Chapter 3 #2
“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.”
“None whatsoever.” Ronan’s attention drifted to the candle at the center of the table. He watched its flame dance. Its erratic movement was an unwelcome echo of the way his own focus kept scattering.
Knox’s tone was teasing as he gestured with his glass.
“But there’s one tiny detail you might want to iron out before you start ordering custom yachts.
” He paused, his expression turning serious.
“Beauchamp’s got a thing for investing in family men.
Likes to see himself as a ‘legacy builder,’ or equally nauseating ideals.
Word is, he prefers dealing with guys who have the whole white-picket-fence package—wife, kids, Golden Retriever, the works. ”
The words landed with a dull thud between them. Ronan’s hand halted mid-reach for his drink—small, but telling, like someone had nudged his perfectly aligned chessboard. For half a beat, he remained still.
“Family men,” he echoed flatly.
“Relax, Ronan.” Knox said. “I’m saying, it’s a consideration. You know, before you go full Terminator on this deal.”
“Consider what, exactly?” Ronan asked. “That I should suddenly conjure a spouse and two-point-five children for the sake of appearances? Maybe throw in a minivan while I’m at it?”
“Whoa, whoa,” Gabriel cut in. “Let’s not get carried away here. Knox isn’t saying you should start recruiting at school fundraisers.”
“Not yet, anyway,” Knox muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from Ronan.
“Knox,” Gabriel said, before turning his attention back to Ronan. “Look, all he’s saying is that Beauchamp has a preference. It doesn’t mean your deal’s dead in the water. You’re Ronan Wilder. If anyone can convince the guy that bachelorhood is the ultimate commitment to business, it’s you.”
“Exactly,” Knox agreed. “You could probably sell him on the idea that being single makes you more focused. Heck, for all we know, he’ll be begging you for tips by the end.”
Ronan glanced between the two of them. He said no more, and the silence that followed felt heavy, filled with unspoken questions.
“Besides,” Gabriel added, “it’s not like you don’t already have half the city convinced you’re some kind of business messiah. Beauchamp’s no different. Family man or not, he’ll come around once he sees what you’re bringing to the table.”
“Messiah, huh?” Ronan said. “I’ll remember that next time you ask me to cover your tab.”
“Please do,” Gabriel returned without missing a beat, lifting his glass in a toast. “To Ronan, savior of investments and reluctant backbone of Oath Capital.”
“Reluctant is right,” Ronan agreed, the hum of the restaurant around all around him. The clink of cutlery on plates, the low murmur of conversations, the laughter from a nearby table—it all blurred into background noise.
The phrase “family men” stuck in his mind like a splinter. This wasn’t a minor inconvenience. It was a fracture in the system. Oath Capital didn’t thrive on conventional expectations. It was powered by meticulous planning and reason, attributes that he took immense pride in delivering consistently.
“Earth to Ronan.” Knox’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. “You look like you’re calculating how to overthrow a small government. Relax, man. We’re here to eat overpriced entrees, not plot world domination.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ronan said, lowering his glass. “I’m always plotting.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” Knox gave him a knowing look. “The frown on your face is a trademark at this point. You should patent it before some other brooding billionaire steals your look.”
Ronan was amused. “Noted.”
“Seriously, though,” Knox continued, “you’re not gonna let some ‘family man’ nonsense get under your skin, are you?
Beauchamp may want a picture-perfect investor, but we both know he cares more about returns.
You’ve got this in the bag. And if not…” He paused, his look filled with humor.
“I hear those rent-a-family services are popular these days.”
“Knox.” Gabriel chuckled, shaking his head. “Please stop giving him ideas. The last thing New York needs is Ronan orchestrating a fake family like it’s a hostile takeover.”
Knox threw up his hands. “I’m saying, options exist. Plus, I hear Golden Retrievers are excellent judges of character. Honestly, Ronan, it might be a win-win.”
“Right,” Ronan deadpanned. “Because nothing screams credibility like showing up to a meeting with a rented Labrador and a borrowed toddler.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it.” Knox raised his glass with a wink. “Besides, you’ve already got the broody executive vibe down. Add a kid with big eyes and a tragic backstory, and Beauchamp will eat out of your hand.”
“Let me guess,” Ronan said wryly. “You got this brilliant plan from one of those Hallmark movies you pretend not to watch.”
“Only for research,” Knox claimed, unapologetic.
“Research,” Gabriel echoed. “For what, exactly?”
“Life,” Knox stated simply. “You never know when you might need to dump a bucket of charm on someone.”
“Well, you certainly have enough to spare.” Ronan’s tone was laced with sarcasm. He leaned back in his chair, relaxed. For tonight, at least, he could let the question of Beauchamp—and his so-called preferences—rest in the back of his mind.