Chapter 3 — The Proposal
Third Person
The Ravenwood Bistro hummed with the quiet energy of late-afternoon patrons. The air was warm with the aroma of roasted beans and freshly baked scones, a welcome contrast to the crisp coolness of the city outside. Mismatched chairs scraped against wooden floors as baristas darted between tables, balancing trays of coffee and pastries.
Charlie sat at a corner table, her monogrammed leather portfolio placed with precise care before her. The black leather gleamed under the soft light streaming through the wide windows, the gold initials catching her eye like a shield she could hide behind. She adjusted her tailored blazer, her sharp hazel gaze darting to the door every time it swung open. Her back was straight, her hands folded in her lap, but her fingers pressed tightly against one another, betraying the tension simmering beneath her composed exterior.
The door opened again, letting in a gust of cool air. Max Donovan entered with the kind of unhurried, self-assured ease that seemed almost antagonistic to the bistro’s cozy atmosphere. His dark leather jacket hung loosely over a faded gray T-shirt, his jeans worn just shy of threadbare. He paused just inside, scanning the room with the quick, practiced gaze of someone used to finding hidden truths. When his blue eyes landed on Charlie, his mouth quirked—not quite a smile, but an acknowledgment that softened the rugged sharpness of his features.
“Charlotte Hayes,” he said as he approached, his voice low and threaded with dry amusement. “When I got your message, I thought it might be a prank. Didn’t peg you as the type to frequent quaint little places like this.”
Charlie arched an eyebrow, the faintest curve of her lips betraying a calculated smile. “I’m full of surprises, Mr. Donovan. Please, sit.”
Max dropped into the chair opposite her, his movements unhurried. He placed a scuffed leather notebook and a disposable coffee cup on the table, the contrast between his battered journal and her immaculate portfolio stark and telling. He leaned back, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair, his posture as relaxed as hers was rigid.
“So,” he began, his tone light, “what’s a high-powered attorney doing arranging clandestine meetings with journalists? You’re not here to sue me, are you?”
“Not yet,” Charlie replied, her voice cool but edged with a flicker of irritation. She steepled her fingers, leaning forward slightly. “I need your help.”
Max raised an eyebrow, a trace of skepticism curving his smirk. “My help? That’s a first.”
For a moment, Charlie hesitated. The words she had rehearsed felt heavier now, weighed down by the enormity of what she was about to propose. Her gaze flickered to her portfolio, her fingers brushing its edge as if seeking reassurance. When she spoke, her voice was steady, but the tautness beneath it was unmistakable. “I want to expose Daniel Reed.”
Max’s casual demeanor shifted. He leaned forward, his sharp blue eyes narrowing. “Expose him for what?”
“For what he really is,” Charlie said, her hazel eyes locking with his. “A fraud. A manipulator. And a coward.”
Max let out a low whistle, leaning back again and crossing his arms. “Strong words. Care to elaborate?”
Charlie inhaled deeply, calculating her next move. Her hands folded neatly on the table, the gesture almost too composed. “Daniel’s company isn’t as clean as it appears. There are discrepancies in his financials, offshore accounts that don’t add up, and—if my suspicions are correct—outright fraud. I can connect the dots, but I need someone like you to bring it to light.”
Max tilted his head, studying her carefully. “And why would you care? What’s in it for you?”
Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, silence hung between them. The raw truth—the humiliation, the anger, the betrayal—rose to the surface but was quickly tamped down. She leaned into the polished version of herself, the one that thrived in courtrooms and boardrooms alike. “Let’s just say I’m not done with him yet.”
Max’s smirk deepened, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. “Sounds personal.”
Charlie’s fingers tightened imperceptibly. “Does it matter? The end result is the same.”
“Depends,” Max said, his voice dropping slightly. “Revenge has a way of leaving scars on everyone involved. You sure you know what you’re getting into?”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “This isn’t just about me. Daniel’s actions will ruin lives—employees, investors, entire communities. If we do nothing, people will suffer while he walks away unscathed. I’m offering you a story that could expose one of the city’s golden boys for what he really is. Isn’t that what you do?”
Max tapped his pen against the edge of his notebook, the sound filling the charged silence. “You’ve done your homework,” he said finally, his tone neutral.
“Of course,” Charlie replied, a faint edge of pride slipping into her voice. “I know your track record, Mr. Donovan. You dig up the truth, no matter how deep it’s buried. And you do it with integrity. That’s why I’m here.”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Flattery, too? You really are a lawyer.”
“Guilty as charged,” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
Max studied her, the tension between them crackling faintly like static electricity. “Alright,” he said at last, his voice measured. “I’ll bite. But I have conditions.”
“Name them,” Charlie said briskly, her legal mind already preparing for negotiation.
“First,” Max began, holding up a finger, “you’re honest with me. No half-truths, no withholding information. If I’m going to risk my reputation—and possibly more—I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with.”
“Agreed,” Charlie said, though a knot tightened in her chest at the idea of full transparency.
“Second,” he continued, “this isn’t just your operation. If I’m in, we do things my way. That means no reckless moves, no shortcuts, and no vendettas. Clear?”
Her lips thinned, but she nodded. “Clear.”
“And third,” he added, leaning forward slightly, “if at any point I feel like this is going too far, I’m out. No questions asked.”
Charlie hesitated, her hazel eyes locking with his. She saw the unyielding integrity in his gaze, the kind of principle she both resented and respected. Relinquishing control did not come easily, but she extended her hand. “Deal.”
Max took it, his grip firm but unhurried. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Ms. Hayes. Let’s hope you know what you’re doing.”
Charlie’s smile was sharp, almost defiant. “I always do.”
As Max released her hand, a flicker of something unfamiliar passed through her—anticipation, perhaps, or the faintest glimmer of hope. For the first time since the wedding catastrophe, she felt as though she’d regained a sliver of control.
Max stood, tucking his notebook into his jacket pocket. “I’ll be in touch. And Charlotte?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
With that, he turned and walked out, leaving Charlie to watch his retreating figure. Her mind was already racing with the next steps, her fingers brushing the smooth leather of her portfolio as if it could tether her to her carefully constructed plans.
The scent of coffee and pastries lingered as she stood, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor. The warmth of the bistro and the hum of its patrons felt distant now. This was only the beginning.
