Page 85 of Outcast’s Vow

“This is my only chance to help my husband,” I say.

Eleanor’s eyes flash.

“Now this is not boring,” she purrs. “Tell me more.”

“This is my husband’s business on the line.”

“Okay,” she replies. “I see why you’re out here for him, and it’s admirable, and I like your spirit, but how does that benefit me? This is a world of deals, sweetheart. You might be brave in doing what you’re doing today, but brave women usually get eaten alive. You need to be harder than men, even your husband.”

“Then hear me out,” I reply, even bolder – braver – than before. “This concerns you most of all.”

Eleanor tilts back, cocking her head to the side, curious.

“Continue.”

“I think you would like to be made aware that the software your husband is blocking is actually intended to be part of the package that will support your hospital. If it’s delayed, then obviously that risks opening the hospital up to vulnerabilities. Data breaches. Donor records stolen. Patient systems compromised. My husband’s software is the only one on the table which is compatible with a hospital of your size and complexity, but I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that.”

Eleanor ponders what I’ve said, but her eyes remain icy cool. Everything about her is considered and methodical. She doesn’t fall for traps. But I’m not lying. I’ve done my research. Baptiste might not have thought of this angle at all, but I have.

This is why he needs me.

He doesn’t even know I’m here, but he soon will. Success or failure, he’ll find out that I’ve come here today to ambush Eleanor Whitmore. This is not about politics and contracts and business; this is me showing him I can fight for him. The way he fights for me.

And now Eleanor Whitmore is smiling.

“You are very good, Sylvie.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You remind me of myself,” Eleanor says. “You’re lucky I like you, coming here today to corner me. I could have you and your husband thrown to the wolves. I could bury you.”

“But you haven’t yet, so what’s your answer?”

“Impatient, are you?” Eleanor replies with a wink. “Like I said, so am I.”

“What do you say, Mrs. Whitmore?”

She pauses.

God, maybe I’ve rambled too much. Revealed my hand. Overreached. Maybe I’m going to get myself, and my husband, royally screwed.

And then...

“Let’s sit down and talk like women who own the world.”

32

BAPTISTE

“Wait... repeat that again.”

I’m hearing the words my assistant is telling me over the phone, but it’s taking me a moment longer to truly understand what he is actually saying.

And then it hits.

Sylvie. Whitmore.

“You can’t be serious. She’s done what?”