The Rochefort Group building appeared ahead with its glass and steel. This was the place where she had rebuilt herself after everything fell apart, the place where she was no longer a consultant and no longer temporary and no longer waiting for permission to belong.
She was the Interim CEO.
She was Mrs. Rochefort.
She was the woman who had let Franz leave marks on her throat and then hidden them beneath silk and walked into a boardroom to defend him.
The car pulled into the underground garage, and Franz cut the engine.
"Ready?" he asked.
She adjusted the scarf. "Yes."
The conference room was small for an informal check-in rather than a full board meeting. Vincent attended via video with his face on a screen at the head of the table, his presence undiminished by the distance. His hair was thinner than it had been before the heart attack, but his color was good, and he watched the room with the same sharp attention he had always had.
