The Ring I Designed, The Finger She Wore It On Chapter 02

The Ring I Designed, The Finger She Wore It On Chapter 02

Grant didn’t look back.

“I want that document signed and on my desk by nine tomorrow morning.”

At nine the next morning, I placed it in front of him—unsigned.

He glanced at the blank signature line.

“Still not done making a scene?”

He tapped the line with a silver pen.

Grant had given me that pen when I first joined the conference interpreting firm. After I quit my job for him, the pen ended up in his study.

Now Camille’s name was engraved on it.

I reached for the pen.

Grant frowned.

“Leave it. Camille’s used to that pen.”

“It’s mine.”

“It’s a pen, Vivian.”

He pulled a black credit card from the drawer and slid it toward me.

“Forget last night’s score. Go buy yourself something you like.”

I didn’t touch it.

“Did you have her name engraved on this because she’s a better fit for it, too?”

Camille walked in carrying coffee and stopped in the doorway.

“Vivian, I’m sorry. Grant told me it was just a spare from the office. I had no idea it meant anything to you.”

She immediately pulled off the cap.

“I’ll give it back right now.”

Grant stopped her.

“You always use it for meeting notes. There’s no reason to switch.”

Then he looked at me.

“You never used to be this petty.”

I slowly let go.

Seven years earlier, Grant had waited four hours outside the firm’s offices for me.

It had been pouring that day. When he handed me the silver pen, he told me I’d outshone everyone at the conference.

Later, he said it looked bad for his wife to spend most of the year traveling for work, so I quit.

Now he remembered exactly which pen Camille preferred, but had forgotten why it belonged to me in the first place.

His assistant knocked and stepped inside.

“Mr. Calloway, the German delegation is here.”

Grant stood.

“Vivian, come to the conference room. Camille just took over and isn’t used to interpreting live negotiations yet. Back her up if she gets in trouble.”

I didn’t move.

“And what exactly am I supposed to be there as?”

“My wife.”

“At the gala last night, you told everyone I wasn’t involved in the project.”

He checked the time, visibly impatient.

“We’re married. What’s with all this yours-versus-mine?”

Once the meeting started, Camille mistranslated three key figures in a row.

The German delegation grew increasingly irritated until one of them switched to German and bluntly asked whether the person running the project was even competent.

Camille tightened her grip on the documents and looked at me for help.

Grant spoke in an even tone.

“Vivian, translate.”

“It’s her project.”

“This isn’t the time to let your feelings get in the way.”

“Last night, you said she was better suited for it.”

Silence settled over the conference table.

Grant lowered his voice.

“Help her close this deal, and I’ll put you back at eighty-nine.”

I looked at him for a moment, then took the documents anyway.

I wasn’t doing it for the score.

More than thirty people had spent six months getting that deal this far.

When the meeting ended, one of the German representatives came over and shook my hand.

“Ms. Ward, we were always under the impression that you were leading this project.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but Grant cut in.

“She’s only helping out today.”

Camille smiled. “Vivian’s a stay-at-home wife. She’s been out of the workforce for a long time and only comes in once in a while to get back into the swing of things.”

The representative looked genuinely surprised.

“With your skills, Ms. Ward, it’s a shame you’re not working.”

Grant’s expression cooled.

“She isn’t suited to high-pressure work.”

In front of everyone, he took the contract from my hands and gave it to Camille.

“Good work today.”

The praise wasn’t for me.

At lunch, Camille raised her glass.

“Vivian, I’d like to toast you. I couldn’t have closed that deal without you.”

I covered the top of my glass with my hand.

“I’m not drinking.”

Grant looked over.

“She’s trying to make peace. Don’t throw it back in her face.”

“I can’t drink right now.”

Camille blinked.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

My fingers clenched.

Grant gave a dismissive laugh.

“She can’t even manage her own emotions. She’s not ready to be a mother.”

He pushed the wine toward me.

“Finish it, and yesterday is over.”

My stomach churned as the red wine swirled in the glass.

“What if I really am pregnant?”

“Then we’d assess everything first—your health, emotional stability, genetic risk. If every category scores at least a ninety, then we’d consider keeping the baby.”

The man sitting across from me suddenly felt like a stranger.

Camille gave a conciliatory little smile.

“Grant just has high standards. He only wants what’s best for the baby. Don’t read too much into it, Vivian.”

I picked up the glass.

Grant had barely begun to relax when I poured the wine into the empty bucket beside me.

“I’m not drinking this.”

“And I’m not signing that proxy.”

His expression went cold.

“Vivian Ward, you’re going to pay for this defiance.”

He had his finance team cut off every card he’d given me access to, then took my car keys.

By the time lunch ended, rain was coming down.

Grant held the umbrella over Camille as she got into the car. He didn’t say a word to me.

I stood on the steps and called my former mentor.

“You said there was an assessment I could take if I wanted to come back. Is that still an option?”

There was a long silence on the other end.

“Vivian, weren’t you the one who told me you weren’t physically or mentally well enough to work and asked me never to contact you again?”

I froze.

“I never said that.”

My mentor forwarded me an email almost immediately.

It had been sent from my own account.

The email ended with Grant Calloway’s digital signature.