She could play that, too. "Yes, Bob, you're right."
If getting his name wrong had any effect, Henry didn't show it. The small, closed-lip smile didn't waver.
Gwen walked over to stand in front of his desk, her footfalls echoing off that high ceiling. When she arrived, Henry didn't ask her to sit down, despite there being an available chair across from him. Nor did Henry stand up.
"So you've finally come to your senses about this charade, I see," he said, sliding a leather-bound folder across to her. "It's a pity you weren't smart enough to do it when it could have made you some money."
"I wouldn't take your money anyway," Gwen replied, flipping the folder open and scanning through the pages. It was an agreement not to discuss the contract with anyone, as well as to cease any current and future contact with Aiden or the corporation.
"But you already have. I own this corporation; Aiden gets paid by this corporation... I'm sure you can see my reasoning. In any case, that is beside the point."
Gwen found herself wishing Aiden were standing beside her, helping her face this man down. But that desire ran opposite to her goal, so she tried pushing it down.
"If I may ask, exactly what caused you to come to your senses? Was it that emergency conference?" Henry said. He took the same pen as he'd offered her before from his inside jacket pocket and slid it across the desk beside the opened folder. Gwen made no move to pick it up.
"It was Aiden," Gwen said.
"So he's come to his senses, too, I take it? I can't say I'm surprised, given the material he chose to work with," Henry said, using a quick, appraising glance at Gwen to communicate what he personally thought of the quality of the "material."
Gwen ignored the jab, instead forcing a smile onto her face as though his words just rolled off her back. "I'm only signing this on one condition."
"Well, I'm not exactly seeing your leverage to make any such demand..."
"You fancy yourself a good judge of character, don't you, Henry?" Gwen said.
Henry shrugged.
Gwen continued, "So you know that when I threaten to tell everyone about the girlfriend contract unless you accept my condition, I mean it."
That earned her a slightly raised eyebrow. "You will be in breach of a non-disclosure agreement if you do that. There will be consequences."
Gwen leaned forward to make sure that he got a good look at her eyes. "I don't care, Henry."
The elder Manning's eyes flicked back and forth between hers, analyzing them, testing them, searching for any sign of a bluff or lie. Their search found nothing. Henry leaned back in his plush black leather executive's chair.
"Didn't you just tell me that you wouldn't take my money?" Henry said.
"I'm glad you were listening when I said it," Gwen replied.
Spreading his hands, Henry said, "Then I fail to see what you could possibly want."
It all came down to money with Henry. Money and power: the bottom line. It was beyond him why someone could possibly want anything else, apparently. He projected onto everyone else, unable to see any other motive.
"My condition is that you leave your son alone. You stop sabotaging his efforts to make this company better, you stop trying to undermine his charity work, you stop trying to turn him into a younger version of you." Gwen needed to clasp her hands together to keep them from shaking. It took a Herculean effort of will to keep eye contact with Henry the whole time, but she managed. Neither of them blinked.
"That sounds like three conditions to me."
"Whatever. Take them and finish with this, or don't and deal with the fallout. I wonder how many points the stock will drop? I hear investors and speculators spook easily."
Was it going to work? For several lengthy heartbeats, it looked like Henry might just laugh her threat away. He didn't.
"I agree to your terms. I'll have the new agreement drafted and couriered to you this afternoon. And I also feel the need to say that you are mistaken about Aiden. You think he cares for you, but I can tell you that he doesn't. There are things about him you don't know and understand..."
Gwen was tired of listening to him, tired of standing in that office with its polished floors that made the soles of her feet ache, tired of everything about this, really. "Things like how you blame him for the death of his mother? Things like your dysfunctional relationship? Things like how the way you treat him tears him up on the inside? You don't even know your own son, Henry; you can't tell me that I don't, either."
Henry swallowed heavily. One hand strayed up, about to tug at the tight, perfect half-Windsor knot of his tie, but he stopped it. For the first time since she came in, he broke eye contact.