She wanted to ask what he was doing here. She wanted to ask him why he’d looked at her after he’d won at the games.
But she didn’t want to ruin it.
Because part of her was weirdly grateful for the company. Not general. His, specifically. She had the ridiculous notion that it was never cold where Rafael was.
Once, she stretched, and when she looked up, she caught him watching her. Their eyes met. His green eyes held hers, unwavering. She got the sense he looked at everything that way, until it either broke or yielded. That he saw and knew more than he let on.
She looked back down. Eventually, so did he.
Her pulse slowed, but not back to normal. She tried to sink into macroeconomics, into certainty, but awareness tugged at her, persistent as a loose thread. Her brain kept whispering like an annoying narrator:That’s Rafael Griffin. Right there. Writing things. Breathing. Existing.
Yes, brain, thank you, very helpful.
He’s not on the exam. Can we focus, please?
Much later, when she finally closed her book and slipped it into her bag, he spoke. “Done for today?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t ask to walk her out. Just stayed where he was, pen tapping lightly against the edge of his notebook.
“See you later, Rafael.”
“Bye, little Bea.”
It shouldn’t have sounded dangerous. Or affectionate. Somehow, it was both.
GAGE
The office was silent, save for the grandfather clock. A reminder of the generations before them. The Northgate skyline glittered through the glass walls.
His father set down his Montblanc and leaned back. His navy wool coat was tailored like armor, not a thread out of place. Still the throne behind the throne.
Gage sat opposite.
“The Harvest Summit introduction was successful,” Victor said.
Gage nodded. “She did well.”
“She surprised me. Catherine, Rafael, Laurent. Three separate situations. No unforced errors.”
That earned the smallest tilt of Gage’s head. “She’s learning.”
“Quickly. Which she’ll need.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“You were meant to leave in January.”
Gage didn’t respond. They’d covered this ground before.
“There was flexibility in that, of course,” Victor went on. “But not indefinitely. The London deal won’t wait on sentiment.”
“It wasn’t only sentiment.”
“It was strategic,” Victor agreed. “But strategy, too, requires discipline.”
“I’ll leave once Bea finishes this year.”
