Another assessing look from Mike. The one I’d wanted to avoid, but couldn’t see my way around.
“Interesting.”
I met his eyes in the mirror. “She’s sharp, Mike. I’m much more optimistic about this acquisition now.”
I shrugged into my suit jacket and shot my cuffs, armor on. “She’s driven, focused—I’m really looking forward to her briefing this morning.”
“Her briefing.” There wasn’t a question in his tone, but something made me look up.
“That’s it?”
There it was. I scowled at him. “Don’t read anything into this, Mike. You know better.”
“What? I know better than to assume you’ll be in bed with her tonight?” He snorted. “More like I could make money on it.”
“While I will admit to my fair share of hook ups, you know I never mix business and pleasure. That’s a hard line, and I can’t risk something going wrong with the management of this project.”
“Besides,” I added, straightening my tie again unnecessarily, “attraction is just biology. I’ve never had trouble compartmentalizing. The project is what matters here.”
“If you say so.” Mike’s expression was skeptical.
I didn’t mention how I’d rushed back to my room afterward, pulling up her file again, searching for more images, more information. How I’d spent half the night wondering if she’d follow through on dinner tonight, then the other half asking myself why I cared.
Mike tapped his watch. “It’s time. I’ve got the final papers ready for signing. The money transfers to Sterling at noon once you pull the trigger.”
“Let’s go, then.” I picked up my briefcase, my mind already shifting to the takeover. This was what I’d been working toward for months. Years, really. The satisfaction of taking Richard’s company right out from under him.
Yet as we crossed the street toward Richard’s building—my building now—my thoughts kept drifting back to the bar. To green eyes and a laugh that had caught me completely off guard.
As we walked into HydroCore’s lobby, I pulled out my phone one last time. The text to Charlie sat in my drafts, unsent:
Asher: Something’s come up with work. I need to cancel tonight. I apologize for the short notice.
Professional. Polite. Distant.
My thumb hovered over the send button.
Then I deleted it.
Better to do this in person. After the meeting, I’d find her, explain face-to-face that dinner was off. That we needed to keep things professional. It was the respectful thing to do.
I pocketed my phone and followed Mike to the elevators.
She walked in alongside Richard, her head bent over a folder, wearing dark pants and a matching jacket with a blue blouse. Professional. Focused. Completely unaware of what was about to happen.
I watched the recognition hit. The confusion, then the flash of panic as her gaze darted to Richard, back to me, to Mike’s paperwork. She put it together in seconds. I saw it happen—the exact moment realization dawned. Then her expression hardened and her spine straightened, and she looked at me with an anger so controlled it was more devastating than if she’d screamed.
Richard noticed nothing. He never did, when it came to her.
I made the announcement. Took the room through the transition plan. Told them no one was losing their job. I watched people’s faces shift from terror to cautious relief, and I handled their questions the way I always did—calm, measured, revealing nothing I didn’t want to reveal.
But the whole time, I could feel her eyes on me.
When Richard suggested Charlie brief me on SEAS, calling her Charlotte in front of the entire room, she didn’t flinch. Just launched into the presentation without missing a beat. Her voice was steady, her command of the material flawless. She walked us through sensor networks that could predict structural failures before they became catastrophic, emergency evacuation pods with integrated tracking, biodegradable environmental barriers.
If we’d had technology like this back then ...
My hand tightened on my pen. I forced the thought away.
