The current stock price was still a ways off from what she’d paid when she bought in heavily, which meant she was still facing a loss.
He had assumed Ivy would be out for blood today—demanding compensation, refusing to walk away with a loss, maybe even squeezing him for as much as she could get.
But Ivy sipped her tea, then gave herself a little halo. “You may have treated me unfairly, but that doesn’t mean I should stoop to your level. I have my principles. I won’t take a penny that I don’t deserve; I’m not about to jinx myself with dirty money.”
Baillie stared at her, his expression twisting with scorn. “Principles? If you had any, would Emma be dead and buried because of you? Would we be out on the street with nowhere to live? Would the company be in ruins, left to rot?”
Ivy just listened, a faint smile on her lips.
When he finally ran out of venom, Ivy hadn’t even bothered to respond. Instead, it was Boyd who couldn’t hold back any longer. “Mr. Windsor, if Ivy really had no conscience, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now. She’s only ever been too soft—too principled for her own good, which is exactly why you people thought you could walk all over her. You think she cares about losing a few hundred million on a worthless company? My uncle would’ve let it go without a second thought, as long as Ivy was happy. The only reason she left a lifeline was because she knew it mattered to you—she wanted to give you the chance to buy it back.”
Ivy was more than pleased with this unexpected defender. She glanced at Boyd, arching a brow, then flashed him a subtle thumbs-up.
Baillie, thoroughly humiliated, sat there looking ashen and livid, unable to come up with a retort.
Once the lawyers finalized the paperwork, Ivy didn’t hesitate—she signed her name in a bold flourish.
She snapped the pen closed, stood up, and prepared to leave. Boyd could handle the rest of the formalities anyway.
But Baillie called after her.
“What, want to have another go at insulting me?” Ivy turned back, her tone icy and dismissive.
Baillie ignored her jab and instead asked, “Did you ever find out who set fire to the house?”
“No,” Ivy replied, shooting him a look, “but maybe if you think back about who you’ve pissed off over the years, you could give the police a lead or two.”
“We’ve always done business by the book—we haven’t made enemies,” Baillie said, all righteous indignation.
Ivy actually laughed. “'By the book'—thanks for reminding me what those words are supposed to mean.”
Baillie bristled again, but he was out of ammo and knew it.
Ivy’s mocking smile faded as she turned away, leaving without a backward glance.
She hadn’t had lunch yet, so on her way back to the office, she stopped somewhere to eat. Just as she picked up her fork, her phone rang—Jamison.
“All done?” he asked.
“Yeah, Boyd’s handling everything. I just needed to sign; it went quick,” Ivy replied, taking another bite.
Jamison picked up on the background noise. “You’re eating?”
“Yep. Can’t eat until I’ve dealt with the mess. Once the money comes in, I’ll start paying back that loan you gave me—at least part of it.”
He chuckled. “Is that really necessary? It’s all in the family, isn’t it? What’s mine is yours.”
“It is necessary. We might be married, but that money means something different. When I pay you back, our marriage isn’t a transaction anymore.”
Jamison, always one to humor her, just agreed. “Alright. If it matters to you, I’ll send you my account info later. The finances are all yours anyway—didn’t you once say, back when you became a fund manager, you’d handle my investments for me?”
She smiled, warmth in her voice. “You still remember that after all this time?”
“I remember everything you say,” Jamison replied, slipping into that quiet, devoted tone of his.
A wave of happiness washed over Ivy, but after a pause, she sighed a little. “But I can’t trade stocks privately anymore.”
“That’s even better. I’ll be your VIP client—your number one. So you’d better treat me well, or I’ll have to file a complaint,” Jamison teased, affecting a pompous tone. Most of Jamison’s assets were managed by a professional team, but he kept a fair amount of cash in his own account. He was always too busy to manage it himself, and every time he dabbled in stocks, he’d end up losing money—a fact Naylor Wilson never let him forget.
But now, he’d married a financial prodigy. From now on, he could entrust all his investments to his wife.
Ivy laughed as she ate. “You’re such a child. When I’m at work, you’re my VIP—after hours, you’re just my personal plaything. You really do love switching roles, don’t you?”
Jamison’s tone turned mischievous. “Personal plaything, huh? So that’s what I am to you? Then you’ve been neglecting your duties lately—when was the last time you spoiled me?”
Their conversation had been perfectly normal, and suddenly he’d taken a sharp turn into the risqué.
Ivy blushed, even with just the phone between them. “Aren’t you at work? Don’t you care about your image?”
“Getting some real perks is more important.”
She surrendered with a laugh. “You win. I’m not talking to you anymore. If you get a break, go take a rest.”
“Alright. If I finish early, I’ll come pick you up.”
“Okay.”
That evening, Jamison really did come to get her—and he brought all five of his main bank cards with him, just as promised.