My Boss Said, “Join My Family Dinner As My Husband.” I Said: “Fine But You Meet My Friends Next.”
The bandsaw screamed a high-pitched tear through 2 in of black walnut, drowning out the thoughts I didn’t want to have. I kept my eyes on the line. Sawdust hung in the air and tasted like burnt sugar and dry earth. That familiar grit that meant I was working, not thinking. My phone vibrated against my hip for the third time in 10 minutes. I ignored it.
If the shop wasn’t on fire, it could wait. I killed the power. The blade spun down into a low hum, leaving only my breathing and the distant rattle of the heater, fighting the Chicago winter seeping through brick walls. I ran my thumb over the fresh cut, smooth as glass. Perfect. The heavy steel fire door at the front of the warehouse slammed open, pulling a draft through my flannel.
High heels on concrete didn’t belong in my fabrication bay. But I knew the rhythm. Fast, uneven, urgent. I turned, wiping my hands on a rag. Natalyia Vance stood inside the yellow loading lines like she’d crossed a border. Camel cashmere, hair perfect, face rigid. Her hazel eyes, usually sharp as a blueprint, were wide, scanning the dusty shop like she was mapping exits.
A crumpled legal envelope was clenched in one hand. Her phone was clenched in the other. I need you to do something insane, she said. I tossed the rag onto the bench. You’re trespassing Natalia. This is a hard hat zone. I know. Her voice cracked just a fraction and the CEO veneer slipped. Kaison, I need you to come to dinner with my father tonight as my husband.
Silence hit like a dropped hammer. I didn’t laugh. I didn’t flinch. I just stared at her until she swallowed. Say no, she added quickly like she’d realized how it sounded. You can say no. If you say no, I’ll find another way. That sentence mattered. I leaned back against the walnut slab. Start over. Why is your father suddenly auditioning my love life? She blew out a breath.
Victor is in town. He’s at the Ritz. He’s bringing an attorney. He’s holding acquisition papers for the firm, my firm. The trust that keeps my company independent has a clause. He can dissolve it if he convinces the board I’m unstable, reckless, unfit, and a dinner date fixes that he wants to see me settled. He wants proof I’m not alone, not vulnerable, not something he can reabsorb.
She held up the envelope. If I walk in there alone, he walks into a board meeting tomorrow and sells my company into his holding group. I lose the contracts. I lose the autonomy. I lose the right to choose our vendors, your shop included. There was the hook. Real world leverage. No romance. Just war dressed in velvet.
I kept my voice flat. Why me? Because you’re the only man I know who can stand in a room with Victor Vance and not blink, she said. And because you already know my business. You built half of it with your hands. I looked at her. Really looked. Fatigue bruised under her eyes, knuckles white around the paper.
A woman used to being feared suddenly afraid. I’m not your employee, I said. I run my own shop. You can’t order me into anything. I know. She nodded hard. That’s why I came here. Not to the office. Not to a conference room. Here where you can throw me out. Her honesty landed with a thud. “Fine,” I said. “3 hours dinner only.
No private rooms, no hotel keys, no favors after.” She exhaled hard shoulders, dropping 2 in like a cut cable. “Thank you.” One condition I cut in. She blinked. Name it. Friday. You come out with me. My world, my friends, no suits, no mergers. You handle my reality for one night. Her eyes narrowed, offended, and curious at the same time.
“Why?” “Because if I’m going to lie to your father,” I said, stepping closer until I could smell rain and expensive jasmine on her coat. I need to know you can be real. The plan was simple on paper and a disaster in practice. 2 hours to make me look like I belonged near a man who bought and sold companies for sport. Natalya’s driver dropped a garment bag at my shop 20 minutes later.
She didn’t send an assistant. She came herself. Her office wasn’t far glass and chrome white orchids. The kind of place that made you stand up straighter without asking. She was pacing when I walked in. Phone pressed to her ear. Then she hung up and planted both palms on her marble desk like she was holding the building up.
Victor is already there. She said he brought his lawyer. Of course he brought his lawyer. She shoved the garment bag toward me. Put this on, please. You know my size, I asked. I approve vendor access badges and job site compliance lists, Kaisen. I noticed things. I took the bag. Who am I supposed to be? You, she said, and the words sounded like she hated that she meant it.
Just you but a version of you the Ritz doesn’t chew up. I can lie. I said, “The question is, can you keep your chin up while you do it?” Her gaze flicked away. I can. I changed in the executive bathroom. Charcoal suit, Italian wool. It fit like it had been waiting for me. I tied the tie with the same Windsor knot my grandfather had taught me before church.In the mirror, I looked like money.
I looked like a fraud with good shoulders. When I stepped out, Natalya had changed, too. Dark green dress, clean lines, power without glitter. The neckline was modest, but the way the fabric moved when she turned, made my throat go dry. “How do I look?” she asked, voice smaller than the room. “Like you’re going into battle,” I said.
She huffed a shaky laugh. “Good.” Then she opened a drawer and pulled out a small velvet box. “The ring,” she said. “A prop. It needs to look real.” She held out a simple gold band. I took it and let the weight settle. Family, my grandmother’s. Her eyes hardened. Victor always believed women were accessories.
I want him to choke on something that looks permanent. I slid the ring onto her finger. It was loose. It’ll spin, I said. I lost weight, she murmured. Strets. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small roll of friction tape I kept for grip and tool handles. Gray, ugly, practical. Natalya stared like I’d pulled out a weapon. Give me the ring, I said.
She hesitated, then handed it over. I tore off a thin strip, wrapped the inside of the band, and slid it back onto her finger. snug, stable, no wobble. She turned her hand, watching the gold catch the light. That is the least romantic thing I’ve ever seen. Good, I said. Romance is fragile. This isn’t. On the way to Lemon, Natalyia’s driver made an unplanned stop. You did what I asked.
As we pulled up to a boutique with gold lettering and security at the door, Natalyia stared straight ahead. My dress is fine, but Victor expects a performance. He expects normal. I don’t look normal. You look like a CEO. That’s the problem. She slid out of the car, walked into the boutique like she owned the block, and came out 12 minutes later with two small shopping bags dangling from one hand, black and robins egg blue.
the kind of bags that cost more than my first welder. She’d swapped into a blush pink office blazer over a simple white top for the stop. Something softer, less CEO, more believable. She climbed back in breathtight. This is stupid. It’s armor, I said. Just a different kind. The driver didn’t head straight to the restaurant.
He headed to the Ritz first. Natalyia looked at me. Victor’s in the lounge. He wants to see us before dinner. It’s his way of checking the story before the table. So, this is the audition. She nodded. If he smells weakness, he bites. We walked into the Ritz lounge under warm amber lights and soft jazz. Natalya lifted the shopping bags like props.
She hated blush pink blazer catching the light. Her smile turned on smooth, controlled, readable from across the room. I was still in my plain gray t-shirt, my suit folded in the garment bag over my arm because I’d refused to dress up until I knew exactly which war I was walking into. Victor Vance looked up from his whiskey. A big man in an expensive chair taking up space like it was his birthright.
His eyes swept me. T-shirt, work hands, the garment bag, and I saw the calculation. Natalya’s smile didn’t wobble. She angled toward me, eyes locking on my face like she was mid-sentence in a private joke. Not for him, for me. A quiet signal. Stay with me. Father, she said, this is Ka. I stepped forward. Kaisen Miller. Good to meet you, sir.
Victor didn’t stand. He didn’t offer his hand right away. He studied the bags in Natalya’s grip, then the way she stood close enough to let my shoulder block half of her. Miller, he said finally. Don’t know the name. Then you don’t read your own project reports, I said calmly. Victor’s mouth twitched almost a smile.
Natalyia exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for a year. Victor’s lawyer leaned in and whispered something. Victor waved him off, eyes still on me. “Dinner,” he said, “Loman Monarch.” “Don’t be late.” Natalya’s fingers brushed my wrist as we turned away. Brief, deliberate. “Another signal, thank you.” Upstairs, I changed into the suit.
Natalyia watched the tie knot like it was magic she couldn’t admit she admired. You clean up, she said. So do you, I answered and meanted. At Le Monarch, the air smelled of truffle oil and old money. Victor sat at a corner table with his lawyer in a pinstripe suit. When we approached, Victor didn’t stand. He just watched, gaze flicking over me like he was inspecting a foundation for cracks.
Father Natalya said, voice tight, “We’re here.” I pulled out her chair. She sat. I pushed it in gently and took my own seat. Victor’s lawyer gave a thin smile. Ms. Vance. Natalya didn’t blink. Counsel Victor’s grip when he finally shook my hand was a vice, a test. I didn’t squeeze back too hard. I just held steady. Granite against iron.
You in real estate? Victor asked. Development? I lied smoothly. Specialized fabrication, high-end interiors, a decorator, Victor sneered. A builder, I corrected, voice dropping. There’s a difference. Victor’s eyes narrowed, then shifted to Natalia. So married. Natalya’s throat worked once. I reached across the table andcovered the back of her hand with mine.
Warm, steady pressure. She didn’t pull away. She turned her palm slightly fitting into my grip like it was her choice. Yes, I said. Private. We like it that way. Dinner became a battlefield. Victor fired questions like bullets, revenue streams, market volatility, labor costs, margins. I answered because I knew the work.
I knew the cost of walnut and brass because I bought it. I knew the labor because I scheduled crews and watched hands bleed. You seem to know a lot about my daughter’s operations, Victor said, cutting into his stake. I take an interest in what matters to my wife, I said, letting the word land and stay. Then disaster struck. Natalya reached for her water and knocked over the heavy silver salt cellar.
It tumbled off the table and hit the floor with a sharp clatter. She froze. A small sound caught in her chest. Victor’s eyes went cold. Clumsy, just like your mother. Natalya flinched. The word mother was a blade. I didn’t raise my voice. I reached down, picked up the cellar, and inspected it. The hinge pin had popped loose on impact. It’s fine, I said, calm.
Sterling is soft. Needs a gentle hand. That is antique Victor snapped. I took a dessert spoon, used the handle as a lever, and with one precise movement, snapped the pin back into the housing. Clean, quiet, no drama. I placed it back on the table, good as new. You can’t force things that are meant to hold. I added eyes on Victor.
You ruin them. Victor stared at the repaired hinge, then at me. Impressive, he grunted. Under the table, Natalya’s hand found my knee. She squeezed once hard. I covered her fingers with mine. Her skin was ice. The ride back was silent at the kind of silence that buzzed. Street lights smeared across the windshield like bruises.
When we pulled up to the curb outside her building, Natalya didn’t move to get out. She stared at the dashboard like it could tell her the next move. He bought it, she whispered. For now, he’s suspicious, I said. He’ll dig. He’ll try to turn this into a lawsuit. Natalya nodded once. He’ll try to paint me as reckless.
And what do you do when he does? Her jaw tightened. I don’t fold. Then she looked at her ring, the one held in place by ugly gray tape inside the gold, and her voice went softer. You saved me in there. I fixed a salt shaker, I said. You stood between me and him. Her hand hovered like she didn’t know where to put it, then fell to her lap.
Friday, your friends. What time? 7. The rusty anchor. Logan Square. She made a face. I don’t own jeans. Buy some, I said. And Natalya? Yes. I reached into the back seat, grabbed the scarf she’d forgotten and [clears throat] draped it around her shoulders. My knuckles brushed the nape of her neck. She went still for half a second.
“You did good tonight,” I said. “Get some sleep.” She swallowed, “Kaison. Thank you.” I got out before I could do something stupid like touch her face and make this real. Friday came with sleet that turned Chicago into gray slush. I arrived at the rusty anchor early to secure a booth.
Marco, the owner ex-Marine and the only man I trusted with my life slid a picture of cheap beer onto the scarred table. So he grinned. The boss lady, she going to sue us if we win trivia. She might, I said, tearing a coaster into strips. Be cool. She’s a shark. Kai, why are you doing this? She needed help. “You always need to fix things,” Marco muttered.
“Broken chairs, broken engines, broken women.” “She’s not broken,” I said sharp enough to cut. “She’s underload.” The door opened. The bar went quiet for half a beat. Natalya stood there in dark jeans, so stiff they looked painted on. Black turtleneck boots. She looked uncomfortable, but she was here. I stood.
I shoved my hands into my pockets to keep them from reaching for her like instinct. You found it, I said. My driver found it, she admitted, eyes flicking over the neon signs. Smells like yeast. That’s the beer, Marco said, sliding into the booth. I’m Marco, I pour the drinks and judge strangers. Natalia, she said, extending a hand like she was signing a contract.
I design buildings. We know Marco said sit. Trivia starts in five. Category is8s music. You know your Duran Duran. I was born in 88. She said sitting carefully. But I have a photographic memory. The night was unexpected. Natalya sipped her beer like it was poison at first. Then the question started and she turned feral.
It’s hungry like the wolf. She snapped. Rio was released in ‘ 82. The single dropped in May. Marco gaped. Okay. Wow. That’s unfair. Natalya laughed real unpolished loud enough to startle her. The stress lines around her eyes softened. Midway through her phone buzzed on the table. She flipped it face down without looking.
Work? I asked. Victor, she said. He sent a revised contract. He wants to audit my vendor list. My stomach tightened and and I told him the vendor list is proprietary and he can wait for quarterly review. She said eyes bright with defiance.I handled it. I stopped tearing the coaster.
I looked at her, really looked at her. Good, I said. Her knee brushed mine under the table. This time she didn’t pull away. this place,” she murmured, looking around at peeling paint and neon. “It’s honest. No one cares who my father is. That’s the point.” She looked at me, gazed dropping to my mouth, then back up. “Not koi.” Testing.
“Do you like me here?” The air went thin. “I respect you,” I said. “That’s harder to earn than like.” Her smile tightened for a beat, then she nodded slow. Respect is good. Respect is safe. Monday morning, the fantasy ended. I was in my shop welding a custom brass railing for Natalya’s penthouse project when the front door banged open hard enough to rattle the glass.
Miller. I flipped my visor up. Victor Vance stood in the middle of my bay, flanked by his lawyer and a man holding a camera. Victor, I said, setting the torch down carefully. You’re in the wrong building. Am I? He sneezed at the metallic tang. I did some digging. Kaisen. You’re not her husband. You’re her vendor.
He tossed a file onto my workbench. Vendor agreements, invoices, my business name on her letter head. Preferred contractor, he said, lips curling. a man she’s been seen with after hours. He threw a stack of photos on the bench. Grainy shot from a distance. Natalyia and I leaving her building. Me opening her car door. Us at the bar on Friday.
I have proof of an inappropriate relationship with a key vendor. Victor said conflict of interest, reputational risk. The board hates risk. What do you want? I asked voice steady. Disappear. Victor said, “Resign from every project tied to her firm. Tell her you were playing her for a payout. Break her in public so she crawls back to the family fold to save face.
” “Do that and I don’t blacklist your shop from every site in the Midwest.” “And if I don’t, then I ruin you both,” he said, and his eyes slid coldly toward my welding table. “But mostly her. I’ll make sure the industry hears she uses romance to manipulate contracts. He turned to leave. 5:00 p.m. My hands didn’t shake until the door shut.
I didn’t call Natalya. Not yet. If I called her, I’d turn this into emotion. Victor wanted emotion. He wanted panic. So, I did what I always did when something was about to collapse. I sat at my desk, opened the project schedule for the penthouse, and started building a rescue plan like it was a bridge.
Materials, labor, deadlines, alternate suppliers, contingencies, a step-by-step path that proved my division wasn’t a liability. It was the strongest support beam in her entire structure. Then I printed a letter. Not a resignation from my shop. A termination of my vendor contract with her firm. Effective immediately, signed, dated, scanned.
Once that paper hit her legal inbox, Victor lost his cleanest weapon. No active vendor tie, no live invoices, no conflict of interest to wave in front of the board, just stalking photos and a tantrum. I walked into Natalya’s office at 4:30 p.m. She was on the phone smiling radiant in a way I hadn’t seen yet. We got it, she mouthed.
The investors loved the stability narrative. She hung up and beamed. Kaisen, it’s working. Victor has been quiet. I think we I placed the folder on her desk, the rescue plan on top, the contract termination letter underneath. Her smile died. “What is this?” she asked, fingertips touching paper like it could burn.
“The penthouse plan,” I said. “Authorize overtime for the night crew. It keeps you under budget and on schedule.” And the other letter, “My contract,” I said. Ended effective immediately. Color drained from her face. “Why Victor came to my shop?” I said, “He has photos, invoices. He’s going to argue conflict of interest.
He’s going to make you look reckless. Let him try, she snapped, standing. I’ll fight him. He wants a spectacle, I said, stepping closer, but keeping space. If I stay tied to your projects, he keeps a knife at your throat. So, you’re cutting yourself loose, she said, voice shaking with anger. Now, not fear. You’re leaving me alone in front of him.
I’m removing leverage, I said, not abandoning you. And what about us? Her voice dropped to a whisper that hurt more than the shouting. There is no us, I said, forcing the words through my teeth. There was a deal. The deal is done. She came around the desk fast and grabbed my lapels. Don’t lie to me. Not after Friday.
I looked down at her hands on my jacket. I wanted to pull her in and make her forget her father had teeth. I wanted to do the selfish thing. Instead, I gently peeled her fingers away one by one, like unhooking a clamp. You don’t need a husband to beat Victor, I said softly. “You just need his ammunition gone.
” “And I’m the ammunition.” Her eyes shone angry and wet, but she didn’t beg. She didn’t crumble. Go,” she said, voice sharp. “If you’re leaving, go.” I nodded once. “Finish the penthouse. Use the plan.” Then I walked out and didn’t look back. 3 days later, the merger gala.I was in my apartment staring at a frozen pizza when Marco called.
“Turn on channel 5,” he said. “Now.” The screen showed a live feed from a ballroom. Victor Vance stood at a podium glowing with triumph. Natalyia stood beside him in a silver dress posture, perfect, eyes empty. I am proud to announce Victor Boomed that Vance Industries is fully acquiring Natalyia Design Group.
And to celebrate this union, my daughter has a special announcement about her future. The camera tightened on Natalyia. Victor leaned in, whispering in her ear like a leash. Marco’s voice cracked through the phone. She’s going to fold. I stood up. No, she isn’t. I grabbed my keys. No suit. Just clean jeans, a button-down work boots.
I drove like the city owed me a lane. At the hotel, I tossed my keys to the valet and sprinted past confused doormen. I burst into the ballroom as Natalyia stepped to the mic. I, she started. Her eyes swept the room tuxedos, cameras, board members, a trap dressed as a party. Then she saw me. I stood by the doors, breathing hard hands loose at my sides.
No pleading, no speech, just presence. Natalya’s face shifted fear then steel. She took a real breath. “I have an announcement,” she said, voice gaining strength. “My father believes a woman needs a merger to be legitimate. He believes my company is a hobby that should be absorbed. Victor’s smile tightened. “Natalyia, he’s wrong,” Natalyia said into the mic.
“I built this firm. I built it with people who care about craft, not control.” She pointed directly at me. “Kaison Miller,” she said. “He taught me, you can’t fix a weak foundation with expensive paint.” Victor stepped forward and grabbed her arm. Natalya ripped free with a sharp twist, eyes bright with fury.
“Do not touch me.” The room went dead silent. “I am not merging with Vance Industries,” she said loud enough for the back row. “And I am not marrying for leverage.” “Not for investors, not for my father.” Victor’s face reened. You ungrateful Natalyia turned to the crowd. “If the trust dissolves, then it dissolves.
I will rebuild without it. She stepped off the stage and walked straight toward me. The crowd parted. She stopped inches from me, chin lifted. “You came,” she said. “I told you I don’t fold,” I replied. “I’m just slower with tuxedos.” For the first time all night, her mouth curved small, shaky reel.
She reached up and touched my jaw, fingertips steady. Kaison, I’m going to do something and I need you to tell me no if it’s not what you want. My heart hit my ribs. I didn’t speak. I nodded once. She leaned in and kissed me brief, fierce, clean. A collision, not a performance. When she pulled back, her eyes searched mine like she was checking if I was still there. I stayed.
Victor’s voice boomed behind us. This is insanity. Natalya didn’t turn. This is me choosing. The fallout was messy. Lawyers, press releases, a stock dip that made headlines. Victor raged, but without a clean coercion narrative without a subordinate. He could claim she controlled his blackmail turned into smoke and optics.
The board tried to force a vote. Natalya walked into that meeting with printed vendor contracts, email threads, and a timeline that showed one thing clearly. Victor had been stalking, threatening, and manufacturing leverage. She didn’t beg. She didn’t cry. She presented facts like weapons. The board voted to keep her on.
Two weeks later, I was back in my shop when Natalyia walked in wearing jeans. stiff dark denim like the first pair had started a habit. Nice pants, I said, planing a piece of cherrywood. They’re uncomfortable, she admitted, leaning on the workbench. But Marco says they make me look approachable. Marco talks too much.
She slid a folder across the bench. I have a new agreement. I didn’t open it. I don’t work for you. It’s not employment, she said. It’s partnership, separate entities, no leverage, no optics nightmare. 50/50 on projects we choose together. I finally opened the folder. Clean terms, clean boundaries, real autonomy.
You’re giving away equity, I said. I’m investing in the foundation, she replied. And her gaze held mine like she was daring me to doubt her. She stepped closer. Also, I have a dinner tonight with a client. I don’t need a fake husband. Good. But I would like a real date. 6 months later, the studio buzzed like a living thing.
We’d landed the biggest hotel renovation in the city. The partnership was legal, public, and profitable. At the launch party, Champagne Silk cameras, Marco was behind the bar, and half my crew wore suits that didn’t fit right. Natalya was talking to a senator. She looked powerful, untouchable. Then she saw me and excused herself without asking permission.
“You look bored,” she said, smoothing my lapel. “I hate parties,” I said. “I’d rather be cutting wood.” “One hour,” she promised. “Then we go to your place,” I asked. “Yours?” she said. “I like the drafty warehouse.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small box. “I found this,” shesaid.
Inside was the gray friction tape I’d used on her ring. She’d peeled it off and kept it folded like a secret. Why? I asked. Because it was the first time anyone fixed something for me without asking what it would cost, she said. No leverage, no bill, just steady hands. She took my hand in front of the senator. The investors the press interlaced her fingers with mine.
No hiding. “Ready to go home, partner?” she asked. I squeezed back. Lead the way, boss.
