I look up at him like he’s just called my work littleorcute. “To know where tech will actually be effective, I need to understand the entire business. End to end.” I hold his gaze. “The more youargue, the longer this takes. And we don’t have that kind of time, Mr. Shaw.”
He says something under his breath, then turns to his computer and starts opening files.
That’s what I thought.
“Look,” I say evenly, and he lifts his gaze to meet mine. “When we’re here—when I’m helping you—I call the shots. I need to be able to speak freely. No tiptoeing.”
He nods once. “Fair enough.”
“And,” I add, holding his eyes, “you give me your undivided attention. For one week, I’m the priority. Understood?”
I let the innuendo linger. I’m not just talking about the work or this pitch, I’m talking about everything. I’ll play along. I’ll pretend this isn’t temporary and ignore the fact he makes a habit of loving and leaving women out of some twisted sense of self-preservation. But while I’m here, I am the focus. The first thought. The only one. Until I’m gone.
I’ve never demanded anything like this before. Like most women, I’ve entered relationships hoping for the best, allowing the man to dictate the pace, the direction, and the inevitable end. It’s exactly why I actually prefer short-term entanglements. The implications are clear, and I don’t have to worry about where things are going. Things simply are what they are until they aren't. But something about this place—about Canada and this agreement Eli and I have entered into—makes a version of me feel possible where I can simply take what I want without feeling the need to earn it first.
I deserve this.
“Fine,” Eli says. “You have my undivided attention. You call the shots. Anything else?”
That was almost too easy.
“And when we’re…” I pause. “Home. At your house. You can burden me. Like I promised. And you can even take your frustrations out on me for being a pain in the ass.”
He frowns. “I didn’t say you were a pain in the ass.”
I smile, all innocence. “Day’s still young, Bear.”
The next thirty minutes are all data and discussion. He walks me through the structure of the company, revenue streams, growth projections, expansion plans. It’s all solid. Smart. But underneath the numbers is something rarer. Far more than branding. Integrity.
Every piece of his company is a forethought. Something designed brick by brick with intention. Each department exists for a reason. Every hire was strategic. Engineers who care as much about sustainable materials as they do clean code. Designers who understand formandenvironmental impact. Operations leads with backgrounds in ethical supply chains and long-term land stewardship. These aren’t people chasing a paycheck. They’re people chasing alignment.
Eli talks about them with quiet pride. About how no one here is interchangeable. Everyone was chosen because they bring a specific skillanda shared value system to the table. Because they believe in building things that last.
And I can tell they believe in him. It’s hard not to.
It’s clear this isn’t just a company to him. It’s a mission. One he’s protected carefully and grown purposefully.
We’re just starting to hit a rhythm where it seems like he’s letting me in further, when his phone buzzes.
He answers it without properly excusing himself. No pause. No explanation. Just walks out of the office and leaves me sitting here alone.
Strike one.
I sigh, stand, and stretch, letting the tension roll out of my shoulders as I wander the space. The walls of his office tell astory even if this man is a closed book. Awards for sustainability and innovation. Framed press clippings. Photos of Eli shoulder to shoulder with what looks like government officials, and various leaders. He looks important.
He’s impressive.
And frustrating.
But still…impressive all the same.
Five minutes later, he storms back in, jaw tight, energy completely off.
“What was that about?” I ask, half expecting him to apologize for how abruptly he got up and left.
“Nothing. It’s fine.” His tone is clipped, sharp around the edges. I watch his shoulders creep up toward his ears like he’s trying to carry the weight of his entire life on them.
“Clearly everything’s fine,” I say flatly. “Your shoulders are practically touching your ears.”
