“I appreciate that family matters,” I state carefully, “but I’m here to discuss commercial opportunities.”
Red’s weathered hand gestures toward the horizon where his turbines cut elegant lines against the vast Texas sky. “This is a family enterprise, son. Every one of these machines represents food on my table, college tuition for my grandkids, security for generations to come.” He fixes me with sharp blue eyes. “I don’t work with men I don’t trust, and I don’t trust a fellow who can’t commit to nothing.”
The negotiation is slipping away from me. I can sense it in the shift of Red’s posture, the way his friendliness has cooled by several degrees. This is exactly the kind of situation I’ve spent years learning to navigate, yet somehow, I’m failing spectacularly.
“Mr. Dawson, I assure you that my personal life has no bearing on my professional capabilities?—”
“Doesn’t it?” he interrupts. “A man who won’t settle down, won’t put down roots? How do I recognize he won’t cut and run when things get tough? How do I discern his word means anything?”
My jaw tightens. In boardrooms from Chicago to New York, my word is gold. I’ve built SkyNova from nothing into an enterprise worth over a billion dollars through careful planning, strategic thinking, and yes, ruthless focus. The kind of concentration that doesn’t leave room for distractions like relationships.
But standing here in the Texas mud with this opportunity crumbling around me, I realize that my greatest strength might actually be my greatest weakness.
“Actually,” I hear myself declaring, “I am seeing someone.”
Red’s eyebrows shoot up. “That so?”
Panic floods my system, but I’m committed now. “Yes. We’re quite serious.”
“Well, why didn’t you mention so?” Red’s entire demeanor shifts, his smile returning. “What’s her name?”
My mind goes completely blank. Then, desperately, I remember the image on my phone—the one picture I have of a woman that isn’t work-related. Without thinking, I pull out my phone and scroll to find it.
“Freya,” I state, showing him the screen.
It’s a photo from last Christmas, taken at some industry party I’d dragged her to as my plus-one. She’s laughing at something off-camera, her red hair catching the light, green eyes bright withamusement. She looks radiant and happy and completely out of my league.
Red studies the picture, nodding approvingly. “Pretty girl. She looks like she’s got spirit.”
“She does.” At least that part isn’t fabricated.
“How long have you two been together?”
“Two years,” I fabricate smoothly, though my palms are starting to sweat. “We’ve been friends much longer, though. Since high school.”
“Ah, childhood sweethearts. That’s the kind of foundation that lasts.” Red hands my phone back, looking pleased. “When’s the wedding?”
My throat goes dry. “Wedding?”
“Well, you mentioned you were serious. A fellow your age, successful as you are, dating a girl for two years? I assume you’ve got plans.”
I should backtrack. I should explain we’re taking things slow, that marriage isn’t in the immediate future. Instead, I hear myself declaring, “It’s this year sometime. We’ve been engaged for a couple months.”
The words hang in the hot Texas air like a challenge to the universe. It’s like another person spoke them, yet somehow they came out of my mouth. I’ve never been one to fabricate stories, and yet this false tale is tumbling right out.
Red claps me on the back with enough force to knock the wind out of me. “Well, congratulations, son. You mentioned it’s this year? When, exactly?”
“We haven’t set an exact date yet,” I manage, my voice sounding strangely distant to my own ears. “Soon, though.”
“You bring that pretty fiancée of yours down to Texas sometime. Marnie would love to meet her. Matter of fact, why don’t you both come to dinner next week? Marnie and I will be up in Chicago for our anniversary. Always wanted to see the city.”
My heart stops. “Dinner?”
“Next Thursday work for you? We’ll be staying at the Palmer House downtown.”
I nod numbly, already calculating how completely screwed I am. “That… that sounds wonderful.”
“Perfect.” He extends his hand for a shake, and I notice his grip is significantly firmer than it was an hour ago. “I’ll have my lawyers draw up the preliminary paperwork. Assuming dinner goes well, of course.”
