The silence on the other end wasn't empty; it felt heavy, charged. “I know that feeling,” he murmured. “Some days the only way out is through.”
The quiet understanding in his voice made my throat ache. He wasn’t offering empty platitudes. He was standing in the dark with me.
“I’m actually calling with some potentially good news,” Patrick continued, his voice warming, drawing me in. “Remember I mentioned my manufacturing partner in Scotland?”
“Yes,” I said, forcing myself to switch gears, to be the CEO he needed me to be. “Duncan MacLeod, right?”
“That’s right. Well, I’ve spoken with him at length about CarideoTech. He’s very interested in licensing your technology for the European market. He’s prepared to discuss specifics—funding, timelines, partnership structure, the works.”
My breath caught. This was exactly what I needed—a concrete business opportunity, a real path forward I could present to the board. Something to counter Arthur’s narrative that I was just a grieving widow clinging to her husband’s legacy.
“Patrick, that’s—” I swallowed hard, the relief dizzying. “That’s incredible news. Thank you.”
“No need for thanks. You have a solid technology with real potential. Duncan’s interest is purely practical—his company could genuinely benefit from this partnership.”
“Still,” I insisted, my voice lowering. “I appreciate you reaching out. The timing couldn’t be better, actually. I have a board meeting tomorrow. This would be... helpful.”
“Tell them that MacLeod is ready to move forward quickly,” Patrick said. Then his tone dropped, becoming almost conspiratorial. “If you’d like to meet after your meeting to discuss the details, I’m actually in San Jose now.”
I blinked, surprised. “San Jose? As in, here? In California?”
“Aye. MIRI is establishing a West Coast division. I think I mentioned it. We’ve set up shop temporarily while we build our permanent facility. I moved with my children last week.”
“Oh, that’s... convenient.”
“Very,” he agreed. I could hear the smile in his voice—a low, pleased sound that made my skin prickle. “I’ll fax you everything, so you have it for your meeting tomorrow. Like I said, we could meet for coffee after, and discuss it further?”
Coffee. A normal, professional thing. Yet the way he said it felt like an invitation to something more dangerous.
“Yes,” I said, my pulse picking up speed. “Coffee would be great. When were you thinking? The board meeting usually runs until noon.”
“Say, two o’clock? There’s a café near some potential MIRI offices I’m looking at, called The Arbor Café. Do you know it?”
“I do.” It was quiet, intimate. “Tomorrow at two works for me.”
“Excellent. I’ll bring the originals MacLeod sent over.”
There was a pause. Neither of us hung up. The static hummed between us, thick with things unsaid.
“Theresa,” Patrick said finally, his voice rougher, softer. “Are ya feeling okay?”
The question caught me off guard. It wasn’t the polite inquiry of a business associate. It was personal. Intense.
“No,” I admitted, the truth slipping out before I could stop it. “Not really. But I’m getting there.”
“Good days and bad days?”
“More bad than good lately,” I whispered. “But I’m fighting.”
“I know you are.” The conviction in his voice was a physical touch. “For what it’s worth, you’re doing better than you think. The fact that you can say you’re not all right—that’s progress.”
I let out a short, watery laugh. “Is it? Because it feels like falling apart.”
“Falling apart is part of healing,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You can’t rebuild without first acknowledging what’s broken.”
The intimacy of the moment was almost too much. I felt exposed, seen in a way that was both terrifying and thrilling.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “For the business opportunity and... the perspective.”
