give them my answer as soon as possible.

• • •

Late that afternoon, almost the close of the business day, I open the same conference room door I walked through yesterday. Nobody turns in response; the three men seated at the table have already looked up at the sound of my footsteps in the hall.