After Prison, I Became The Chairman Of Olympus

004: The Proposal

The elevator doors slid open on the forty-fifth floor, and Ricardo Hayden was already waiting, hands clasped, smile stretched a fraction too wide for it to be entirely comfortable.

"Mr. Cross." He extended a hand, gripping Derek's like a man closing a deal before it started. "An honor. A genuine honor. Please, right this way."

His office looked out over half the city, glass from floor to ceiling, the kind of view meant to remind visitors exactly how far up they were. Ricardo gestured Derek into a leather chair across from his desk while Darius settled quietly into the corner, briefcase resting on his knees, saying nothing, missing nothing.

"I know your schedule must be impossible these days," Ricardo said, folding into his own seat. "So I won't waste your time with pleasantries—"

"Good," Derek said. "Because time isn't exactly on my side today. Whatever you want to discuss, let's be quick about it."

Something flickered across Ricardo's face — not offense, more like recalibration, a man adjusting his grip on a negotiation he'd assumed he was steering. "Of course. Of course. Let me introduce my daughter first."

The door opened before he finished the sentence.

Monica Hayden walked in like she owned the room and resented having to share it. Heels struck the marble in short, sharp clicks, her blazer tailored close, blonde hair falling loose and long past her shoulders. She didn't look at her father. She looked directly at Derek, and there was nothing warm in it — just an assessment, quick and unimpressed, the kind you'd give a shipment you weren't sure had arrived undamaged.

"Mr. Cross." She extended a hand, brisk. "Nice to meet you."

Derek took it, and for a second — just a second — he forgot what he was there for. She was beautiful in the specific, engineered way expensive things are beautiful, polished until nothing about her looked accidental.

"You're better looking than the photograph," he said, and meant it as a compliment, though it came out sounding more like a verdict.

Monica's mouth twisted, unimpressed. "And you're taller than I expected from a man who just got out of prison." She pulled her hair behind one ear and sat, crossing her legs, done with him already, addressing her father instead. "Can we get to the point of this meeting?"

Ricardo cleared his throat and rose, crossing to the bar cart in the corner, pouring three glasses without asking if anyone wanted one. "The point, darling, is simple. The previous chairman's wish — and mine, wholeheartedly — is that you and Mr. Cross marry as soon as it can reasonably be arranged."

He set a glass in front of Derek like an offering. "Hayden Group needs this alliance, Mr. Cross. Needs it badly, and I won't pretend otherwise to save face."

"I came today to meet your daughter," Derek said, not touching the wine. "Marriage isn't on the table. Not yet."

Ricardo's smile faltered, then reassembled itself quickly, professionally. "An engagement, then. Something to start with. Time to build feelings properly, as it should be done." He said it fast, grasping. "The former chairman's instructions were specific, Mr. Cross, and I'll be honest with you — not honoring them puts my entire family in an extremely difficult position."

"This is ridiculous," Monica said flatly, arms crossing. "I don't even know this man. You're handing me over like a—"

"Monica." Ricardo's voice cracked across the room like a whip, sharp enough that she flinched in her seat, spine going rigid.

Silence sat there a moment, ugly and thick.

"To be clear," Monica said finally, quieter, jaw tight, eyes fixed somewhere past Derek's shoulder rather than on his face, "I don't want this marriage. I want that understood. But for my family, for this company — I'm willing to go through with it."

Ricardo was already out of his chair, dropping to one knee in front of Derek with an urgency that looked almost rehearsed. "Please forgive her, Mr. Cross. She's young, she speaks before she thinks, she doesn't understand what an honor this is—"

Derek raised a hand, and Ricardo stopped mid-sentence like the gesture had physical weight.

"Get up," Derek said, not unkindly. "This is sudden for both of us. Marriage can wait." He glanced once at Monica, who was staring at the floor now, jaw tight, refusing to look grateful for the reprieve. "But an engagement — that we can start with."

Ricardo was back on his feet so fast it looked painful, beaming, some deep tension visibly draining out of his shoulders. "Excellent. Excellent! I'll have the engagement banquet arranged within the week. Every prominent name in Crown City will be there, Mr. Cross, I promise you that. You'll want for nothing."

A knock at the door cut through his momentum.

An assistant stepped in, tablet pressed to her chest like a shield. "Sorry to interrupt, sir."

"What is it," Ricardo snapped, irritation flaring fast at the intrusion.

"There's a Miss Vanessa downstairs. She made an appointment months ago — something about a business proposal for Miss Hayden. She's waiting in the lobby."

Derek went very still.

The glass Ricardo had poured him sat untouched on the desk, and for a moment the whole room seemed to hold its breath around that stillness, waiting to see what it meant.

"Vanessa who?" His voice came out quieter than anything he'd said since he walked in.

The assistant blinked, checking her tablet. "Vanessa Salvador, sir."

Ricardo's eyes cut toward Derek — the sudden quiet, the jaw locking tight, the way a man who'd walked in relaxed and unbothered had gone rigid at four syllables. Ricardo hadn't built an empire without learning exactly when a name meant something.

This one meant something.

"Tell her to reschedule," Ricardo said quickly, voice rising, aimed at the assistant like a blade. "Monica is seeing no one today. Tell her to reschedule — and keep rescheduling — until I say otherwise. Do you understand me?"

Who does this Vanessa think she is, trying to interrupt the Chairman's meeting?

The assistant nodded fast and vanished, door clicking shut behind her.

For a long second, nobody in the room moved. Monica's eyes flicked between her father's face and Derek's, sensing a current running underneath the conversation that no one had bothered to explain to her. Darius, silent in his corner the entire meeting, finally looked up from his briefcase, something unreadable passing behind his eyes.

Derek said nothing at all. He simply picked up the wine glass, turned it once in his fingers, and let the silence stretch exactly as long as he wanted it to.