“That’s perfect,” I kissed her. “Thank you for a perfect day.”
“Thank you for trusting me with a piece of your heart.” She set her phone on the nightstand and nestled against me. “I’ll never forget it.”
Chapter 33
Elementary, my dear Nolan
Alex
The days settled into a rhythm that felt surprisingly normal. Morning coffee delivered to our room before I was fully awake, the warmth of Finn’s hand smoothing down my back, his way of easing me into consciousness during my medication reduction. He’d learned that rushing me awake left me disoriented and irritable, so instead he’d settle beside me on the bed, coffee in one hand while the other traced gentle patterns along my spine until I was ready to surface.
“Morning, darlin’,” he’d murmur against my temple, pressing a soft kiss there before handing me a perfectly prepared cup of cold brew. Some mornings he’d stay, fingers carding through my hair while I took those first essential sips. Other mornings he’d disappear to work on the ranch while I had my video calls with the Catalyst team from our room with Maggie curled up at my feet.
Finn anticipating my needs without hovering, giving me space to work while still taking care of me made everything more manageable. We’d realized that his physical touch grounded me when my brain felt scattered, so he’d brush his hand across my shoulders when he passed by me or settle his palm on my knee during family conversations when I started fidgeting.
Jordan’s corporate espionage had triggered a federal investigation, and Titan’s aggressive acquisition tactics were finally drawing regulatory attention. Good for industry ethics, exhausting for daily business operations. The conversations with Oliver had been harder than expected. He wanted to discuss retirement timelines and the succession planning we’d been avoiding since the crisis broke. I sketched organizational chartsduring video calls, creating visual frameworks for partnership structures that could work, but nothing felt sticky yet.
Finn and I spent most afternoons in the air, the cockpit becoming our favorite place to be together. We looked for landmarks and wildlife while Finn tracked weather and airspace. Evenings were spent at dinner with the family or alone at the restaurant or with room service; followed by time on the family porch or in bed, looking through the pictures we’d taken throughout the day and sharing a few to our socials before curling up together for the night.
It didn’t take us long to find an easy coexistence in our shared space, negotiating real estate on the vanity in a room that wasn’t designed for extended stays. We’d developed an unspoken system of courtesy around changing, and Finn had relaxed somewhat from his initial modesty. He was comfortable enough to change his shirt around me instead of the bathroom but still maintained boundaries around full vulnerability. I tried to respect his pace, even as I sensed us both testing those limits every evening we spent fooling around like teenagers.
He was neat and tidy though, and it helped me feel less like we were crowded on top of each other during a time when every small change felt like it could tilt my world on its axis. Housekeeping came in every couple of days to clean or change linens and towels while I worked in Nolan’s office, his presence exactly what I needed to help me stay productive.
Penny usually appeared in the home office around late morning with a coloring book and a bag of various things. She’d spread her art supplies across the corner table, announce what she was drawing (always horses, sometimes with wings), and settle into focused creativity while Nolan worked and I handled whatever digital crisis needed attention. She treated my presence like a natural extension of the office furniture, asking occasional questions about colors or whether I thought unicorns could be purpleandorange. She was especially excited to put into practice what I taught her about different color schemes. I couldn’t help it,and she was a quick and eager learner.
I’d been working through emails and investigation updates for the better part of an hour, Maggie dozing nearby, when Nolan’s third heavy sigh made me glance up from my laptop screen.
A large, leather-bound book lay open across his desk like an ancient manuscript, surrounded by scattered printouts and sticky notes that suggested a man losing a battle with organization.
“Everything okay over there?” I asked, noting how his usually calm and methodical work had devolved into paper-shuffling frustration.
He rubbed his temples, salt-and-pepper hair catching the late morning light streaming through windows that overlooked the creek behind the house. “Lost a client yesterday. Big name competitor, been courtin’em for months.”
“That’s rough,” I closed my laptop and turned my full attention toward him, recognizing the disappointment that came with deals falling through unexpectedly. “Any idea what went wrong?”
“That’s just it. I can’t figure it out,” Nolan gestured at the chaos of documentation spread across his workspace. “Had everything they said they wanted. Bloodlines, trainin’ records, performance history. Been tryin’ to cross-reference what we offered against what they’ve bought elsewhere, but...”
His voice trailed off as he stared at a printout that looked like it had been folded and unfolded multiple times.
“How do you usually track all this?” I asked, moving toward his desk, looking over the mix of analog and digital record-keeping that seemed to be creating more problems than solutions. The pages of the book were covered in handwritten entries dating back decades, meticulous records that told a story of careful breeding programs and generational knowledge.
“Lineage stays in the book, that’s how it’s always been done. Performance records, training notes, client preferences...” he gestured vaguely at his computer screen. “Scattered across different files, some spreadsheets, emails. It works fine until something like this happens and I need to see the whole picture.”
“What if I showed you something that might help?” I offered, already reaching for my computer. “I mean, if you’re interested in a fresh perspective on the data organization challenge, that is.”
Nolan looked up from his papers, curiosity replacing some of the frustration in his expression. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“We’ve developed some proprietary tools at Catalyst... AI,” I opened my laptop and navigating to the secure access portal. “One of them is called Sherlock, designed for research and investigation. What if we took a look at this Thunder Ridge Equestrian and see what we can learn about why they might have passed on your horses?”
“You can do that?”
“Let’s find out,” I smiled, pulling up Sherlock’s clean and friendly interface withHow can I help today, Alex?written in a serif typeface above an input box. “What’s the full name of their operation? Any key people I should know about?”
Nolan leaned forward, his earlier dejection shifting into curiosity. “Thunder Ridge Equestrian, owned by Wyatt Briggs. They compete primarily in cutting horse competitions, some reining. Been building their reputation over the past five years.”
I typed the information into Sherlock’s search parameters, already feeling the familiar excitement of a puzzle waiting to be solved that my brain craved more and more lately. “Okay, let’s see what we can find.”
Sherlock began its work, pulling data from social media platforms, industry databases, competition records, and public business filings. I watched the results populate across multiple tabs, information clustering into patterns that would take hours to research manually.
