I've been standing at this window for thirty-one minutes, which I know because I checked the time when I took up the position and I've checked it twice since. The corridor of sky above the tree line that runs southeast toward the Smith cabin sits empty and flat. Late afternoon light going grey at the edges.
No smoke.
For the past seven days, the smoke has appeared between 4:12 and 4:29 pm. I know this because I've been at this window at 4:00 pm every day this week, which is a fact I haven't examined closely and don't intend to start.
The variance is seventeen minutes across seven observations.
The glass is cold enough under my fingertips that the outside temperature registers through it, a slow leach of warmth out of the skin that I notice the way I notice most things: with precision.
"Are you hearing what I'm saying?"
Jace. From somewhere behind me. I've been aware of his voice as background for several minutes, processing his words without fully engaging, which is a thing I do when something else has most of my attention.
I turn from the window.
Jace stands near the center of the office, arms loose, the restless energy he carries readable even when he's standing still. Reid is at the sofa to the left, the one that faces the door, his chair pushed back slightly so he can see the whole room and the hallway beyond it, while he reads the report on his tablet. My desk runs along the right wall, two monitors glowing, financial models on one and the acquisition term sheet on the other. The documents I've been not looking at for the past thirty-one minutes.
"I hear you," I say.
"You haven't moved from that window in thirty minutes."
"I've been thinking."
"About?"
I don't answer that.
Jace makes a sound that isn't quite a laugh. "You're obsessed with her."
"I don't know what you're referring to."
"Maya. You've been staring in the direction of her cabin since this meeting started." He crosses his arms. "You know there's a word for what you are doing, right? Starts with an S. Rhymes with talking."
"You are one to talk… You personally selected gear from our best-performing product lines and left it on her doorstep," I reply.
Jace opens his mouth. Closes it. The muscle at his jaw tightens and I can see him running through his available responses and discarding each one, which is a process that usually takes him less time than this.
"Reid." Jace redirects, the way he does when he's lost an exchange and would like to change the terms. "Tell your nephew to stop being weird about the girl."
Reid doesn't look up from his tablet. "Both of you. Leave her alone. She made it clear she wants to be left alone and we're going to respect that."
"That's why you spent the first night watching her cabin," I say, because if we're going to have this conversation it should include all available data.
Reid lifts his gaze and I feel its weight. The particular quality of focus he uses when he's deciding whether to engage or shut something down. I've been on the receiving end of it enough times to know the difference.
"Because we'd broken her door. That was a security concern."
"And now you're no longer concerned."
"Now I'm satisfied she's managing." He says it with a finality that means he knows it's not entirely true and has chosen to proceed as though it were.
"She's running from something. Whatever it is, it's hers. We don't push."
The room settles. Jace drops the subject, and I return to my desk and put my glasses on and pull up the term sheet on the second monitor. I make myself look at the numbers.
We've been circling this acquisition decision for three weeks. The fund's offer is fair, more than fair by most metrics, and the structure is clean: they buy, we receive capital, and we exit day-to-day operations over an eighteen-month transition. I built the financial model that proves this is the correct move.
"I think there's a middle position," Reid says. "We negotiate retained control over product development and final approval on brand decisions. We take the capital but we don't hand them the keys to what actually matters."
