Escaping Drew's Manipulation

The crystal chandeliers of The Metropolitan Club cast a golden glow over the white tablecloths and polished silverware. I smoothed my black dress—the only formal attire I'd packed for this business trip—and tried to focus on Mr. Richardson's discussion of investment portfolios. But something in Drew's eyes made my stomach twist.

"Gracie has an incredible understanding of renewable energy markets," Drew said casually, swirling his whiskey. "She'd be the perfect person to keep you company tonight, Richardson. Help you understand the finer points of our proposal."

I nearly choked on my water. "Tonight?" I echoed, my voice barely audible.

Richardson's gaze slid to me, assessing. "Is that so? I was hoping to discuss the details over dinner at my hotel."

"Drew," I whispered, touching his arm. "I didn't realize I was supposed to—"

"Gracie." Drew's voice was low, controlled. He stood and guided me away from the table with a firm hand at my elbow. "What are you doing?"

"I don't understand," I said, confusion washing over me. "You never mentioned—"

"Business requires flexibility," he hissed, his fingers digging into my arm. "Richardson controls a fifty-million-dollar fund. This deal could change everything for us."

"But he thinks—"

"He thinks what? That you'll explain some technical details over dinner?" Drew's eyes hardened. "That's exactly what you'll do. Unless you're too paranoid to have a business dinner with a potential investor?"

The word 'paranoid' hit me like a slap. Was I overreacting? Maybe this was normal business practice. My chest tightened as doubt crept in.

"Standard networking, Gracie," Drew continued, his voice softening as he read my expression. "You're being paranoid. Let's not make a scene."

As he guided me back to the table, I caught a flash of movement from a nearby table. Everett Foster—Drew's colleague—stood suddenly, bumping into a waiter. Red wine splashed across Richardson's crisp white shirt.

"Oh my God, I'm so clumsy!" Everett exclaimed, loud enough to draw everyone's attention.

Richardson jumped up, dabbing at the stain with his napkin. "No harm done," he muttered, though frustration lined his face.

"Let me help," I offered, grateful for the distraction. "There's a restroom just around the corner."

As I led Richardson away, I caught Everett's eye. Something in his gaze—concern, maybe even anger—made me wonder if the spill had been accidental at all.

---

The boardroom felt suffocating as I slipped in through the back door. I'd come to drop off some files Drew had requested, but froze when I heard his voice.

"As you can see," Drew was saying, gesturing to the presentation screen, "my research shows that wind turbine efficiency can be increased by nearly twenty percent with this new design."

My research. Those were my calculations, my simulations, my conclusions.

I stood frozen in the doorway, watching as board members nodded appreciatively. Drew hadn't even glanced at the data when I'd shown it to him last week.

"Remarkable work, Hansen," the chairman said. "This could revolutionize our approach."

Heat flooded my cheeks as I backed out