“I’ve secured a letter of intent from one of Europe’s leading medical device manufacturers,” I stated, my voice clear and steady. “They are prepared to sign a fifteen-million-dollar licensing partnership for our glucose monitoring technology, giving CarideoTech immediate access to the entire European market.”
The room went silent. Arthur’s face was a mask of disbelief.
Robert Pearson, our oldest board member, leaned forward. “This changes the landscape considerably, Theresa.”
“A letter of intent is hardly a signed contract,” Arthur interjected, scrambling to regain control.
“You’re right,” I agreed, meeting his gaze. “Which is why I’m asking the board for time to finalize it. Table Arthur’s proposal and give me the chance to deliver on this.”
It wasn’t even a debate. The mood in the room had shifted entirely. They voted to table Arthur’s motion, effectively handing me the reins, at least for now. I had won.
As the meeting adjourned, Arthur cornered me by the door. “Congratulations,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “You bought yourself some time. But partnerships fall through.”
I finished packing my briefcase before looking at him. “You see business as a series of transactions, Arthur. I see it as relationships. Let’s see which one wins in the end.”
I left him standing alone in the boardroom, his meticulously planned victory in ashes around him.
The Arbor Café’s floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto a small, manicured park. I’d arrived early, needing time to decompress after the board meeting. Watching the people walk the tree-lined paths, their lives moving forward in the afternoon sun, helped ground me. It was a quiet reminder that the world was larger than the boardroom, that life continued outside the high-stakes battle I was fighting.
I spotted Patrick the moment he walked in—tall, broad-shouldered, copper curls catching the light. The jeans and fitted polo he wore gave him an easy, effortless kind of appeal—casual but unmistakably put-together. His gaze moved through the café until it landed on me, and that smile—open, warm, disarming—lit his entire face.
My stomach flipped in response, a sensation so foreign after months of numbness that I almost didn’t recognize it.
“Theresa.” He approached the table with easy confidence, extending his hand. When I took it, he held it a moment longer than necessary before releasing it. “You’re looking remarkably well, all things considered.”
“I’m looking like someone who just survived a board meeting,” I corrected with a small smile as he settled into the seat across from me. “But thank you for the polite fiction.”
“Not fiction at all.” His accent wrapped around the words, making even the simple statement sound warmer. “There’s color in your face that wasn’t there at the conference. Fight suits you, I reckon.”
I laughed despite myself. “That’s one way to put it.”
A waitress appeared with menus, and Patrick ordered an Earl Grey tea while I got a refill of my coffee. Once she’d departed, he leaned back slightly, studying me with those unsettling blue eyes.
“So then. How did it go? The meeting?”
“I won. For now.” I wrapped my hands around my coffee mug, drawing comfort from its warmth. “The board gave me time to convert MacLeod’s letter of intent into an actual contract.”
“That’s excellent news.” He paused, then added with quiet certainty, “Though I cannae say I’m surprised. Duncan was genuinely impressed with your technology—the letter of intent wasn’t a favor to me, I assure you.”
“Still, you made the introduction. Without that, I’d be in a very different position right now.” I hesitated, then added quietly, “Thank you, Patrick.”
He looked down at his hands for a moment, drumming his fingers lightly on the table before meeting my gaze again. “I should be honest with you, Theresa. While I believe wholeheartedly in the business merit of this partnership, my motives for arranging this meeting weren’t entirely... professional.”
My pulse quickened, skipping a beat. “What do you mean?”
He was quiet for a moment, seeming to choose his words with care, his gaze direct and unwavering. “I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you since the conference. About our conversation. The way you spoke of your work, your husband, your grief...” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “It resonated with me in a way nothing has in a very long time.”
His confession was honest and raw. I should have been uncomfortable—it had not even been four months since Marco had died, far too soon for anything like this. But instead, I felt something loosen in my chest, as if tight bands had finally given way.
“I’ve thought about you too,” I admitted, the words leaving my lips before I could call them back. “Which feels... wrong. Disloyal, somehow.”
Patrick nodded slowly, understanding darkening his eyes. “Aye, I ken that feeling well. The guilt of feeling anything that isn’t grief. As if by experiencing even a moment of connection or happiness, we’re somehow betraying them.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “Exactly that.”
The waitress returned with our drinks, breaking the moment but not the tension. We thanked her and fell into silence until she departed.
“Tell me about him,” Patrick said, his voice gentler now, inviting rather than probing. “Your husband. I’d like to know the man who built this with you.”
