Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
GAGE
They barely spoke on the drive back. Gage’s hand rested lightly on the center console, fingers brushing the leather.
He liked the feel of it, the control under his fingertips.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable with her.
She’d put on music, slow jams from before they were born.
Nostalgic. A little nauseating, but he let it play. She liked it.
They reached his floor. He led her to the door, but instead of unlocking it, he paused. Bea looked up, brow creasing in question.
He turned toward her, easing her in front of him with a hand at her waist. His left arm slid around her middle, anchoring her there. He took her hand, her fingers small and soft in his, and guided her to the keypad.
One by one, he pressed her fingertip to each number, making sure she felt the subtle click of each one beneath her skin. He wanted her to remember it.
More than that, he wanted her to use it.
A soft beep. The lock disengaged.
Bea blinked at the door, her hand still caught under his. He didn’t move. Didn’t let go. Her voice was careful. “You’re giving me your code?”
“I am.”
“Why?”
He let his thumb trace slow, absent circles against the inside of her wrist, feeling her pulse jump. “So you can come whenever you want.” An offering. Velvet-lined and ineludible.
“You don’t have to do that.”
He heard the way she tried to deflect, make light of it.
“I know.” He let her hand go, the cool air rushing back in where his warmth had been. Bea hesitated, then stepped inside.
He followed, closing the door behind them, and pressed the lights on. His keys landed on the entry table with a soft clatter, and he rolled his shoulders, tension sliding off him like it was never really there. Compartmentalized, the way he’d been trained to.
This was only her third time here. Third. He remembered each one. Where she’d walked. What she’d touched.
She didn’t know the details of his life here—what side of the bed he slept on, what scent permeated his sheets. But now she knew his code.
Gage draped his coat over the arm of the sofa and methodically rolled his sleeves to his elbows, exposing his forearms. He saw her watch him, and knew the effect it had. Didn’t rush. “There’s an event next Saturday.”
“Okay?”
His gaze stayed locked on hers. “My parents will be there.”
Her breathing slowed. He watched her process, turning the words over, looking for edges. He didn’t help her. He let her find them herself.
“Come with me.” Not a question. Not quite a command. But something that left no room for refusal.
She glanced down at her hands, flexing her fingers like she was trying to get a grip on the idea. A thousand thoughts flickered across her expression, but only one made it to her mouth. “That’s not nothing.”
“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”
She looked back up, studying him. He watched her read him. She was getting better at that. “And what exactly will they think?”
He didn’t delay answering, “That you belong to me.”
The breath hitched in her throat, and he watched it all unfold—those dark eyes widening, the soft part of her lips, the way her fingers twitched slightly. But she didn’t back away. He’d known she wouldn’t.
Her brow smoothed. He saw the calculation in her eyes, the subtle acceptance that threaded through her posture. “Okay.” Her voice was soft, but resolute. “I’ll go.”
He let her feel the weight of his satisfaction.
His hand came up, fingers grazing her jaw before tilting her chin up. He held her there, not tightly, just enough to let her know he could.
“Good,” he murmured.
He pressed his mouth to hers, slow at first. His hand slid around the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair.
Black silk. He always did like her hair.
His other hand skated down her waist, tracing the curve of her hip.
She gasped, the sound soft, muffled against his mouth, and he swallowed it down, taking it like it belonged to him. Because it did.
When he finally pulled back, she blinked up at him, her cheeks flushed, breath uneven. He didn’t move away, lips hovering over hers, his breath warming her skin.
Her fingers dug into his shirt, creasing it. She seemed to remember something all at once.
“Your parents…what if they don’t like me?”
He let his hand slide lower, fingers splaying against the small of her back, drawing her in that much closer.
“They will,” he assured her. “And even if they don’t—they’ll learn to.”
GAGE
The meeting was already a bloodbath, and Gage hadn’t even spoken yet.
Two executives from a midsized firm sat across from him, their posture stiff-backed. They had the kind of unease that came from thinking they had done their homework, and only now realizing they hadn’t.
Gage sat at the head of the conference table, riffling through a set of papers he had already memorized. Across from him, Nate leaned back in his seat, rolling his pen between his fingers and waiting for the show to start.
They’d done this countless times before.
King Global Capital’s merger acquisition strategy was simple: Buy. Absorb. Dominate. But occasionally, weaker companies thought they had a seat at the table.
It was Gage’s job to remind them they didn’t.
“With all due respect, Mr. King,” one of the execs started, clearing his throat, “we believe our valuation warrants a more favorable equity position in this deal. Given our recent market growth—”
Gage barely refrained from sighing. He had heard this argument before. From stronger men, in bigger rooms, and the outcome was always the same.
The executive across from him, a man in his mid-forties with the bland self-importance of someone who had been overpaid for too long, squared his shoulders. “Our latest quarterly report projects a seven-point-eight-percent growth trajectory, and with the right investment—”
“Your investor is Loden and Greene. Their portfolio was restructured last quarter. You have one year before they pull out, and the only reason they haven’t already is because they’re waiting to see if you have a lifeline.”
The executive’s mouth opened, closed. The way a fish gulps for air when it’s caught.
“You were banking on us to be that lifeline,” Gage intuited. His fingers tapped once against the table, the single tick of a countdown. “I don’t negotiate with desperation.”
The man paled slightly.
Nate leaned in, flicking his pen between his fingertips. “Take your time. We’ll be here. Watching you run out of options.”
The other exec swallowed heavily. He peered sidelong at his partner. “We’re open to a reevaluation.”
“You don’t have a choice.” With that, Gage stood, buttoning his jacket. “Now that we understand each other, contracts will be sent by end of day. I expect signatures by tomorrow morning.”
The meeting was over.
Nate pushed up from his chair, and followed Gage out into the hall. He waited until the doors shut behind them before letting out a low chuckle. “That was brutal.”
Gage exhaled coarsely, adjusting his cuffs. “They were wasting our time.”
They made their way down the hall toward Gage’s office. It was mid-afternoon, Northgate’s skyline distinct against the glass as they stepped inside.
Nate poured two glasses of water from the cart, handing one over. “Your father would’ve let them bleed out first.”
Gage took a sip. “My father enjoys watching them suffer.”
Pointless. It wasn’t his way. Gage didn’t need to watch something die to know it was dead.
“Meanwhile, you don’t even give them time to beg.”
“Speaking of which, the chief is expecting me.”
GAGE
Victor King’s office was at the top of the tower, perched above the city like a throne room.
It was enormous, deliberately oversized.
The décor was sparse, brutally refined: black leather chairs, a vast marble desk, and no trace of anything sentimental.
The only personal object in sight was a single, silver-framed stock certificate. King Global Capital’s first-ever trade.
A declaration. A reminder of where it began. Victor had a habit of showcasing power with as few words as possible. Gage had inherited that ability.
His father wasn’t a man who wasted space. Or time.
When Gage stepped inside, Victor was behind his desk, staring out over the city below with the same detached calculation he applied to every asset he owned. Sometimes, that included his son.
“Close the door.”
Gage did.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick with expectation. Victor finally turned, blue eyes assessing. “The merger.”
Gage slid a folder onto the desk. “Finalized by tomorrow morning.”
Victor flipped it open, skimming the numbers. His expression didn’t shift, but Gage caught the slight tick of his jaw. Approval. He wouldn’t say it, but Gage didn’t need him to.
“Fine,” Victor said, setting it aside. “We’ll discuss next steps in the quarterly review.”
Gage inclined his head, waiting. If his father had called him up here, it wasn’t just about numbers.
Victor leaned back, fingers steepled—a gesture Gage had seen a thousand times. It meant he was about to test him.
“The event on Saturday. Imperium.”
Gage’s spine straightened slightly. Ready. “It’s handled,” he said.
Victor lifted a brow. “Is it?”
Gage knew better than to react.
His father studied him for long seconds. “This is more than a corporate function. Every man in that room understands that business isn’t just built on profit margins; it’s built on perception.” He tapped his index finger once against the desk. Like hammering in a nail. “You know that.”
“I do.” He’d known it since he was old enough to recognize the weight of a handshake. Power wasn’t always about what you held. Sometimes, it was about what others thought you held.
“Which is why you should be considering your position carefully.” A pause. Then, tacitly, “Catherine Vale would be a suitable option.”
There it was.
Gage’s hand in his pocket flexed. Catherine was exactly what a man like Victor would consider suitable. St. Ives royalty, prepared, bred for the role of a future CEO’s wife. Politically seamless. A showpiece. On brand.
Gage held the suggestion in suspense. Only for a mark.
“I’ve already made my decision.”
Victor didn’t blink. “Have you.”
“Yes.”
Victor King had never been an expressive man, but Gage knew him better than anyone.
There was a weight to the way he exhaled, the barely perceptible narrowing of his eyes. Considering. Calculating.
Then, with the same cool finality Gage recognized from years of watching him dismantle weaker men, Victor said, “She’s a scholarship student.”
A matter of fact.
He wasn’t surprised his father had looked into Bea. He would have been disappointed if he hadn’t. But hearing it said like that, the implication weighted beneath the words, tightened something in his chest he wasn’t accustomed to feeling.
Victor leaned forward. “A woman can be an asset or a liability. I think we both know which one a scholarship student is more likely to be.”
His father had a gift for cutting down to the marrow.
Gage’s jaw tightened. Not visibly. But he felt the shift in his pulse, the measured thud that quickened just slightly. Enough to know he was still human. Enough to know he cared.
His father wasn’t baiting him. Victor never spoke merely to provoke.
Every word was aimed, measured against strategy and outcome.
What maintained order, what secured advantage, and most importantly, what served King Global Capital.
And Gage wasn’t about to fall into a conversation that wasn’t meant to be won.
He inhaled once, long and slow, then exhaled just as evenly. “You taught me to recognize value,” he supplied. “To take what’s worth taking.” His voice dipped slightly, hewn at the edges. “Bea is worth taking.”
The tension grew taut.
Then came a flicker of something that might have been amusement. Or a warning. “And does she know that?”
He always knew where the soft spots were.
Gage didn’t flinch. He held his father’s gaze. “She will.”
Victor leaned back. He dropped his gaze to the merger folder, flipping it open with the same detached efficiency he applied to every acquisition. “Then I suggest you make sure she understands it before anyone else convinces her otherwise.”
Gage’s hands curled into fists at his sides, the only visible crack in his otherwise locked-in control. They both knew exactly who ‘anyone else’ was.
Griffin.
Of course, Victor knew. There was no such thing as idle gossip when it concerned his son’s future. If Rafael Griffin were circling, even at a distance, it was duly noted.
His father didn’t need to elaborate. There were few men he considered a true rival.
Instead, he turned another page of the folder. “We’ll discuss more after the event.” The conversation was over.
Gage nodded once, turned, and strode out of the office.