The stage lights came back—too bright, too close.
“It wasn’t about winning the argument,” I said. “It was about being clear on what we’re building.”
“And clarity is rare.” His voice softened. Just a degree. “That’s why I’ve been watching you since. You’re not chasing speed. You’re building for longevity.”
A flush crept up the back of my neck.
Compliments always landed like assessments with men like him.
“And what does Falkirk want with sustainability?”
“To understand it first,” he said. “To support it later—if it proves viable.”
“If this is about acquisition, I’ll be direct: Elion isn’t for sale.”
“I respect that. But that’s not why I’m calling.” His voice dipped, threaded with amusement. “I’m interested in a conversation, not a transaction. Sometimes those conversations become something bigger. Sometimes they don’t.”
No agenda?My mouth curved even though he couldn’t see it.Not yet.
“All right,” I said. “Talk. But the moment this veers into a takeover pitch—”
“You’re out. I know.”
My fingers circled the glass paperweight, its chill leveling my nerves.
“As long as we have a mutual understanding, we can continue.”
“That’s exactly the response I was hoping for,” he said. “My assistant will send over a few times. Until then, Ms. Sinclair.”
“Until then, Mr. Holt.”
The line went quiet.
But his voice clung to the air.
I released a slow breath, forcing my thoughts back into order. Plans. Contingencies. Counters. All of them spinning into place.
I pressed the intercom. “Sarah, move the advisory meeting up. Kevin, Jennifer, and David. This afternoon.”
“On it,” she said.
***
Three hours later, Conference Room 2 waited—lights on, chairs empty, the air taut with expectation.
Kevin Smith shouldered through the doorway first.
Average frame softened at the middle. Brown hair thinning in that way men reach forty and quietly surrender to. His tie hung crooked—as it always did.
By the time he reached the table, his jaw was set. Calculations firing. Variables aligning.
Our Chief Technology Officer was always first with a joke or a dark comment—the one who named what everyone else was thinking.
But beneath the deflection, he was mapping the problem. Turning it over until the solution revealed itself.
Jennifer Capolli followed, heels clicking in a clipped cadence.
Mid-thirties. Slender in that deliberate way that suggested discipline rather than genetics. Her blond bob swung with metronomic precision—not a strand out of place.
