“I wasn’t going to miss a meeting involving a budget of this magnitude,” Nerissa replies as she takes her seat and crosses her legs.
She notices Seraphina’s slight movement as she glances up at her. It lasts only a second, but it’s enough. Nerissa immediately looks away. She needs control. Absolute control. She can’t afford to let her thoughts betray her right now.
Helena waits for everyone to take their seats before officially beginning the meeting.
“All right. As you all know, our top priority this quarter is securing the merger with the Northern Sports Medicine Consortium. Our London competitors have been trying formonths to acquire our high-performance clinics, and I have no intention of letting that happen.”
The screens display financial charts, investment percentages, and detailed international expansion plans. Nerissa barely pays attention to them; she has been immersed in those figures for weeks. The only thing that truly matters to her is sitting several feet away, pretending not to look at her, even though they both know that’s impossible.
“As Chief Financial Officer, Ms. Chapman has already approved the budget allocation,” Helena continues, clasping her hands on the table with deliberate calm. “So, Dr. Ashcombe, the offer for the top position in the new Elite Traumatology Department is officially on the table.”
An assistant slides an electronic folder toward Nerissa. She opens it, though her mind is far from the documents.
“London has been trying to poach you,” Helena continues, “but this group isn’t about to let Manchester lose its star surgeon. In addition to the executive position, the board is approving a significant stock package in the healthcare group and full autonomy over the new sports performance center.”
Nerissa looks up, and her eyes meet Seraphina’s directly. Behind her controlled expression lies something unbearably vulnerable, almost personal. As if the contract weren’t merely a financial matter, but also a way to keep her there, to stay, to remain close again and again.
“Manchester has certain incentives that might persuade me to stay. That’s true.”
The statement sounds professional, but both of them know perfectly well how it lands across the table. Nerissa noticesthe slightest tightening of Seraphina’s jaw and the subtle hitch in her breathing.
“I accept the terms,” she adds shortly afterward.
Helena smiles with satisfaction.
“Excellent decision.”
The lawyers begin shuffling papers as Seraphina formally authorizes the transaction from her terminal. Nerissa watches the elegant movement of her fingers across the screen and feels an absurd pang at the thought that this woman has just signed a contract binding them to even closer proximity. An irony that, in reality, is exhausting.
“If that’s acceptable to everyone, we’ll proceed with the transition schedule,” Helena proposes.
Nerissa launches into her presentation. Her voice immediately regains the clinical, confident tone she uses in the operating room: precise, cool, commanding. She speaks about advanced recovery protocols, state-of-the-art biomechanical technology, and agreements reached with several Premier League clubs while medical statistics are projected onto the screens.
Yet in the middle of each explanation, she feels Seraphina’s presence like a constant pressure beneath her skin, a vivid reminder of a reality she cannot touch with her own hands. Every gesture, every breath the other woman takes, is deafening to her.
“The integration of the physical therapy teams must be completed before the start of the season,” she explains. “Any delay would jeopardize the performance contracts with our international athletes.”
“And the risk margin?” one of the investors interjects.
“Minimal,” Nerissa replies, interlacing her fingers on the table. “Provided the budget approved by the Finance Department maintains the promised resources.”
The comment draws a few automatic glances toward Seraphina. She slowly lifts her gaze.
“Don’t worry. We’ll meet all our commitments, Dr. Ashcombe,” Seraphina affirms.
The deliberate use of her last name sends an immediate chill down Nerissa’s spine. Coming from Seraphina, “Dr. Ashcombe” doesn’t sound professional at all. Nerissa feels heat creeping up her back.
“I’m glad to hear it, Mrs. Chapman,” she replies, letting the words linger in the air a second longer than necessary.
No one seems to notice. Or so she hopes.
The glass door opens at that moment, and Helena turns her head slightly.
“You’re right on time.”
Several people enter, accompanied by legal assistants. Nerissa immediately recognizes the Mercer & Associates logo on the folders.
And she freezes in her seat when she sees Daphne walk in.
