Chapter 6 — He Chose the Wrong Person to Blame

Bennett reached for the edge of the table.

“You can’t suspend this over a single line.”

Ronan ended the call.

“I can suspend our commitment pending review.”

“We’re talking about months of work.”

“Yes. Work that should make these questions easy to answer.”

Charles took Bennett by the elbow.

“Enough.”

The gesture was small, but Bennett pulled away from it.

That was when I realized how badly the evening had changed.

He would never normally reject Charles in front of people.

Not Charles Price, whose approval had apparently become the foundation of his new life.

Arabella looked between them.

“Someone needs to explain what’s happening.”

Charles answered her.

“There’s an issue with the project materials.”

“What issue?”

“One we should have resolved before tonight.”

Bennett turned toward me.

I knew that look.

A problem had appeared.

He needed someone to put it on.

“You knew,” he said.

The nearest conversations stopped.

I stared at him.

“Knew what?”

“About the project.”

“I recognized a map.”

“You recognized exactly the thing that would stop the financing.”

“Because I worked on earlier materials.”

“And you waited until now to mention it.”

I looked at the portfolio lying open on the table.

“Until now, I hadn’t seen this version.”

Bennett laughed without humor.

“You expect me to believe this is a coincidence?”

“I expect you to understand that your father-in-law announced a project and put its documents in front of us.”

Charles’s expression hardened.

“Bennett.”

But Bennett was watching me.

“You arrive with Varelli, make a scene with my wife, and then somehow discover a reason for him to withdraw.”

“He hasn’t withdrawn,” Charles said. “He’s paused the commitment.”

Bennett ignored him.

“You wanted this.”

I had been blamed for smaller things.

A dinner he disliked.

A friend who stopped inviting us over.

An argument he started and later described as something I had made him do.

The familiarity almost persuaded me to explain more carefully.

Then I looked at the bride standing behind him.

At the open portfolio.

At the executive still holding a report that Bennett did not want discussed.

“No,” I said. “You don’t get to put this on me.”

His face tightened.

“You’re standing at my wedding telling me that?”

“You asked.”

Arabella touched his shoulder.

“Bennett, stop.”

He shrugged her hand away.

Her expression changed so quickly I nearly missed it.

Not hurt, at first.

Disbelief.

He was treating her badly in front of the people she had spent the evening trying to impress.

I wondered whether he had ever done that before.

“You knew who he was,” Bennett said to me.

“Of course I knew who Ronan was.”

“So you understood what bringing him here would do.”

“No. I understood I was inviting a guest. You’re the one who decided to announce his company’s participation before his review was finished.”

Several people looked toward Charles.

He put the portfolio down.

“The announcement was mine.”

Bennett turned sharply.

“Charles, I’m not blaming you.”

“You seem eager to blame someone.”

The words struck harder than anything I had said.

Bennett took a breath and straightened his jacket.

I watched him try to recover.

“Laurel and I have history. You don’t understand how she—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” I said.

He looked back at me.

I had never spoken to him quite that way.

Not loudly.

Not pleading.

Simply refusing.

“You can answer questions about your materials,” I said. “You can explain the approval status. You can even be angry. But you cannot make my personality responsible for a document you approved.”

His mouth opened.

No words came.

Ronan had stepped aside to speak quietly with the project executive.

He glanced toward us, then returned his attention to the man’s phone.

I was grateful for that.

And painfully aware that Bennett noticed it, too.

He lowered his voice.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve cost me?”

“No. None of us do yet. That’s why they’re checking.”

“I had this under control.”

“Then show them.”

“You know it isn’t that simple.”

“I know insulting me won’t make it simpler.”

A hotel manager approached Charles.

“Sir, perhaps we could use the private lounge.”

Charles nodded.

“Yes. We need a room.”

The manager gestured toward the corridor.

For a moment, I thought the scene was finally ending.

Charles turned to the executive.

“Bring the report and every version of that summary you can access.”

Then he looked at Bennett.

“You’re coming with us.”

Bennett remained where he was.

Arabella said his name again.

This time, he turned toward her.

“I’m trying to deal with this.”

“So am I,” she said. “And you keep following Laurel.”

His eyes moved around the guests.

He had finally noticed how many were watching.

I did not feel triumphant.

I felt tired.

My feet hurt. My water glass was somewhere across the room. I wanted to stop standing inside an argument I had not started.

I turned toward Ronan.

He finished speaking to the executive and came back.

“Would you like to leave?”

“Yes.”

The answer came immediately.

He nodded.

“I’ll tell the driver.”

I looked at Charles.

“I’m sorry there’s a problem with the project.”

Bennett made an angry sound.

I continued before he could speak.

“If the old materials would be useful, I can check what my studio retained on Monday. I don’t know whether we still have the supplied files.”

Charles studied me.

“Thank you. Someone from the team will contact you.”

“All right.”

I took my clutch from beneath my arm.

There.

A practical offer.

An exit.

I had nothing else to contribute.

Bennett stepped into my path.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes.”

“After doing this, you’re just going to walk out?”

I looked past him toward the doors.

“You have a meeting to attend.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Then move.”

The words seemed to surprise both of us.

He stood still.

For a second, I could see him trying to reconcile the woman in front of him with the one who used to apologize because he disliked her tone.

I moved to go around him.

His hand closed around my upper arm.

Pain flashed beneath his fingers.

I stopped.

“Let go.”

His grip tightened.

Not enough to drag me.

Enough to tell me he thought he could keep me there.

“Listen to me for once.”

I pulled back.

“Bennett. Let go of my arm.”

A chair scraped behind us.

Then Ronan was there.

He caught Bennett’s wrist and removed his hand.

The movement was controlled, quick, and final.

Bennett stumbled half a step closer to the table before Ronan released him.

I moved back.

Ronan placed himself beside me, facing Bennett.

“You don’t touch her.”

His voice was quiet.

Bennett rubbed his wrist.

“She wasn’t listening.”

“She told you to let go.”

Security had moved toward us.

One guard looked at the hotel manager, waiting for direction.

Charles stared at Bennett.

Arabella’s face had gone white.

Ronan turned to me.

“Can you move your arm?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want someone to look at it?”

“No.”

I touched the sore place through the silk.

His eyes followed the movement.

For a moment, something in his face made the ballroom feel very far away.

Then he looked back at Bennett.

“Step away from her.”

Bennett did.

Immediately.

That obedience sickened me more than the grip had.

He had heard my request.

He had simply decided mine did not matter.

The hotel manager spoke.

“Mr. Shaw, we need to move this conversation.”

Bennett looked around.

At Charles.

At Arabella.

At the people who would remember his hand on my arm long after they forgot the flowers.

Then he looked at Ronan.

“So that’s it.”

Ronan said nothing.

“You come here with her, she interferes with my project, and now you get to play the hero.”

I felt Ronan’s attention shift toward me for a fraction of a second.

I answered before he could.

“I asked you to let go. You could have done that.”

Bennett shook his head.

“You wanted to humiliate me.”

“No,” I said. “I wanted you to stop hurting my arm.”

The simplicity of it left him nowhere useful to go.

He tried anyway.

“You’re destroying my future because of her,” he told Ronan.

Ronan reached for the portfolio on the table.

“This review concerns your documents.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“You’ve made that difficult.”

Someone behind Charles drew in a breath.

Ronan opened the portfolio to the map.

“She asked about this parcel. Your executive confirmed the restriction remains in place. The report supports him.”

“The conversion is expected.”

“Then it should be described as expected.”

“We can fix the wording.”

“Perhaps. After we establish what was disclosed, when it was disclosed, and what the valuation assumes.”

Bennett looked at me.

Then at the open page.

His expression had become something I had never seen on him before.

He wasn’t wondering how to make me quiet anymore.

He was wondering whether the room still believed him.

Ronan turned the portfolio toward the project executive.

“Before we go any further,” he said, “show us where the current land restriction was disclosed to my team.”

The executive looked at Bennett.

And Bennett had no answer ready.