Chapter 7 Meeting Caleb
It had been Five days.
Five long, quiet, almost unbearable days since Elena slid that envelope across the table and watched Jaxon Wentworth take it in his perfectly manicured fingers without a single expression on his face.
Now, her phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.
“Same café. 4:00 PM today. Don’t be late.”
No name. No emojis. Just that.
She didn’t need to ask who it was from.
---
By the time she arrived at the café, the same table by the window was already occupied—by him.
Jaxon sat there in another sleek, three-piece suit, this time charcoal with a crisp white shirt and no tie. His watch glinted as he stirred his espresso with the slow patience of someone who had all the time in the world. The folder was there on the table, closed, untouched. Waiting.
She sat down without a word.
He looked up. “You’re five minutes early. Impressive.”
“You’re five days late,” she snapped back, folding her arms.
He gave a dry chuckle. “Touché.”
Without another word, he slid the envelope toward her. She recognized it immediately — her contract, neatly re-sealed. Her heart thumped as she picked it up and opened it.
Signed.
Every line, every restriction, every boundary — initialed and dated by Jaxon Alexander Wentworth.
“You agreed to this?” she asked, eyes narrowing as she stared at his signature.
“I did,” he said simply, lifting his cup. “And I added one clause.”
Elena blinked. “You what?”
Jaxon reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a single additional page, typed and neat — like everything he did.
She scanned it quickly.
Clause 10: All public events and appearances together will be handled strictly as business PR. Any breach of the agreed-upon conduct by either party, in public or private, voids the entire contract immediately.
“Damage control,” he said coolly. “In case you catch feelings.”
She looked up, stunned. “Excuse me?”
Jaxon didn’t smile. “This isn’t a romance novel, Elena. You made your point clear. I’m just making mine.”
The tension thickened instantly.
For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say. Her pride and temper flared, but at the same time, something about his tone felt... defensive.
She forced a breath. “Fine,” she said, signing beside the new clause. “But I expect you to follow every rule too.”
“Wouldn’t dream of breaking them,” he said with a faint smirk.
The silence lingered.
“So,” she said slowly, slipping the papers back into her bag. “That’s it then. We’re officially engaged for business purposes only.”
Elena’s POV – Montclair Fashion Group HQ
Elena stood by the full-length glass window in her office, watching the city blur into haze. Her phone was in her hand. All she needed to do was press “send.”
A few deep breaths later, she did.
Text to: Dad, Mom
“Can we talk? I’ve decided. About the marriage.”
It took less than two minutes before the call came through.
“Sweetheart?” her mother’s voice was breathless with anticipation.
“I’ll do it,” Elena said, forcing her voice not to tremble. “I’ll marry him.”
There was silence — the heavy kind, the kind that holds in joy like it might explode.
“Elena, darling, you’ve made the right decision!” Her father’s voice came booming in from the speaker.
“Let’s not make this bigger than it is,” she replied coolly. “It’s just... an agreement.”
Her father laughed. “Agreement or not, once that ring is on your finger, the press won’t care. This is brilliant, Elena. We’ll handle the announcement soon.”
As the call ended, Elena dropped her phone on the desk and leaned back in her chair.
It was done.
Only, the strange ache in her chest didn’t feel like relief.
---
Jaxon’s POV – Wentworth Holdings HQ
Jaxon stood by the tinted glass of his corner office, arms folded. His assistant, Damon, stood beside him with an envelope.
“You really signed it?” Damon asked quietly.
“Yep.”
“No changes, no tricks?”
“Just one clause,” Jaxon said, without looking away. “To keep it clean.”
Damon nodded, then handed over a sleek tablet. “Mr. Wentworth Sr. is on the line. He wants to know your decision.”
Jaxon sighed, clicked into the call.
“Son?” his father’s voice crackled with the same force it always carried — powerful, commanding, almost theatrical. “Have you made your choice?”
“I’ll marry her,” Jaxon said flatly.
A beat of silence.
“Good,” came the pleased response. “That’s the man I raised. This is bigger than either of you. The press will adore it. The board will be reassured.”
“I didn’t do it for them,” Jaxon said, voice low. “And don’t expect me to smile about it.”
“Smile or not,” his father chuckled, “you’re about to make history.”
The line went dead.
Jaxon tossed the tablet onto the couch and walked back to his desk.
History? No. He didn’t care about legacy or headlines.
This was a game now — and he had every intention of playing it by his own rules.
---
The late afternoon sun shimmered through the tall glass windows of Luxe Bloom, one of the city’s finest boutiques nestled in a quiet corner of the upscale shopping district. Elena Montclair stepped inside, a pair of oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, her long hair swaying in loose waves down her back. She wore a cream-colored linen dress that flowed just above her knees, paired with gold flats and a soft leather tote slung over her shoulder.
The moment she entered, she was greeted by the soft scent of vanilla and sandalwood, and the distant sound of a live harpist strumming from the adjacent café next door. It was luxury at its finest, and usually, she’d enjoy the moment. But today, she felt… different.
She clutched her phone, still with no new messages from Brielle. Her best friend had left for Paris on a work assignment just two days earlier. Normally, they did shopping together—especially when she needed advice on what looked good. Today, she was on her own.
Her fingers ran over a blush pink silk dress displayed on a mannequin. Elegant. Feminine. Timeless.
“Try that one,” the sales assistant encouraged warmly. “It’ll suit your figure perfectly.”
An hour later, Elena had four dresses, two pairs of heels—one nude, one fiery red—and a classic black clutch in her hands. She stood at the register, smiling faintly as the cashier began to ring up her purchases.
She pulled out her platinum credit card.
Inserted.
Waited.
Beep.
Declined.
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
The cashier smiled politely. “Sorry, ma’am. It says it couldn’t process.”
Elena frowned. “Try it again, please.”
Another beep. Same result.
She could feel the heat rush to her cheeks. It was embarrassing. Not just because she was standing in an expensive boutique holding thousands of dollars worth of clothing—but because she had no idea what went wrong.
Just then, a tall man in a dark navy suit stepped forward from behind her. His scent—fresh citrus with something deeper, like cedar—brushed past her. She turned in surprise.
“Allow me,” he said smoothly, placing his card in the machine before she could protest.
“I—what? No. That’s not necessary,” Elena said quickly, her voice a mix of panic and disbelief.
But the cashier had already taken the payment. The machine beeped approvingly. Transaction complete.
The man smiled, easy and confident. “Well, now it’s done. So no need to be embarrassed.”
She stared at him, unsure of what to say. He was handsome—tall, dark skin, deep brown eyes that looked almost mischievous. But more than that, he had a presence. Like someone used to being in control.
“I really didn’t need help,” Elena said, reaching for her bag.
“Maybe not,” he replied. “But I wanted to. And now, since I’ve played knight in tailored armor, how about your number?”
Elena blinked, then gave a short laugh, shaking her head. “No.”
His brow lifted in amusement. “No?”
“No,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “But thank you for the help.”
He chuckled, not offended. “Alright. At least let me know your name, mystery shopper.”
“Elena,” she said shortly, adjusting her sunglasses again.
“Beautiful name. I’m Caleb,” he offered, still smiling.
She gave a polite nod and turned to leave with her shopping bags in hand, her heels clicking softly on the polished marble floor. As she exited the store, the breeze kissed her cheeks and her phone buzzed.
A message from Brielle finally came in:
“Sorry I’ve been MIA. Paris has been wild. You okay?”
Elena sighed, typing quickly.
“Yeah. Just had the weirdest shopping trip ever.”
And with that, she disappeared into the city, completely unaware that the stranger behind her was still watching—curious.
---
The towering glass façade of the Regency International Conference Center gleamed under the London sky. Caleb Donovan adjusted the cufflinks on his tailored charcoal suit as he stepped out of the sleek black Bentley. His expression was cool, calculated — the face he wore when the game was on.
Inside, the annual Global Brand Forum was already in full swing. CEOs, marketing moguls, and investors from the biggest names in tech, fashion, and luxury goods were gathered — all waiting for one thing: the announcement of Europe’s new Global Brand Ambassador.
It wasn’t just any title. This ambassador would be the face of dozens of campaigns, contracts worth millions. And only one company could take that lead. Caleb’s company, Donovan Luxe, was one of the top contenders.
And so was Wenthworth Enterprises.
As Caleb walked into the grand hall, the chandeliers sparkled above, and every corner smelled of power, ambition, and just a hint of aged whiskey. Cameras flashed. Assistants whispered. Caleb ignored them all, scanning the room.
Then, he saw him.
Jaxon Wentworth.
Standing by the espresso bar in a navy-blue suit that looked like it cost the price of a small island, Jaxon’s face was unreadable, but his eyes flicked toward Caleb with subtle disdain.
Caleb smirked slightly, walking past the press crowd as his assistant, Marissa, whispered in his ear, “You’re up after the Wenthworth presentation. They’re pitching hard this year.”
“I’d expect nothing less from them,” Caleb replied smoothly.
He made his way to the seating area, passing Jaxon just closely enough to speak.
“Well, well. Look who showed up. The prodigal prince himself.”
Jaxon turned slightly, jaw tight. “Still dressing your ego in overpriced suits, I see.”
Caleb chuckled. “At least mine’s earned. You still riding the coattails of daddy’s empire?”
Jaxon’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll need more than cheap shots to beat me today.”
“We’ll see who comes out on top. Europe doesn’t pick based on charm alone.”
“Neither does it reward mediocrity.”
Before the exchange could escalate, a staff member approached, announcing, “Mr. Wentworth, they’re ready for your pitch.”
Jaxon gave Caleb one last look — one that promised this was far from over — and walked toward the stage.
Caleb sat back, folding one leg over the other. He wasn't just here to win the deal. He was here to send a message — to Jaxon, and to everyone watching. The Donovan name wasn’t just a competitor. It was a storm.
And while Jaxon might have corporate legacy behind him…
Caleb had something else.
A secret edge.
Because just days ago, he had met a girl — Elena — who didn’t know who he was, didn’t swoon over his title, didn’t give him her number. But something about her p
resence lingered in his mind.
And now?
He’d just learned who she really was.
Elena Montclair.
Tied to Wentworth through a marriage alliance no one saw coming.
His lips curled into a thoughtful smirk.
Maybe, just maybe… this wasn’t just business anymore.
It was personal.
