Chapter Text
“The signing terms are fairly standard for this kind of deal. We’ve attached a copy of the relevant legal code to the front, behind which is the actual contract. We trust that your lawyers have already reviewed it?” Cauthrien asked, passing the binder across the lacquered table. Her skin was well cared for, but her nails were chewed to the quick.
“They’ve read through it, yes,” Bryce responded, tapping his pen against the table. “Howe had some questions about the lag period between the marriage and the acquisition, however, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Howe drawled, one foot on the opposite knee, “Am I correct to assume the couple have to be married for at least two months before the companies can be legally merged?”
“That’s how I’ve had it explained to me,” Cailan shrugged, his broad shoulders stretching under his grey suit. “The FDIC regulations on the time between contract signing and actual ceremony are less restrictive. I think it was a three week minimum?” He turned to Loghain, a questioning frown on his face.
“Three weeks from today’s meeting, then two months from that before the government will recognized the family connection enough for us to move forward with the acquisition,” Loghain restated. His voice was calm, but he drawled his words out longer than necessary. Loghain Mac Tir always looked vaguely irritated, but the morning sun cutting into his eyes looked to give him another reason to be unhappy.
“Excuse me?” Briana spoke up finally. All eyes in the room turned towards her.
“I believe both parties represented in the contract have to be present for the signing, correct?” she posed to the room, her lips thinning. Cailan’s phone, which sat upon the table, vibrated as she spoke. He picked it up, turning on the screen just long enough to see the notification.
“We’ve been stalling a bit, but it looks like he’s just—”
“Maker, I’m really late, aren’t I? Not the fashionable kind? I am so sorry about that.”
The man had burst through the main conference room, throwing the thin door open a little more forcefully than it looked like he’d expected. His scarf was hanging half-off his shoulder, and there was still snow in his hair.
Loghain turned back to the room, flipping open the contract. “Right, well, now that Alistair is finally here, we can get this done with.”
-
[A snapchat of Alistair, to Leliana. His face is one of exaggerated horror as he sits in the back of a taxi. The text reads, “why does traffic happen to good people?”]
[A reply photo, of Leliana’s hand holding a cup of coffee, interior of her apartment. The photo is timestamped 5:37 AM. “I’m praying for you right now. Really hard. I promise.”]
[Another reply, from Riordan. His hands is mid-chin stroke, and his eyebrow is arched. “is this the meeting with your future wife? [eyes emoji]"
[A reply to both of them, from Alistair. It’s a front camera photo of a lobby full of business people. “when i die. then you will realize”]
-
As far as first impressions went, they hardly got to have one. After the initial awkward handshake between the two of them, there wasn’t much talk besides asking for pens to be passed. It took them twenty minutes in total to sign all the documents, then notarized them, and finally have them scanned and emailed to the appropriate parties. When the meeting was near to a close, she had only been able to figure out so much about him, combined with what a previous Google search had told her.
Alistair Theirin was the youngest son of the late Maric Theirin, former president and CEO of Ferelden Enterprises. It was a minor scandal when he was born out of wedlock, but since Maric’s wife had passed years previous, the whole thing had blown over in the media. There wasn’t that much else to find on him, mostly some photos of him scattered over Google Images. If she was being honest, they hadn’t done him justice. He was tall and broad, but his face was playful and his tawny brown hair looked like he had tried to style it.
And then there was everything she had figured out so far. He cared enough to apologize for being late, but was obviously disorganized enough to prevent him from being on time. He actively listened to Cailan’s advice, but seemed hesitant to heed Loghain’s. He smelled like grass in the dead of winter and his hand was not soft when it brushed hers, but they were dry and warm.
And he hadn’t met her eyes for more than three seconds.
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“Er, sorry to interrupt, but—”
Briana’s head snapped up from the reply she was typing, coming face to face with Alistair himself. He held his scarf and his jacket in his hands, seeming to be on his way out. Her eyes widened. She was expecting to have to make the first move to talk to him.
“No, this is nothing,” she insisted, sliding her phone into her pocket. Her lips pursed, and her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Did you need something?”
“I just—I know this whole thing is weird, but if we’re going to be, y’know, married, I thought… well, maybe let’s get coffee first. Get to know each other better.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to keep his voice low.
“I’m more of a tea person myself, if that doesn’t bother you,” she admitted.
“Oh thank the Maker, me too,” he sighed, shoulders relaxing. His eyes narrowed for a moment, looking her dead in the eyes. “Waaaait… dogs or cats?”
Her smile dropped immediately. “I come from a long and proud line of dog people, I’ll have you know. Is that going to be a problem?”
His laugh—his real laugh—filled the room.
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Morrigan stood in a corner of the lobby, iPad held in one hand. Sten sat nearby, thumbing through a copy of National Geographic and looking up to scan the room every so often. Upon seeing Briana, he turned and said something to Morrigan.
“I haven’t the faintest idea where you got the idea for frozen yogurt,” Morrigan remarked when the other woman reached them, not looking up from her work.
“It’s been a strange couple of days. We could all use the break.” Briana shrugged, taking her jacket from Morrigan’s arms.
“Don’t presume to know what I need. I would venture to guess it is you who wants a break,” Morrigan quipped, finally looking up. The barest hint of a smile graced her face. “Come, let us leave before the promise of yogurt gets to Sten.”
Sten huffed from the chair, setting his magazine aside.“The idea is… tempting, yes.”
“Pup! Off so soon?”
The trio turned in time to see Bryce emerging from the elevator. His grey hair curled at the nape of his neck, and his face showed fine age lines, but he was still as energetic and determined as ever. At the age of thirty, Bryce Cousland had taken over Highever Bank from his father, and took the reigns growing the company domestically in the UK. Now, having taken blows during the recent recession, his best option had been to accept the generous purchasing offer from Ferelden Enterprises. The idea of being bought hadn’t seemed to affect his mood, however. He handed a folder to Rendon Howe, who hardly gave them a second glance as he left.
Briana tucked her hair behind her ear. “I owe Morrigan for helping me with this ordeal. I was going to treat her to some dessert.”
“I think Morrigan is used to it by now. She is your personal assistant, isn’t she?”
From over Bryce’s shoulder, Briana watched Morrigan roll her eyes.
“Yes, yes. Dad, did you need something?”
“Not particularly,” Bryce sighed, slipping his hands into his pants pockets, “But I wanted to check in with you. This isn’t an easy process for any of us, Pup. Your mother and I have invited Alistair to dinner in a week at the manor. Normally, in any other business matter, I’d ask you if you’d like to come, but given the circumstances…”
Briana leaned in, quickly kissing her father on the cheek. “Send the information to Morrigan. I’ll be there. And I’m fine with all this, Dad. I promise you.”
-
-
“It really couldn’t have been that bad, Ali. You tend to underestimate your social skills.”
Alistair dragged a hand down his face, accidentally bumping into the person in front of him in line. He switched his phone to his other ear, “You have no idea. Being late was bad enough, but then I couldn’t say a coherent sentence for the rest of the meeting. I was a mess.”
Across the ocean, Leliana turned a corner on the sidewalk. “Did they call off the deal? Did Cailan talk down to you?”
“No, but Loghain gave me some very cutting looks. That’s nothing new, though.” The smell of the hotel lobby’s cafe lingered in the air as he browsed the display case.
“Well then, you have nothing to worry about. Everything’s going to be fine. You still haven’t told me what she’s like, though!” she insisted, stiffing a giggle.
“Not too sure, really. She was quiet, but there wasn’t that much to be said. Dresses well. Likes dogs. Hold on a sec,” he requested, putting the phone to his shoulder to order a black coffee and a scone.
“Sorry, back. What did you ask again?”
“Listen, I just want to make sure you’re okay with all of this. It’s not exactly… what you were raised to do,” she posed, hitting her floor button on the elevator.
“Eamon went over this with me. There are no other viable Theirin heirs to settle the deal. I’m the only one left, really,” he shrugged, taking a bite of his scone. A little dry, but still good. Lemon currant.
“Are you sure you’re alright though? I know after Duncan—”
“Maker,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d been keeping those thoughts at bay for a good bit now. “No, really, I’m fine. Look, thanks for the call, Leliana. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Leliana’s elevator dinged as she stepped into her Headquarters. “Alright. Please take care of yourself.”
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“I thought you were above lying to your father. Is this a new hobby you’re trying, like the time you took up horseback riding?”
Briana frowned, looking up from the couch. “Either you’re saying things to be hurtful again, or I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Morrigan’s heels clicked against the dark wood as she made her way down into the depression the living room sat in. The lights were dim in Briana’s apartment, save the lamp she worked by, the light from her laptop, and the soft glow of London through the condo windows. “If I recall correctly,” Morrigan started, “You told your father that you were ‘fine with all this,’ did you not?”
Briana’s jaw clenched, pulling her laptop closed. “Mori, we discussed this already. I have a duty to my family and the company. I can’t just burden my father with all my personal trepidations on the matter.”
“Answer me this: do you want to marry this boy?”
“No, not particularly. I don’t know him.”
“Your father should know as much then. This acquisition lets the Theirins gain power, but fashions you as a pawn in their game.”
“You know Morrigan,” Briana huffed, standing up to hand the woman her purse, “You have the strangest way of showing concern.”
“I…” Morrigan started, before gently taking the bag from Briana’s hands, “I am merely worried that the situation will ultimately leave you bitter. We’ll speak on this tomorrow, I’m sure?”
“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” Briana noted. “Now, go home. I’ve got to finish my article before tomorrow, and you have to have one night you don’t spend here.”
Morrigan scoffed, before turning towards the exit. “You speak like I don’t sleep here half the time anyway,” she threw over her shoulder as she left. She stopped at the open door momentarily, fiddling with the doorknob.
“I think perhaps I misspoke earlier.”
Briana stayed silent, giving her the room to speak.
“You don’t have to be a pawn. You could be a queen.”
“Morrigan, you are the most dramatic person I know. Go home.”
-
