Chapter 17 #2
Thatcher waves us off like we’re crumbs on his desk.
The second we’re out the door, Jackson claps me on the back like we just wrapped up a casual lunch. “Well, that was fun.”
I brush him off. “Shut up.”
He grins. “If he’d had a fireplace behind him? Full villain monologue.”
“Yeah, and somehow you walked out without a scratch.”
“Family perks,” Rishi says beside me.
Jackson winks. “Also, unlike you, I don’t swing for the fences when the game’s already lost.”
My glare could melt steel. “You’re the one who sabotaged the game.”
“Relax. It was just a little price adjustment.”
“A thirty percent drop is not a ‘little’ anything.”
“Wait, what?” Rishi clues in now. “Who approved that?”
Jackson leans in, eyes gleaming. “I did. And if it helps us win? I guess I’ll be the villain.”
“You already are.”
Tammy appears before I can murder him in cold blood, a flash drive clutched in her hands like it’s radioactive. “Rorie Report,” she says, tone flat.
Jackson cranes his neck to peek. “Nice. A dossier on your crush. Adorable.”
“Go make yourself useful, Jackson,” I mutter, snatching the drive. “Rishi I’ll brief you on everything later.”
He nods, walks back toward his office. Jackson smirks then follows suit.
Once they’re gone, I motion Tammy into my office and shut the door.
She folds her arms. “You sure about this?”
I raise a brow. “It’s just competitor research.”
She studies me for a beat. “If this is just strategy… why does it feel like stalking?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Not with her staring straight through the suit and the ego and down to whatever messy, twisted motive is actually driving me.
“I’ve seen what’s in that file, Nolan.” Her voice softens. “It’s not just LinkedIn summaries and old yearbook photos. There’s real shit in there. Her life. You open it, you’re not just learning about her. You’re taking it. Without permission.”
I flip the drive around my fingers, contemplating.
She gives me one last look. “You wanna win this? Fine. But don’t forget, Rorie Adams isn’t a stepping stone. She’s a person. Don’t treat her like a checkbox.”
And then she leaves, the soft click of the door landing louder than it should.
I stare at the small stick. Then I slide it into my computer, open the documents, and stop.
What am I doing?
I yank the flash drive out and shove it into the front pocket of my briefcase.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
Kind of.
My phone buzzes. A new notification.
Clinic Results: Confidential
View Your Lab Report.
I click it open before I can overthink it.
Negative.
Thank fuck.
Sinking back into my chair, heart racing, I scrub a hand over my face.
One disaster averted.
Now to figure out how to survive the next thirty days—and, somehow, not let Rorie Adams get too much further under my skin.
My screen barely dims before a new notification flashes across it.
Internal Memo
Client Pitch Audit: Vanguard
Subject: Acquisition Summary
When I swipe it open, the blood drains from my face.
The attached report outlines the full acquisition history on the Vanguard deal. There it is in black and white:
Proposal submitted by Jackson Butler.
Strategic Rate Drop: Approved
Approved… by Thatcher?
I blink. Re-read it. Then again. My stomach turns.
So that’s it?
He knew. He fucking knew.
Uncle’s blessing. He let Jackson undercut the deal. Let him screw The Laurel Group over. And now they’ve got me out here defending our brand like some idiot golden retriever while they feed the snake accounts under the table.
My hands tighten into fists, jaw locking so hard it aches.
Carl, I’m having a MOMENT here. I just landed the opportunity of a lifetime. Like HUGE. And I’m excited. And terrified. Mostly terrified. But also excited. You get it.
Congrats. That’s great.
I stare at the message. Dry. Cold. The emotional equivalent of a wet sock.
Wow, Mr. Enthusiasm. What’s with the buzzkill energy?
Nothing. Just dealing with something.
That’s vague. Cryptic. Suspicious. Are you in a basement somewhere rearranging your dolls?
No. Just not in the mood right now.
Well, aren’t you a ray of fucking sunshine today? Since when did you become King of the Cold Shoulder?
Since five minutes ago. I just need to be in my own head right now.
The words come out more severe than I mean them to. But I don’t delete. Don’t soften. Not today.
Look, I get it. I do. If it’s about that girl let me do what I’m good at.
It’s not about the fucking girl!
Fine. Fuck. Okay.
Congrats on whatever it is. I just don’t have time for this right now.
We’ll talk later.
Three seconds. Five. Ten.
Don’t bother. You’ve made it pretty clear I’m just another thing you don’t have time for.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m being a complete dick. But I can’t stop the swirling emotions inside me right now.
Not when betrayal’s still bleeding at my heels and Jackson’s smirk is chewing holes through my composure.
What do you expect?
Oh, I don’t know… a little less brooding asshole, and a little more human decency?
A dry laugh escapes me. It’s not humor—it’s habit. I can practically hear the edge in her voice, even through text. The way she’s disappointed but covering it with sarcasm.
Because that’s what we do. We cover. We dodge. We hide behind clever words.
And right now, I just built a whole damn wall.
And shut her out behind it.