Chapter 6 The Reverse Proposal
## Chapter 6: The Reverse Proposal
Three days stretched into five with only brief, business-related texts from Melvin. Daisy threw herself into work, restructuring the integration teams and finalizing the Peterson acquisition. If board members noticed her distraction during meetings, they attributed it to the pressure of her new responsibilities rather than the personal turmoil beneath her professional veneer.
On the sixth day, as she reviewed quarterly projections in her office, Emma appeared at her door.
"Mrs. Shaw? There's a Ms. Lancaster here to see you."
Daisy looked up, surprised. "Send her in."
Maisie entered, as impeccably styled as ever in a cream pantsuit that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. She carried a sleek portfolio that she placed on Daisy's desk before taking a seat.
"Congratulations on your corporate coup," she said, crossing her legs elegantly. "The business world is still buzzing."
"Thank you." Daisy regarded her cautiously. "I assume this isn't a social call?"
"More of a... contractual obligation." Maisie opened the portfolio, revealing an embossed card. "I was supposed to deliver this after your takeover, once Melvin confirmed certain parameters were met."
"Parameters?"
"The final phase of Project Loyalty." Maisie slid the card across the desk. "I believe we've reached the denouement of our little drama."
Daisy opened the card. Inside was a single line of text in Melvin's handwriting: *The real test was never about your jealousy—it was about your brilliance.*
"I don't understand," Daisy said, looking up.
Maisie's professional demeanor softened slightly. "Eight years ago, Melvin Shaw attended a business symposium at Harvard. A brilliant student challenged his presentation on hostile takeovers—argued that genuine partnership created more sustainable value than conquest."
A memory stirred in Daisy's mind—a packed lecture hall, a arrogant guest speaker, her hand raised in defiance when he dismissed integrative negotiation as "weakness disguised as strategy."
"That was me," she whispered.
"He never forgot you." Maisie reached into her bag and removed a small recorder. "I promised I'd show my true cards once everything was revealed. This is the original conversation where Melvin hired me."
She pressed play. Melvin's voice filled the office:
*"I need you to test her, Maisie—not just for jealousy, but for strategic thinking. If this marriage is ever going to be real, I need to know she can match me move for move. The takeover test is the final phase."*
Maisie's recorded voice responded: *"So you WANT her to outmaneuver you and seize control of your company? Most men would consider that a nightmare scenario."*
*"Most men aren't marrying Daisy Woolridge,"* Melvin's voice replied. *"If she can't turn the tables when I give her the opening, we'll never survive as equals."*
Daisy stared at the recorder as Maisie stopped playback. "He planned for me to take control? That's—"
"Insane? Manipulative? Oddly romantic in a twisted billionaire way?" Maisie shrugged. "All of the above. But yes, he orchestrated most of it—left the folder where you'd find it, ensured you'd have access to the minority shareholders, even arranged for that board member to mention their initial opposition to the merger."
"But my family's company was genuinely in trouble," Daisy argued. "The contract was necessary."
"The merger was necessary," Maisie corrected. "The marriage contract was Melvin's elaborate way of reconnecting with the only woman who ever intellectually intimidated him. Your family's financial troubles just gave him the opening he needed."
Daisy's mind raced, reevaluating every interaction through this new lens. "And you? You've been his accomplice from the beginning?"
"Double agent, actually." Maisie smiled. "I've been working for both of you, but my true client was always clear."
"Which is?"
"Neither of you." Maisie stood, smoothing her immaculate pants. "I work for Margaret Shaw—Melvin's mother. She hired me to, and I quote, 'help my emotionally constipated son secure the only woman who might actually make him happy.'"
Daisy's laugh escaped before she could stop it—a sound of disbelief and dawning understanding. "So that entire scene at the gala—"
"Carefully choreographed to provoke your competitive instincts." Maisie gathered her portfolio. "Though I'll admit, you surprised us all with how quickly you turned the tables. The maid uniform amendment was not in our scenario planning."
"And the video at the shareholders' meeting?"
"Ah." Maisie's smile turned enigmatic. "That's where things get interesting. The video only played for ten seconds before it was replaced with something else for the actual board members to see."
"What did they see?" Daisy asked, though something in her already knew.
"Melvin's proposal plan. Complete with financial projections for a genuine merger of your lives, not just your companies." Maisie moved toward the door. "The board voted on that, not your hostile takeover. They're romantics at heart—old men who believed they were helping young love overcome pride."
Daisy sat back, momentarily speechless. "So my 51% controlling interest—"
"Is completely real," Maisie assured her. "Melvin wouldn't insult your intelligence with a fake victory. You earned that power fair and square. He just... created an environment where you could succeed."
"Where is he now?" Daisy asked, already reaching for her phone.
"That's the final part of my assignment to reveal." Maisie paused at the door. "He's not in Chicago. He's been in New York the whole time, finalizing arrangements for tonight. A car will pick you up at seven." She smiled once more. "Wear something remarkable. Margaret Shaw will be there, and she's been waiting eight years to meet you."
---
At precisely seven, Daisy stepped into the waiting black Bentley, dressed in a midnight-blue gown that shimmered like the night sky. The driver said nothing as they merged into Manhattan traffic, eventually turning toward the financial district.
When they pulled up to the New York Stock Exchange, Daisy's confusion only deepened. The markets had closed hours ago; the building should be empty.
The driver opened her door, gesturing toward the entrance where a solitary figure waited—Melvin, in impeccable evening wear, his expression unusually vulnerable as he watched her approach.
"What is this?" she asked when she reached him.
"Phase two," he replied simply, offering his arm. "If you're willing."
The interior of the exchange was transformed—soft lighting illuminated the trading floor, and a small table for two sat where frantic brokers usually shouted orders. As Melvin guided her toward it, the massive display screens that normally showed stock prices flickered to life.
Daisy gasped as images appeared—photographs of her from eight years ago at Harvard, giving her valedictorian speech; Melvin watching from the audience as a guest lecturer; split-screen surveillance footage showing them separately entering the same coffee shop over multiple days; newspaper clippings about Woolridge Electronics' innovations alongside Shaw Industries' expansion.
"You've been tracking me since Harvard?" she asked, not sure whether to be flattered or disturbed.
"Tracking is a strong word," he replied, pulling out her chair. "Let's call it... maintaining awareness of a worthy adversary."
As they sat, the largest screen changed to display a single message: **SHAW GROUP OFFICIALLY RENAMED TO DAISY & SHAW.**
"You're serious," she whispered, looking from the screen to Melvin's face.
"Deadly serious." He reached across the table, taking her hand. "The board approved it unanimously this afternoon—their wedding gift to us. If you want it."
"If I want what, exactly?" Her heart raced, but she needed clarity after months of games and tests.
Instead of answering immediately, Melvin pressed a small remote. The screens changed again, displaying the text of their marriage contract, with Clause 2 highlighted: *Neither party shall develop romantic attachments toward the other.*
"I propose we amend this clause," he said formally, though his eyes held an intensity she'd never seen before. "Or rather, replace our entire agreement with something more... permanent."
He stood, and to Daisy's astonishment, lowered himself to one knee beside her chair.
"Eight years ago, you challenged everything I thought I knew about business and power," he said, voice steady despite the vulnerability of his position. "For eight years, I've followed your career, waiting for the right moment to propose a merger of equals. When your family's company faced trouble, I saw my opening—not to conquer, but to create a partnership that could change everything."
He produced a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a ring that made her original wedding band look modest by comparison—an ethical diamond surrounded by sapphires that matched her dress exactly.
"The contract was never meant to be permanent—it was my flawed attempt to create a pathway to you. I needed to know if you could see me as more than the corporate raider everyone else sees. If you could challenge me, outthink me, and yes, possibly even love me despite my methods."
Daisy found herself speechless—a rare condition for a woman who had faced down boardrooms of hostile executives.
"I'm not asking you to surrender your controlling interest," Melvin continued. "I'm asking you to use it—to help me build something better than either of us could create alone. No more tests, no more games. Just partnership, in every sense."
"And what exactly are the terms of this new agreement?" she finally managed, her voice soft but steady.
Melvin's lips curved in a genuine smile—the first she had ever seen reach his eyes. "Two primary clauses. First, I kneel and ask you to marry me—really marry me—every day for the rest of our lives. Second, you consider saying yes for exactly the same duration."
Daisy's laugh bubbled up—joy and disbelief mingled together. "That's quite a negotiation strategy, Mr. Shaw."
"I learned from the best, Ms. Woolridge." He remained on one knee, waiting. "Your counteroffer?"
She leaned forward, close enough that only he could hear her next words. "I accept your core terms, but I have amendments. One: this partnership is truly equal—in boardroom and bedroom. Two: no more recording devices unless explicitly discussed. And three..." She took the ring from the box, sliding it onto her finger beside the original wedding band. "I get to make you kneel in public at least once a quarter, just to keep you humble."
"Done," he agreed immediately. "Though I reserve the right to make you blush equally often."
"Then we have a deal." She pulled him up to meet her kiss—their first real one, with no audience, no ulterior motives, no clauses forbidding the emotions that flowed between them.
The screens around them shifted one final time, displaying what appeared to be a live feed from the boardroom at Shaw Industries. There sat an elegant older woman with Melvin's steel-gray eyes, raising a champagne flute toward the camera. Beside her, the entire board and executive team waited expectantly.
"My mother," Melvin explained against Daisy's lips. "She insisted on witnessing the moment her son finally met his match."
"Margaret Shaw," Daisy murmured. "Maisie's true employer."
Melvin drew back slightly, eyebrow raised. "You figured that out?"
"Of course I did." She smiled. "I'm the majority shareholder, after all."
He laughed—a genuine, unrestrained sound she'd never heard from him before. "God, I love you, Daisy Woolridge."
"And I love you, Melvin Shaw." The words felt strange and wonderful on her tongue—no longer forbidden by contract, no longer a liability, but a truth finally spoken aloud.
On the screens above them, the board erupted into applause as Margaret Shaw raised her glass higher in a distant toast.
---
Three months later, the business world was still adjusting to the new power dynamic at DAISY & SHAW Holdings. The integration was proceeding smoother than any analyst had predicted, with innovations emerging from the collaborative teams that neither company could have developed independently.
At the company's first joint charity auction, a particularly unusual item drew frenzied bidding: a French maid uniform, complete with lace trim and satin ribbons, mounted in a museum-quality display case.
"Fifteen thousand," called an elderly gentleman from the back of the room.
Daisy, standing at the podium as auctioneer, squinted to see the bidder. "I believe we have fifteen thousand from Mr. Shaw Senior!"
Beside her, Melvin nearly choked on his champagne. "Dad?" he whispered in horror.
The distinguished gentleman approached the stage after winning the bid. With Melvin's jawline and Daisy's mischievous smile, Edward Shaw cut an imposing figure despite his seventy years.
"For my new office wall," he explained, examining his purchase with clinical interest. "This taste in uniform design..." he glanced pointedly at his son, "...clearly resembles your work, Melvin."
As the audience erupted in laughter, Daisy squeezed her husband's hand beneath the podium. "I believe that fulfills my quarterly public humiliation quota," she murmured.
"Just wait until tonight," Melvin replied, his voice low enough for only her to hear. "I have the contract amendment already drafted."
"I look forward to the negotiation," she whispered back, thinking how fortunate it was that their bedroom was soundproofed—some clauses were best discussed in absolute privacy.
Later that night, as they finalized their very personal merger for the third time that evening, Daisy reflected on how thoroughly their contractual relationship had transformed. The document that had once forbidden love now celebrated it—each clause designed to strengthen rather than restrict, to build rather than constrain.
And if occasionally their corporate rivals whispered about the unorthodox path they'd taken to partnership, neither Daisy nor Melvin paid it any mind. After all, the stock price spoke for itself—just as their marriage did, no contract required.
