I’d rolled over and grabbed my phone to check the time, but instead, I’d found a long-winded message from her. One of those stream of consciousness emails I loved receiving so much, but only when she was the sender.
Among other things, she’d written that she was going on a work trip and really didn’t want to go. Apparently, she wished we could just run away together instead. Go someplace warm and quiet with a terrible Wi-Fi signal and zero responsibilities.
A slow smile had pulled at my mouth as I’d typed back that we could. Any time. Any place. I’d do it.
It wasn’t the first time I’d told her that, and every time I said it, it felt true in the moment, bone-deep and reckless, but I also knew better. This relationship existed between cyberspace and reality. It was probably only perfect because it was contained, untouched by logistics, daily irritations, and the inevitable erosion that came with two lives trying to merge into one.Still, the thought of running away with her had lingered like a pleasant lie I had no intention of correcting.
Once I’d gotten to the office, things had continued progressing smoothly. Every one of my meetings had gone well.
Portfolio adjustments landed without resistance, two new investors signed preliminary agreements, and a client who normally treated financial advisors like disposable assistants actually thanked me for my time. By noon, I was even only on my second cup of coffee, which bordered on supernatural in my world.
My inbox remained manageable. My calendar wasn’t trying to assassinate me. It was, objectively, an excellent day, but it collapsed the second I walked into the conference room.
My sister-in-law, Jane, had sent lunch over, courtesy of Thayer Steelworks, which meant it was food worth pausing for. I grabbed a to-go container from reception and headed toward the main conference room.
Alex and Will, our brother and COO, usually commandeered the long table for midday strategy sessions and we were due for one today. I pushed the door open, already loosening my tie and about to ask what crisis we were solving over grilled chicken and expensive salads when I suddenly stopped. My entire body went dead still.
A fiery, red-headed woman took up the chair at the foot of the table. The one where I usually sat, and she didn’t even glance up at first. She was scrolling through something on her tablet, her hair spilling over the back ofmychair like it was staging a hostile takeover of the furniture.
Kate fucking Vanderhaul.
Alex was seated at the head of the table in his usual spot, and he looked up as the door swung shut behind me, immediately catching my expression. The corners of his mouth twitched withpoorly disguised amusement. He waved toward our guest like she was here on his personal invitation.
“Nate,” he said cheerfully. “You remember Kate Vanderhaul from Vanderhaul & Marksmith, don’t you?”
Kate finally lifted her gaze. Her dark hazel eyes locked onto mine with an unmistakable challenge. One perfectly groomed brow arched like she was daring me to pretend we’d never met.
“I’ve been trying to forget,” I muttered.
Will coughed into his drink, laughter suppression for sure. I moved toward the table, but every damn step felt like a mile. I dropped into the chair beside Alex instead, deliberately pulling the to-go box toward myself like the food might serve as emotional armor.
Across from me, Kate set her tablet down with surgical precision, her mouth curving into a smile that suggested she found me deeply entertaining, but I ignored her and opened my lunch container, focusing on the chicken.
Alex launched into the briefing with the same calm tone he used these days when he was about to propose something ludicrous. I was getting used to it.
“We’re moving forward with the Hinds acquisition,” he said firmly, which wasn’t a surprise at all. “You should all know from the get-go that it could make us obscenely rich or it could shatter the company completely.”
I sighed, but under Alex’s leadership, Westwood and Sons had never done safe. We did calculated, high stakes, and occasionally terrifying. So far, every risk had paid off in a big way, though, which made it hard to argue with anything he proposed, so just I nodded, already shifting into numbers mode.
While mentally mapping risk buffers and exit strategies if things collapsed spectacularly, I also wondered why the fuck Kate was in the room for this. I just didn’t ask because I knew hewould get there. Plus, I didn’t want her to think I cared about her at all.
“We’ve partnered with smaller firms before,” he said. “That part isn’t new, but we’re considering a different structure this time.”
I looked up and frowned, still not saying a word.
Alex met my gaze, explaining without having to be asked to do it. “This isn’t a standard acquisition. Hinds has made it clear that he won’t consider any offer that doesn’t meet his conditions.”
Right. He probably wants an acquisition bid that looks less like conquest and more like succession planning. Complicated but manageable.
“To do that, we’ll need partners,” Alex said. “Especially if we want to keep his business running, which we do.”
“Hinds is one of the wealthiest men in the world.” Will took over from Alex. “The catch is that he’s single with no kids and no wife. In short, he’s an eternal bachelor with a list of strings attached to selling his business that Alex and Zach are still trying to figure out.”
“Once we do, we’re putting all our eggs in one basket.” Alex steepled his fingers as I absorbed what he’d said, trying to calculate the scale of our exposure. “Vanderhaul & Marksmith will be included in the partnership to acquire Hinds’ company.”
Of fucking course. That’s why she’s here.I kept eating, deliberately neutral, like this was routine instead of a sabotage of my peace.
“You’ll be working directly with Kate,” Alex said to me. “For at least the next three weeks, but possibly longer. We need a full investigation into Hinds’ business financials before we submit a bid, and both firms need to align on strategy.”
