Chapter 6 #2
Bea tapped her pen against the acquisition agreement, eyes scanning the fine print for the third time. Most of it was boilerplate, clauses so dry they could be used to dehydrate fruit. But halfway down page twenty-three, the wording shifted subtly.
She blinked, leaned closer. Wait, what?
“That’s not standard language,” she murmured.
Across from her, Jaxon Dao didn’t look up from his laptop. “Which page?”
She slid the document toward him, finger tapping the paragraph. “Minority shareholder rights. It gives one person the ability to block a merger, no matter how small their stake.”
That got his attention. He read it once, then again, a nebulous spark of interest in his expression. Jaxon wasn’t the type to emote over financial sabotage, but she’d learned over the past six months that a three-second pause from him was the equivalent of applause.
“You’re right.” He set his laptop aside and reached for his pen. “And if that one person happens to be a competitor’s plant, the whole acquisition’s dead in the water.”
Bea scooched in. “So the fix would be…tightening the voting threshold?”
“That’s one.” He scribbled it down. “Or restructuring the board so no single seat holds veto power.”
“Or”—she flipped to a blank page in her notebook, adrenaline kicking in, and started writing out a potential redraft of the clause—“we could tie that clause to a performance condition. Make it disappear if their holdings drop below a set value.”
“Not bad.”
She raised a brow. “Not bad?”
“Would you like a gold star?”
“I think I’ve earned three.”
Damien Ellis, one of their tutors and Bea’s faculty endorser, wandered past, scanning their spread of documents. “Dao, you’re actually letting someone else write on the page. Progress.” His eyes flicked to Bea. “Well done, Cruz.”
“Uh, thank you,” she said.
“Keep it up,” Damien said, moving on.
Bea turned toward Jaxon, smile unabashed. “Did you hear that? I’m officially faculty-certified as the Dao Whisperer.”
“Add it to your CV.”
“Oh, I will. Top line. Bold font. Maybe italics.”
Jaxon highlighted a line. “If that gets you hired, I expect a cut of the signing bonus.”
“What?” she gaped. “You don’t even need it. Your family’s loaded!”
“Because we collect.”
The screen lit up in quarters. Four little worlds stitched together by Wi-Fi and Isabel’s earlier commanding message: Video chat tonight. It’s important.
Bea and Lillian were wedged together on their couch. She was wrapped in a blanket burrito while Lils snuggled into one of Adam’s half-zip jumpers.
“Girls,” Isabel began, grinning like she was about to tank the stock market. “It’s time. My family is hosting the event of the season. We broke record numbers on the platform, so we’re throwing a gala. Four weeks from Saturday. You’re all invited. Formal. Pairs encouraged.”
Pairs encouraged? Like Noah’s Ark? Did she have to find herself a mate before the gala or risk extinction?
Lillian squinted at the screen. “Pairs? Are you matchmaking?”
“No. Symmetry is important for photos. And for social optics. Everyone needs a date.”
“Translation,” Naomi drawled, rolling her eyes, “Isabel doesn’t want us looking like lonely spinsters while she’s dripping diamonds on the carpet.”
“Exactly,” Isabel said, without shame. “If I’m walking into my family’s celebration night, you’re walking with me. No sad solo shots.”
“Have you got a date?” Bea asked.
“Naturally,” Isabel scoffed. “You’ve got four weeks to find one, Bey.”
“Actually, Hunter let it slip yesterday…” Georgina wove in, conspiratorial, her big blue eyes looking all too delighted, “…that apparently there’s a standing warning that no one touches her. Not anyone who wants to keep breathing Northgate air, at least.”
“What?” Bea sat up, blanket falling half off her shoulders. “Who gave the warning?”
Georgie sniggered, “The man you were grinding on at Azur.”
Naomi covered a laugh with her hand. “Rafael sanctioned you like a foreign territory.”
“It explains so much,” Georgina continued thoughtfully. “Did seem odd to me that you haven’t been asked out even once in months.”
Forget being asked out, no man had so much as brushed her elbow.
Isabel smirked. “Not gonna lie, kind of hot. Ruthless, but hot.”
Lillian nudged her. “You don’t seem mad.”
“I’m mad,” Bea said, more to convince herself than them.
The audacity. Who did he think he was, handing out embargoes like party favors? She hadn’t asked for assistance with border control. Next he’d be issuing passports and currency with his face on it.
And yet…
Fine.
The quiet she’d been granted, the reprieve from being circled or needing to stammer through an awkward exchange, had been a relief.
Being single here wasn’t neutral. At St. Ives, the odds were stacked differently: one girl to almost two men. She couldn’t tell if people expected her to move on faster. Arithmetic told her she wasn’t being paranoid.
To her surprise, instead of pressure, she’d been given…peace.
A gift, as it turned out, from him.
“I’m maybe also…a little grateful.”
“Grateful is how it starts,” Isabel warned.