CHAPTER 8
He Shouldn't Be Here
Josh
Josh woke up on Day Four and realized he'd made a mistake.
Not the takeover. The takeover was proceeding perfectly. Marcus had secured the final board votes. The legal team was preparing the tender offer documents.
No, the mistake was different.
He was feeling things.
Guilt when he looked at Helen. Want when she laughed. Something dangerous and unfamiliar when she talked about her father's dreams with that fierce, protective light in her eyes. Something that felt like hope.
His father had beaten hope out of him years ago. But here it was, creeping back in.
He stood in front of the bathroom mirror that morning, staring at his own reflection.
Four point two billion dollars. And he had no idea who he was anymore.
The face staring back was familiar — the same sharp jawline, the same dark eyes, the same controlled expression. But something was different. Something behind the eyes. A crack in the armor.
"You don't fall for targets," he told himself quietly. "That's the first rule. The only rule. You don't feel for them. You don't care about them. They're assets. They're numbers on a spreadsheet."
His father's voice echoed in his head.
Attachment is weakness, Joshua. The moment you care about something, someone can take it from you.
He'd lived by that rule for twenty years. It had made him rich. It had made him empty.
But emptiness was safe.
He'd learned that lesson early, when he was twelve years old and his mother was dying, and his father had stood by her hospital bed with the same cold expression he wore in boardrooms.
"Don't cry. Crying won't bring her back. Crying is for people who have nothing better to do."
Josh hadn't cried. He hadn't cried in twenty-four years.
But standing in this hotel bathroom, thinking about Helen Campbell and the way she looked at him like he was a person instead of a predator —
He felt something behind his eyes.
His phone buzzed.
Marcus: Documents are ready. Tender offer goes live Friday 9 AM. No turning back after that. Are we still proceeding?
Tomorrow. One more day.
Josh stared at the message. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard.
He could stop this. Right now. A single text message. The board would be furious. His father would disown him. Marcus would resign. His reputation would be destroyed.
But he could stop it. He could choose her.
He typed: Confirmed. Proceed as planned.
Then he set the phone down and pressed his palms against the cold marble counter.
One more day with her. Then she would hate him forever.
The thought should have felt like nothing.
It didn't feel like nothing.
It felt like falling.
And Josh Baylor had never learned how to land.