Chapter Twenty-One
Caesar
Watching Tom try to find a way to say he doesn’t want Maddie to run the show would be amusing if I wasn’t so fucking annoyed.
He doesn’t want to imply he doesn’t have faith in her work, but he’s clearly furious. Maddie’s father is quiet, though. Maybe he’s more supportive of his daughter than I thought. He’s just overpowered by the old patriarch.
“She’s a great scientist,” Tom admits grudgingly, “and I have the utmost faith in her work. But she’s not a businesswoman. She doesn’t understand the intricacies of running a whole division. She’ll be out of her depth, and that’s not conducive to a successful project.”
He’s reluctant to remove his sticky fingers from it. He wants one of his yes men running it, so he can retain control. Presumably, Harry’s not strong enough or brave enough to stand up to him.
I can understand that. It’s different for us, because we don’t have to answer to him, but thinking about why Maddie kept things to herself has made me understand how Tom is a dictator rather than just a strict leader.
I can’t blame his staff for being afraid to go against him if their livelihoods are at stake.
It’s a different story for me, though. I have no such issues.
Dad leans back and glances at me, and I know he’s telling me to take the lead. He told me yesterday, when Marcus and I went to see him, that it’s important I impress upon Tom that I’m his equal. And he gave me full rein to vent my thoughts once I told him why Tom sent Maddie with me.
“Well,” I say to Tom, “for a start, you didn’t even mention Maddie’s soil restoration project at our initial meeting.
Verdant has always been your focus, and it doesn’t have a fraction of the potential that Maddie’s project does.
So I’m not sure I believe you when you say you have faith in her work. ”
He glares at me with his icy blue eyes that I’m sure have turned lesser men into frozen statues. But I meet his gaze evenly.
“Secondly,” I continue, “I know you asked Maddie to go to Blackridge with me because you hoped she’d help convince me to agree to the partnership.
And when you found out it had worked, that’s why you tightened the screws.
You used her. And you’re lucky I didn’t end these talks immediately because of that. ”
His expression is stony, but he doesn’t reply. I glance at Harry, who’s looking at his father, a frown on his brow. He didn’t know that?
“Thirdly,” I continue, “I feel as if you’ve missed the point.
We’re agreeing to a partnership because we’re excited about the science, not the idea of working with the Rutherford Group per se.
We want to run a shared initiative, and we truly believe the integration of our systems on this project could be groundbreaking.
We’re not a small company who’s opening their doors to beg the big dog to take over.
Our tech has proven revolutionary, and Maddie recognizes this.
She wants to get her hands on it because she understands its potential, not because she wants to take it over. ”
I glance at Harry. He’s leaning on the arm of his chair, and his fingers are covering his mouth, but I can see his lips curving up behind his fingers.
“I trust Maddie,” I say quietly. “She’s the one I want. That’s non-negotiable, and if you don’t agree, we can end the meeting now.”
Tom looks down for a moment and thinks. I glance at Dad, who meets my gaze and lifts a brow, but doesn’t say anything.
I look back at Tom. He clears his throat, then says, “Could I get a cup of tea?”
I cover my surprise and say, “Of course.” I get to my feet, go over to the table, and make him a cup, then bring it over to him before taking my seat again.
He takes a few sips. I check my phone, keen to show him I’m not sitting there nervously waiting for his verdict. Ultimately, we have nothing to lose—it would be a shame not to go ahead with the project, but we’re not going to sell out our company to get it.
“All right,” Tom says eventually. “Maddie runs the division. So let’s talk about what we get.”
*
Maddie
It feels like forever, but it must only be about ten minutes later that I watch Caesar get up, go over to the glass door, open it, and call out for everyone to return.
As he returns to his seat, we all file in and sit back at the table.
A hush spreads quickly through the room, everyone clearly keen to hear the outcome of the conversation.
My heart bangs, and I have to force myself to concentrate on my breathing. I glance at Caesar, and he meets my gaze, but as usual, his expression is carefully guarded as he waits for his father to speak.
“Thanks, everyone,” Edward says. “We’ve come to an agreement.
Ashford AgriTech wants this to be a true partnership, not a takeover, but also not a sub-contract.
Therefore, this will be a shared research initiative in all senses of the word.
You’ll have a partner in the project. Not a foothold in the company.
Ashford AgriTech will retain full governance and control of all existing proprietary systems. But we have agreed to share both profits and IP from the new division. Providing it’s run by Madeleine.”
He’s not just saying he wants me to run the project. He’s saying the partnership won’t go ahead unless I do. He’s protected his company, validated my presence, and removed Gramps’s control from the project in one smooth move.
My gaze snaps to Caesar’s, and I inhale sharply. He notices and, to my shock, he winks at me.
Heat rushes through me, and my face burns as if I’ve been sitting in the sun for hours.
Brielle notices and laughs, and that makes everyone else look, and laughter ripples around the table as they all spot my blush. Marcus grins, and Edward chuckles.
Mortified, I lean forward and rest my forehead on the table, which only makes the laughter louder.
Opposite me, a chair scrapes on the floorboards, and I sit back to see Caesar getting to his feet. He throws me an amused look before saying, “If you’ll excuse me, I think maybe I should talk privately to Maddie.”
He walks around the table, stopping by Gramps and my father at the other end, and extends a hand to my dad. “It was nice to meet you, sir,” he says, “and I’m glad we were able to come to an agreement.”
Dad glances at me. It’s rare that he stands up for me against Gramps, but for once there’s pride in his eyes. “Thanks,” he says to Caesar. “Me too.”
He turns to Tom and offers his hand. “I look forward to working with you,” he says, and his voice carries both sincerity and authority.
Gramps shakes his hand. His nod, when he gives it, holds a hint of respect. He might not like that Caesar stood up to him, but he can appreciate his courage. “Likewise,” he says.
“I’ll leave you all to hammer out the details.” Caesar continues around the table until he’s standing by the door. He opens it, looks at me, and says, “Dr. Rutherford?”
Somewhat shakily, I get to my feet. As the rest of my family exchange curious glances, I follow him out of the boardroom and along the corridor. He stops by a closed door and opens it, then gestures for me to precede him. I go in, and he follows, then closes the door behind him.
I walk part of the way into the room, then stop and slowly turn around, taking in the decor.
Ohhh… I think this is his office. It’s mostly neat and organized, apart from a table against the wall that contains items a working scientist might have: soil samples in labeled jars, a prototype collar sensor, drone imagery of farmland, and pasture maps pinned to a board.
I stop by an enormous painting of rolling hills and paddocks and look at the caption.
It’s his family farm in Cambridge. Then I study a sole photo on the opposite wall of three children, easily identifiable as Caesar, Marcus, and Aurelia with her red hair.
Marcus must be around nine, Aurelia six or seven, both of them on horseback.
A teenage Caesar, maybe fourteen or fifteen, handsome even at that age, is standing by a large oak tree in rubber boots, a farm dog at his feet.
I graze my fingers over the books on the shelves, mostly worn copies, probably from his uni days, heavily used and annotated, with tabs sticking out to mark important pages.
There are volumes on soil ecology, grazing science, climate resilience, and a couple on naval military history.
I didn’t know that was another of his passions, then recall his comment on splicing the mainbrace.
There are no awards on the walls, no trophies, even though I’m convinced he must have won them.
He’s resting on his desk, waiting for me, and I stop there and examine the contents.
It’s neat: a closed laptop, a notebook and pen, a pile of manila folders.
But there are also a few giveaways that it’s not always like this: protein-bar wrappers in the bin, a couple of empty coffee cups, a half-empty pack of headache tablets, a hoodie slung over the back of the chair, maybe for if he’s working late and the temperature drops.
A small, carved wooden sheep rests in the corner of the desk looking as if it’s stepped out of a Wallace and Gromit cartoon.
I lift my gaze to his. There’s a small smile on his lips. “Finding out all my secrets?” he asks softly.
I look around again. “I feel as if I’ve peeked behind the curtain and caught a glimpse of the wizard.”
He gives a short laugh. Then he gestures to the gray sofa and chairs in one corner of the large office. “You want to sit?”
I nod, and we go over to them. I lower myself onto the sofa, and he sits in one of the armchairs and leans back, resting an ankle on the opposite knee. He surveys me evenly.
I feel suddenly shy, unsure why he brought me in here. I pick at my nails nervously.
“So,” I say eventually, when it doesn’t seem as if he’s going to speak. “Um… did you want to talk about the new division? I’m… um… not quite sure where to start… I haven’t done anything like that before…”