Chapter One
CALEB
My CFO,Davis, shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
Instantly, I know that he’s about to bring up something I don’t want to hear.
I keep my eyes on the spreadsheet in front of me, hoping that if I ignore the tell, I can avoid whatever’s coming next. The silence stretches between us like a rubber band pulled too tight. When it snaps, one of us is going to feel the sting.
I’m determined it won’t be me.
“The Keystone Ventures deal is solid.” Davis clears his throat, a nervous tic I’ve never been able to break him of in ten years. “They’ve agreed to the terms, and their legal team is drawing up the contracts as we speak. Should be signed by the end of the week.”
I nod, still not looking up.
“Good.”
The floor-to-ceiling windows behind me frame the mountains in a perfect, panoramic view that no one but me ever appreciates.
“The quarterly projections are exceeding expectations.” Davis continues his report, flipping through pages of his portfolio. “The new platform’s presales have already covereddevelopment costs. We’re looking at a thirty-four percent profit margin in the first quarter post-launch.”
I make a noncommittal sound. “Unless the launch fails.”
“It won’t.”
“It might.” I finally look up at him. “Something always goes wrong.”
“Your optimism is why our investors love you so much.” Davis’s dry response makes the corner of my mouth twitch, almost a smile.
Almost.
Davis is the only person on earth who can get away with sarcasm in my office. He’s earned it, sitting across the table during the early days when Asher Security Systems was just me, a laptop, and a pathological need to build walls no one could breach. Now it’s a multi-million dollar company, and I have this fortress on a mountain where no one can reach me.
“If that’s all—” I start to reply. But then Davis shifts his weight again. Right foot to left.
Fuck.
Here it comes.
“Not quite. There’s still the matter of the foundation’s annual gala.” His voice is deliberately casual. “Next month at the Branford Hotel. They’ve sent another invitation. The director was hoping you’d agree to be a guest speaker.”
“No.”
“You’ve been their anonymous benefactor for eight years, Caleb. Don’t you think?—”
“No.” The word comes out harder this time, with an edge that would make anyone else retreat.
“They’re doing remarkable work with those centers you designed. The Tech Labs have helped hundreds of kids aging out of foster care. Your vision?—”
“I said no. The foundation gets my money. That’s enough.”
My hand moves to my face before I can stop it, fingers brushing the raised scar that runs from my temple to the corner of my mouth. The gesture is automatic, and I hate myself for it as soon as I realize what I’m doing.
Davis sighs but nods, accepting defeat. He places a cream-colored envelope on my desk.
“Fine. I’ll leave it here, in case you change your mind.”
I won’t. I never do. The invitation will sit there until I throw it away, just like the previous nine years’ worth.
