37. Gideon
37
Gideon
I avoid the kitchen until I hear Ava’s mother brewing coffee. I don’t want to risk another early morning encounter with Ava. Last night feels like it crossed too many lines. Her tearful confession about her grandmother’s portrait, my instinct to comfort her. I’m not sure what’s going on with me, but all I know is I’m not ready to deal with it at the moment.
“Good morning, Gideon,” Wendy says brightly as I enter. “Coffee?”
“Please.” I check my watch. 7:15 AM. “Is Ava up yet?”
“Still asleep, I think.” Wendy hands me a steaming mug. “Poor thing seemed exhausted yesterday.”
I nod, swallowing the urge to explain why. Not my place to share Ava’s pain, even with her mother. Especially when that mother failed to protect her from her stepfather’s systematic sabotage.
“I’m heading out early,” I say instead. “Meetings all day. ”
Truth is, I need distance. Space to rebuild walls that cracked during that midnight conversation.
For the next three days, I follow the same pattern. Early departures. Late returns. Brief texts to Ava explaining meetings and deadlines. It’s not entirely a lie. The Tokyo deal is consuming most of my attention, but I’m also deliberately avoiding home until I know Wendy and Ava will be asleep.
On the fourth morning, I’m surprised to find Ava alone in the kitchen.
“Your mother gone?” I ask, pouring coffee and maintaining careful distance.
“Her flight left an hour ago.” Ava studies me over her own mug. “Are you going to start coming home at a reasonable hour again?”
Guilt flickers through me. “Been that obvious?”
“Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, Mr. King.” Her tone is light, but her eyes are searching. “I know why.”
Fuck. “Ava, about the other night...” My phone interrupts with Jonas’s ringtone. “I need to take this,” I say, relieved for the escape.
“Jonas. What’s up?”
His voice is tense. “The Tanaka deal is imploding.”
My stomach drops. Tanaka Industries, our Japanese partners for the smart building technology that would give us a significant competitive edge in the market. The technology that would make our properties 40% more energy-efficient than Blackwell’s.
“What happened?”
“They’re balking at the intellectual property terms. Claiming our lawyers changed language after the initial agreement. ”
“Bullshit. I reviewed those contracts myself.”
“There’s more,” Jonas continues. “Blackwell’s representatives reached out to them yesterday with a competing offer.”
“Son of a bitch.” I slam my fist on the counter. Ava jumps. “Sorry.”
She waves it off, but her eyes never leave mine as I continue the call.
“I need to be there,” I tell Jonas. “Book the jet for tonight.”
After hanging up, I run a hand through my hair. “I have to go to Tokyo. Tonight.”
“The smart building tech deal?” Ava asks.
I’d forgotten I’d mentioned it to her during our dinner date. “Yeah. Tanaka Industries is threatening to pull out over IP disputes, and now Blackwell’s circling like a fucking shark.”
“For how long?”
“Two days, max. I’ll be back before you know it. We’ll stay in touch over zoom.”
“Like we’ve stayed in touch over the past four nights?” she taunts.
I lower my gaze, feeling the guilt building up again. “I’ve been busy with work.”
“You’ve been avoiding me since that night.” Her voice is quiet but sharp.
“What night?” I play dumb, though we both know exactly what she means.
She crosses her arms. “You haven’t been home before midnight since I told you about my grandmother’s portrait.”
“I had legitimate meetings.”
“Until 2 AM? Every night?” She shakes her head. “I didn’t realize sharing something personal with you would make you run so fast in the opposite direction.”
That stings because it’s true. “I’m not running.”
“Really?” Her eyes narrow. “Because it looks exactly like that from where I’m standing.”
“Look, our arrangement is complicated enough without adding emotional baggage.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Her face hardens.
“Emotional baggage.” She repeats flatly. “Is that what you call it when someone trusts you enough to share something painful?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“No? Then what did you mean exactly?” She steps closer, challenging me.
I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “Fuck, Ava. I’m just trying to maintain boundaries here.”
“By avoiding me completely? Great strategy.” Her laugh holds no humor. “God forbid we actually talk to each other like normal people.”
“We’re not normal people in a normal situation.”
“So your solution is to ghost me in my own home? Our home?”
The way she says “our home” catches me off guard. It shouldn’t sound right, but somehow it does.
“I needed space to think,” I admit finally.
“Then say that.” Her voice softens slightly. “Don’t just disappear.”
We stand in tense silence for a moment. She’s right, and I know it.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” I repeat, softening my tone. “And I won’t ghost you while I’m gone. Promise.”
But I’m not back before she knows it. The IP dispute turns out to be more complex than anticipated. Tanaka’s legal team has flagged seventeen separate clauses they claim differ from the original agreement. Each requires meticulous review and negotiation.
By day three, I realize I need to extend my stay.
“How’s it going?” Ava asks during our nightly video call. It seems safer somehow, talking over zoom. There’s no chance of physical intimacy. We can be more ourselves. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
No chance of physical intimacy... I could suggest mutual masturbation?
I immediately douse the thought, and instead loosen my tie, letting the exhaustion seep through instead. “Not great. They’re stubborn bastards.”
“You look tired.”
“I am.” I lean back in the hotel chair. “The time difference is killing me. Meetings all day, then calls with New York all night.”
She tilts her head. “Have you tried approaching it from a creative angle?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” she says, tucking a curl behind her ear, “you’re fighting them on technical terms, right? But Japanese business culture values relationship and face-saving. What if instead of arguing each point, you propose a compromise structure that acknowledges their concerns but maintains your core requirements?”
I stare at her. “That’s not a bad idea.”
She shrugs. “Just an outsider perspective.”
But it works. The next day, I present a restructured agreement that addresses Tanaka’s face-saving needs while preserving our essential protections. Negotiations accelerate.
Then Blackwell throws another wrench in the works. His team ups their offer, promising exclusive access to the Chinese market. My two-day trip stretches to a full week. Then two.
Each night, I call Ava. What begins as quick updates evolves into deeper strategy discussions. Her fresh viewpoint helps me navigate cultural subtleties I might otherwise miss.
“He claimed I insulted him by questioning the factory specs,” I tell her on day ten, pacing my hotel room. “I was just asking for verification.”
“In Japanese business culture, requesting verification implies you don’t trust their word,” she explains. “Try framing it as your team needing help understanding the technical aspects.”
“How do you know this shit?”
She smiles. “I had a Japanese art history professor who spent half the class teaching us cultural context. Plus, I’ve been reading up since your first call.”
Something warm spreads through my chest. She’s been researching to help me.
By day the third week, we’ve secured the deal. Tanaka agrees to our terms, with minor modifications that protect their core concerns. Blackwell’s team is left empty-handed.
After signing the final documents, my phone rings. Jonas.
“You know that painting you were looking for?” he says.
My heart rate picks up instantly. “Yes.”
“Found it,” he replies simply. “You want me to buy it?”
“Begin the acquisition process immediately,” I tell him, turning away from the others in the room so they can’t see my expression. “And Jonas?”
“Yes, Gideon?”
“Thank you,” I say, surprising myself with the emotion in my voice. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”
There’s a pause on the line. “I think I do, actually.”
Fuck. Am I that transparent now?
On the plane, I find myself staring out the jet window, remembering our daily calls, her voice guiding me through cultural nuances, her insights helping secure the deal worth millions. I think about her easy smile during our video calls, the way she laughs at my corporate jargon, the slight curve of her lips when I say something she finds unexpectedly funny. How she’s always mocking rich people, when she’s essentially one herself now.
For another two months, anyway.
Two months. Is that all the time we have left? When this arrangement started, it seemed like forever. An eternity of maintaining professional distance.
Now it feels like it’s not enough. Like I’m running out of time.
I check my watch. Twelve more hours until landing. Twelve hours and one fuel stop to prepare myself to see her again, to maintain the facade that nothing has changed.
But something has changed.
I’ve changed.
And I don’t know how the hell to deal with that.