A commotion on the far side of the restaurant drew their attention. A young man had dropped to one knee beside a candlelit table, producing a small velvet box that caught the light. The woman’s hands flew to her mouth, tears alreadystreaming down her face, as nearby diners turned to watch. Her emphatic nodding set off a round of applause, punctuated by the distinctive pop of a champagne cork.
Knox watched the scene unfold with an exaggerated grimace, as if he’d witnessed someone step in an unpleasant mess. “Speaking of natural disasters,” he commented, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the polished mahogany table, “isn’t it remarkable how we’ve upheld the pact?”
Ronan frowned. “The pact?”
“Don’t feign ignorance, Wilder.” Knox waved his fork in Ronan’s direction. “You know exactly what I’m referring to. We remain free birds until we reach forty. No exceptions. No loopholes. And certainly, no bubbly assistants with glitter pens convincing you otherwise. Half of our old schoolmates are now sporting gold bands of servitude and dad bods while we’re here enjoying our freedom.”
“Ah, yes.” Ronan’s voice was flat. “How could I forget such a profoundly mature agreement?”
“Hey, it’s called self-preservation,” Knox defended. “We agreed. Careers first, complications later. We’ve made it this far—you’re not bailing on us now.”
“Trust me,” Ronan assured him. “There’s no risk of that.”
“I’m making sure.” Knox eased into a more relaxed position, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “You know I’m a stickler for the rules.”
“That’s hardly the term I’d use to describe you,” Gabriel remarked, his tone light and edged with humor.
Knox shrugged nonchalantly, lifting his glass in a toast. “Label me as you wish. But a pact is a pact. Here’s to remaining free and uncommitted.”
Ronan and Gabriel raised their glasses, clinking them against Knox’s. “Free, perhaps,” Ronan murmured under his breath before taking a sip. “Uncommitted seems hopeful.”
As if on cue, their server appeared at that moment, expertly balancing three plates of steaming entrees on his forearm. The tantalizing aroma of seared steak and roasted vegetables filled the air as he placed each dish before them.
“Perfect timing.” Knox rubbed his hands together in anticipation as he eyed his ribeye. “I was about to start gnawing on the table.”
“Your refined dining habits never cease to amaze.” Ronan turned his attention to the seared salmon on his plate and reached for another slice of sourdough from the breadbasket.
“Some of us work up an appetite doing actual work,” Knox said with a grin. “We can’t all survive on spreadsheets and spite.”
“Debatable on both counts,” Ronan countered. The candlelight caught the rich burgundy of the wine in their glasses, casting ruby shadows across the crisp white tablecloth.
Ronan set his glass down. “Speaking of debates, there’s a chance for me to meet with Andrew Beauchamp this weekend.”
That name snapped Gabriel’s attention from the breadbasket, while Knox set his glass down.
“Beauchamp,” Knox drawled slowly. “The family-values kingpin himself. You’re aiming high.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Ronan said. “The man has a portfolio worth over six billion dollars. If we secure even a fraction of his interest—say, five hundred million—it would be a game changer for Oath Capital. We could expand into markets we’ve only dreamed about.”
“Five hundred million?” Gabriel said with genuine interest. “What’s your angle?”
“His record shows he values innovation paired with stability.” Ronan’s voice was low but even, as if he were outlining a battle plan. “He likes to see long-term growth potential backed by data. Our recent returns speak for themselves. Plus,Oath’s diversification strategy aligns exactly with his investment philosophy.”
“Impressive.” Knox said. “But doesn’t he also have eccentric preferences? Like, didn’t he once reject a pitch because the CEO wore brown shoes to a meeting?”
“That was black shoes with navy socks,” Gabriel corrected, chuckling. “Though your point still stands.”
“Yes, well.” Ronan brushed off the remark with a slight wave of his hand. “Eccentric or not, Beauchamp knows value when he sees it. And our numbers don’t lie.”
“True.” Gabriel nodded. “Still, you know how he operates. The man likes to dig deeper than the spreadsheets. He’ll want more than impressive charts.”
“Which is why I’m prepared.” Ronan shifted in his seat, the illusion of calm cracking. He should have felt relaxed—he was prepared—but the stiffness in his shoulders told a different story. “I’ve gone over every contingency, every possible objection he might raise. By the time this deal clears, he won’t see Oath Capital as another run-of-the-mill firm. He’ll see us as The Firm.”
“Listen to you.” Knox set down his fork. “The man sounds like he’s already drafting the contract in his head.”
“That’s because I am,” Ronan shot back. “This isn’t some ordinary deal. This is leverage for the next ten years. It’s influence. Security. It’s—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “It’s everything.”
“Everything, huh?” Knox swirled his drink. “No pressure, then.”
