Chapter Five #2
Still… intelligence, tact, and charm? Well, I guess it could be argued that I bring intelligence, but Brielle’s also super-smart, and she has the other qualities as well.
Why do I have to be there? I’m flattered, and excited about getting my hands on the pasture management system.
But it also means facing Caesar Ashford across the boardroom table.
While everyone else starts talking about strategies, I take deep breaths and try not to pass out. I can’t do this! What if he recognizes me? He’ll assume I was sent to the ball to seduce him, to soften him up before the meeting.
He hates the Rutherford Group. The Kōrero article revealed he was apparently the most outspoken against the idea of a Rutherford acquisition.
He would definitely vote against a partnership.
Being forced to sit at the table for a discussion is going to make him mad enough.
I tremble at the thought of how furious he’d be if he realized who Cupcake actually was.
It won’t matter that I told him I didn’t recognize him.
I’m terrible at lying, and he’ll see right through me.
“Well?”
I sit up hastily as Grandpa pulls up a chair in front of me and Brielle.
“What do you think?” he asks softly.
“It sounds amazing,” Brielle says. “Thank you so much for having faith in us, Gramps. It’s super-exciting.”
“You can head the presentation,” he tells her.
“Thank you.” She glows. “Imagine how we’ll look if we bring together the pasture management system with Verdant.
” She’s referring to the AI-driven crop optimization program we’ve been developing.
“The media will love it. We’ll be seen as the future of farming.
” Her eyes glow. She sees everything in sound bites and headlines.
“Yes,” Grandpa says. Then he looks at me. “Maddie, I’m hoping you’ll fill in with any scientific questions.”
I’ve been working with Brielle on a family farm outside Queenstown.
While she’s been concentrating on Verdant, I’ve also quietly been working on soil restoration.
It’s not as flashy as AI optimization though, and the rest of the family would rather invest money elsewhere.
Gramps just wants me to back up Brielle.
His eyes gleam. “Imagine how much more we could improve the yield with Ashford’s pasture growth data system? The real value is in the data. That’s where the future is.”
I swallow hard. “I’m really flattered, Gramps, but… I can’t.”
His eyebrows lift. “Why not?”
“Brielle’s the one you need. It’s her baby. And she’s the face of the company, not me.”
She snorts. “You just need to put yourself out there more. Get on Instagram and TikTok and talk about your work.”
“Honestly, I’d rather die.”
“Fine,” Grandpa says, “let Brielle lead the presentation, but you can answer any science questions better than anyone else in this room. I want you there, Maddie. I need insight, not posturing. Don’t let me down.
” He pats my knee, then gets up and goes back to talk to my father and some of the others.
I try to calm my breathing. Caesar’s not going to recognize me.
I looked completely different on the night of the ball.
I was wearing a dark wig, false eyelashes, heavy makeup, and high heels—most of the time.
And I was confident and outgoing, completely different from the usual mousy science geek I normally am.
He’ll be so caught up in glaring at my grandfather that he won’t even give me a second look.
“Are you freaking out?” Brielle asks.
“Honestly?”
“For God’s sake, it’s just a meeting. Don’t let the Ashfords intimidate you. Actually, they’re quite nice. I met Edward and Marcus at the ball.”
“Oh? I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, they were both polite and friendly.”
“Were they still polite and friendly when you told them who you were?”
She gives me a wry look. “They knew who I was—I wasn’t wearing a wig.
Edward obviously isn’t violently opposed to some kind of deal with us or he wouldn’t have agreed to meet us on Friday.
Marcus was a little cooler, but not nasty or anything.
I think it’s just the older brother who’s hostile. What’s his name? Caligula?”
“Caesar.” Although I’m totally going to call him Caligula in my head from now on.
“I knew it was one of the Roman emperors. Anyway, I don’t blame him for being against a takeover. He’s the heir, and it’s his job to safeguard the family legacy. But he’s the one we’re going to have to win over. We’ll have to turn our charm up to eleven on him.”
I feel a sudden, fierce surge of jealousy at the thought of Brielle flirting with Caesar. She’s so much better at it than I am, and she’s much prettier and more confident. Men always respond to her. The idea of her batting her white eyelashes at him, and him responding, makes me clench my fists.
“I’ll leave that to you,” I say. “I’m sure you’ll be able to win him over.”
She obviously picks up on the odd tone in my voice because she frowns at me. “Is everything all right? You’ve definitely been off the past few weeks.” She tips her head to the side. “What happened at the ball?”
“Nothing.”
“It was a great evening. I’m sorry I left you alone for a while. I honestly thought you’d feel more confident in your disguise. I wish you’d stayed. I’d have introduced you to some of my friends. We had a lot of fun dancing into the early hours.”
“I had fun with my book and a cup of Milo.” It’s a New Zealand hot chocolate-malt drink.
Brielle opens her mouth to reply, but she’s interrupted by one of our uncles and turns to talk to him.
I get up and wander over to the window. I lean on it and rest my temple on the cool glass.
The risk of recognition isn’t the only reason I’m reluctant to attend the meeting. I’d hoped to avoid Caesar because I’m carrying a secret. It’s about the size of a raspberry. I found that out at the dating scan I had yesterday.
I’m eight weeks pregnant with Caesar Ashford’s baby.
At first, I didn’t worry that my period was late. Caesar used a condom, so I reassured myself that I couldn’t possibly be pregnant.
It turned out to be a mistake, because by the time I took a test and discovered it was positive, it was too late to take the morning-after pill.
At the dating scan, the doctor gently told me that if I choose to terminate within the next two weeks, they’ll give me two types of pills to induce a miscarriage. After that, I’ll have to resort to surgery.
So basically, I’ve given myself two weeks to make up my mind whether or not to keep this baby.
It’s not a baby, I remind myself. It’s an embryo. I’m definitely not picturing my Little Raspberry in a yellow onesie with a duck on the front.
If I do decide to keep it, I’ll never be able to tell anyone who the father is. My father would probably march me down to the Ashford offices with a shotgun and demand that Caesar take responsibility for his actions, and that would only make him hate me even more.
No, it’s not Caesar’s fault. I made the move on him.
I initiated sex. He used a condom, and it’s not his fault that it must have split or something.
None of this is his responsibility. I try to tell myself it’s no different from Wren Carter asking him to donate sperm, except that we had a bit of fun in the process.
But if I keep the baby, it’ll be my decision and mine alone.
Now all I have to do is sit across the boardroom table from my baby’s father and make sure he doesn’t find out who I am or that he’s knocked me up.