Chapter Eighteen #2
Our lips curve up, and we both give a wry laugh. “Come on,” I tell him, slapping him on the shoulder and turning him to face the boardroom. “Let’s get this over with.”
“I’ll back you,” he says as we walk along the corridor. “Whatever you want to do.”
I feel a sweep of affection for him, and relief that he’s so supportive. “Thanks,” I say as we reach the glass door, my voice husky. “I appreciate it.”
He nods, opens the door, and we go inside.
Sir Malcolm Reid, the CEO of one of the biggest banks in New Zealand, is sitting on one side of the table, along with Hemi Te Rangi, a large dairy industry leader.
Caroline Bennett, who resigned after her slip that revealed Marcus’s arranged marriage to Wren, has been replaced by Emily Crawford, another agritech investor, and she’s sitting next to Hemi.
Opposite them sits Aurelia, and then my father is at the end of the table. He looks up as we enter and says, “Glad you could make it.”
Marcus and I exchange a look as we take our seats. Dad has a thing about punctuality. Mind you, it’s still a minute to ten, so we’re not exactly late. He’s irritable, and I have no doubt it’s because he’s nervous about this meeting.
I’m not surprised. Malcolm and Hemi were both supportive of Tom’s offer of acquisition before Christmas, and it was they who pressured Dad into providing us with an ultimatum to settle down because they said investors wanted reassurance about leadership continuity.
It was a valid point, I suppose, considering Dad is thinking about retirement, but it was a hard pill to swallow.
None of us liked being treated like medieval heirs, and as the eldest, I think I felt it hardest.
“Okay,” Dad says, leaning forward and resting on the table. “Let’s get down to business. Caesar, do you want to start with a summary of your meeting with Maddie Rutherford at Blackridge?”
I nod and hand them all a folder that contains, among other things, a copy of Maddie’s soil test results.
I then give a short rundown of what happened at the Station, omitting any personal details, of course.
I explain the setup, the Verdant model, and then tell them about Maddie’s soil restoration system.
When I explain the results, everyone’s jaw drops.
“You’re serious?” Dad stares at the figures. “And this column is where she’s manually checked the sensor units?”
“Yes. As you can see, it’s increased pasture productivity by twenty-five percent so they can run more stock on the same land.”
“How?” Hemi asks.
I go into a bit more detail about how she tailored the pasture species to each section of land. “Verdant isn’t the news here,” I tell them. “This,” and I tap the results sheet, “is where the future lies.”
“Why on earth didn’t Tom lead with this?” Dad asks, genuinely shocked.
“She included the results in the pack we were given, but only in the Appendix, and there was no explanation given.” I shrug. “I don’t think they thought it was flashy enough to garner attention compared with Verdant. AI’s such a hot topic, so it has more algorithm love, and it’s easier to hashtag.”
“Maybe she just forgot,” Aurelia says mischievously. “They say your memory goes out of the window when you have a baby.”
“What?” Marcus asks.
“I know one of her aunts,” Aurelia states as I have a mouthful of coffee. “Yesterday, she told her family she was pregnant.”
I cough, and coffee sprays across the table before I can stop it. As everyone exclaims, I swallow hurriedly and say, “Shit, I’m so sorry.”
Marcus grabs a handful of serviettes from the table, and then I do my best to mop up, then lean on the table as my head spins.
“Caesar?” Dad frowns. “Are you okay?”
But I can’t answer. My brain is working furiously, but I’ve lost the power of speech.
Maddie’s pregnant?
At Blackridge, she told me it was all right not to use a condom because she was on the pill.
I’ve been ten types of idiot. A complete mug. Tom Rutherford has played me from the start, and I’ve done nothing to stop him. What is he expecting? That I’ll roll over and agree to the partnership because of the baby?
Well, he’s got another thing coming—and no, it’s not think!
“Decide whatever you want,” I say roughly to everyone around the table. I pick up my laptop. “But I vote no. I don’t want that fucking bastard within a country mile of this company.”
“Caesar—”
But I turn my back on them and head for the door, flinging it open with enough strength to make it bang on the wall.
I march down to the elevator, calling Dan, my driver, on the way. He’s ready and waiting when I exit the building, and I bark that I want to go to the Rutherford building, on the other side of the city.
My phone buzzes repeatedly in my top pocket, but I ignore it. I feel breathless with fury, but as the car slides through the traffic, I gradually calm a little.
Hold on, I think. Hold on.
I can’t be the father. If I got her pregnant at the weekend, she wouldn’t have missed her period yet. She wouldn’t know. That means she must have been pregnant before we got to Blackridge.
Gradually, it dawns on me… her nausea wasn’t due to a migraine.
It was morning sickness. I close my eyes, feeling like a prize idiot.
If she’s just announced it, she’s probably around three months pregnant.
That means she was probably already pregnant when we slept together at the ball. It’s her ex’s.
Did she know? She told me she’d broken up with her ex the night before the ball. So maybe she didn’t know at the ball, but she must have known at Blackridge.
The realization should bring relief, but I’m shocked to discover I feel only the deep, raw stab of betrayal. She’s pregnant by another man. Holy fuck, that hurts.
I should tell Dan to turn the car around and go back to the office, or maybe go home to my apartment. Presumably, she’ll want her ex to be involved with the baby. I don’t have a part in this play.
But I need to see her. I can’t explain why.
A few minutes later, Dan pulls up, and I’m out of the door before he’s even put the handbrake on. I stride into the building and go up to the front desk.
“Where’s Maddie Rutherford?” I demand when the woman finally puts down her phone.
“Second floor,” she says, “but—”
I ignore her and march toward the elevator. Less than a minute later, I’m exiting the carriage and walking out into a reception that’s very similar to ours back at Ashfords.
The woman sitting behind the desk rises as I walk toward her, and it’s clear the girl downstairs must have called her to say a madman was on his way up, because she looks alarmed as I approach.
“Where’s Maddie?” I snap.
“Good morning, sir, I’m afraid she’s unavailable,” the woman states.
“Bullshit! I want to see her, right now.” My voice is hard, demanding she obeys.
“She—she’s in a meeting,” she stutters, her face flushing.
“Where?” I demand, and bang on the desk. People are starting to come out of their offices to see what’s going on, but I don’t care.
“Can I ask your name, please?” the receptionist says, clearly buying time.
“I’m Caesar Ashford,” I say icily, “and I want to see Maddie Rutherford, right now.”
“She’s busy, sir, but if I could take your number, I’ll have her call you back as soon as she’s available.”
“Maddie!” I yell down the corridor.
The receptionist stiffens. “Mr. Ashford, I’m going to have to call security if you don’t calm down…”
I lean forward and glare at her. I’ve reached the limits of my patience, and it’s impossible for me to back down. “I’m going to search every office in this building until I find her unless you get her for me RIGHT NOW.”