Chapter 2
One thing quickly became clear as the morning went on. Connor was being punished.
He wasn’t sure why - he never once complained, even when he had plenty of reason for it.
Not about anything petty, certainly not Devore.
He’d feigned ignorance during the investigation and unilaterally positioned himself on the side of Alarie Inc.
throughout both the investigation and the ensuing deposition.
But then, why else would he be in this position?
For all his charm and good-natured positivity–not to mention his irritatingly good looks–Nate couldn’t have been more out of his element if he tried.
He looks the part just fine in his expensive suit, and he had plenty of charm that might encourage anyone to overlook his glaring flaws, but his golden tower came crumbling down the moment that investor meeting began.
He’d had a pretty good start, at least.
“And looking ahead into our Quarter 3 projections, I think you’ll be pleased to see a steady rate of continued growth,” delivered with a handsome face and easy confidence, received with nods of approval.
Clearly this was where Nate was clearly in his element, despite his youthful appearance.
He knew how to command attention, take up space, and project competence.
Connor’s notes didn’t hurt, either. He’d told Nate to read off his bolded bullet points and pull from the italicized sections for further explanation as needed.
It should have been an easy win for the man, with his candor. A nice victory to boost his morale. After all, any casual observer might have found it hard to believe that Nate only started in this role today.
But the team from Barnum Financial Services were their usual detractors.
There were two of them on the call today - a woman with sharp eyebrows and distinguishing streaks of gray through her dark hair and a younger man Connor thought might be her assistant.
The woman was Cathy McGull; she’d been the force behind most of Barnum’s prickly attitude towards Alarie in recent months. Not that Connor could blame her.
“And are the projections for Quarter 4 in yet?” asked McGull’s assistant.
“Not yet, but I anticipate we’ll continue to see trends continuing in this direction,” Nate replied, still radiating that easy charm.
For anyone else, that probably would have ended their questioning then and there. Certainly, the Hirschwell and Sherwood teams seemed convinced enough. They’d said very little over the course of the last half hour.
But not Barnum, and not Cathy McGull.
“You anticipate this will continue? And what are you basing that on?”
And for the first time, Nate seemed to falter.
“Well, uh–” Nate cleared his throat, “Based on the projection mapping we’ve seen from Finance and our earned-revenue goals across our consulting teams–uh–I’m not anticipating any changes that would negatively affect our interests moving forward.”
Connor grit his teeth, shooting Nate a pointed look that he knew he didn't see.
Stop making promises, he begged through a nonexistent psychic link. He even gave a jerk of his head to the side, but it went completely unnoticed by Nate.
“And what of the stability of internal Alarie leadership?” Connor heard her assistant ask. He makes a note to figure out this kid’s name - they’re operating like a hunter and her sighthound and that unsettles him.
“I can assure you that there won’t be any major changes to Alarie leadership for the foreseeable future.”
It was like watching a vase slip off a desk and fall, shattering on a tile floor in slow motion. If Connor reached out, he might be able to stop it before it hit the ground-
“You're certain of that?”
“At this point in time, yes.”
There were positive murmurs amongst the investors, each seen on screen talking with their team. Nate seemed to be rather proud of himself. All the while, Connor felt like he was going to be sick.
The meeting ended with an assurance to continue to discuss upcoming projections and financial forecasts, with Nate asking Connor to take notes on which investors were going to want speaking time.
And then it was over, and Nate was ending the conference call. He leaned back in his desk chair, arms behind his head, all too proud of himself.
“I don’t think that went half bad,” he declared, like he’d know one way or another.
Connor bristled as he closed his notebook, setting it down on Nate’s desk so he could consult his notes if needed.
“Do you think that went well?” He didn’t mean to sound as sharp as he did, though Nate was quick to notice, his eyes narrowing.
“You think it didn’t?” He asked in a low voice.
I think you’re acting too proud of yourself for the mess you made, Connor didn't say. Somehow, he swallowed it down.
“I think it was fine.”
Connor just wanted to leave it at that. He busied himself with consulting Nate’s inbox to check for any upcoming meeting invites he might have missed, ignoring the way Nate’s eyes hadn’t left him.
“Look, if you think there’s something wrong with what I said, you’re the one that wrote the memo.
Those details came from you.” Nate had this way of gesturing with his chin at whatever it was he was talking about, dark curls bouncing as he spoke.
It should have been irritating. Instead, it was distracting.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you not to make promises you can’t keep,” Connor said coldly. He’d never managed that fluid way of holding himself that Nate had perfected, but he could still try for authoritative.
He’d always been the stiffest person in the room, after all.
“Promises I can’t keep? What are you–they asked about numbers, I told them the numbers were fine.”
“They asked about projections we don’t have in. You don’t make promises about results we can’t project.”
“It’s not like I said anything outrageous–”
“You told them leadership wasn’t changing.”
Nate’s jaw clenched.
“Why would it be?”
“Because they’re trying to buy out Simmons,” Connor explained, though not exactly in the calmest tone.
“Leadership changes bring volatility. Volatility affects stock and you making statements like that to our investors opens us up to lawsuits. It comes back to you and if they find you acted to manipulate the stock–”
“You said yourself–I know I didn’t imagine it–every statement on that memo, everything you wrote up, it was all approved by Public Relations,” Nate said firmly, his eyebrows furrowing.
“Look, I highly doubt anyone could come back and say that I was manipulating the stock. What I told them lines up with the notes I have from you. It was an introductory meeting. Showing my face, showing I’m in the role, seeing their faces. That’s all.”
Connor stared.
For a moment, he even found himself doubting. What did he write down? Was he the one who penned those reassurances without meaning to?
No, of course he wouldn’t. He knew better than that.
But dread sat in his stomach, cold and heavy. He couldn’t help but think, If this goes wrong, I’m getting blamed.
And Nate seemed to carry no understanding of the consequences of that. Leaning back at his desk like he owned it, in that too-expensive suit and that casual confidence that probably took him to the top in every situation in life–it was maddening.
It was like he didn’t understand - introductory meetings weren’t just about introductions. The investors wanted to see stability. Competence. Authority.
How was it that Nate didn’t understand? It was his first day, wasn't he concerned about losing investors? Scaring them off? Putting Alarie in some kind of legal jeopardy?
And then it hit him. Looking at Nate now, it wasn’t just the expensive suit, the scruff at his jaw, that charming smile.
Not a single streak of gray in his dark, curly hair.
He was young. It might have been easier to clock if he was clean-shaven and dressed in something plainer, but looking at him now-
Connor would have been shocked if he was older than 30.
“You’ve never worked in Investor Relations before, have you?” He asked, deciding not to mince words.
Nate’s chair creaked as he straightened up, something pained flickering across his features.
“I interned for a VC firm during my MBA, at Cornell,” he admits. “It was about a year.”
A long moment passed that might have felt like a staring contest if Nate wasn’t so committed to avoiding his eyes, all the while Connor felt like he was a few sparks from blowing his fuse.
“A year,” Connor repeated.
“Yeah. They told me I’d be learning on the job, that you’d handle the details and get me up and running.”
It took everything in Connor to keep a neutral expression in place.
And then it broke, as easily and as dramatically as a piece of porcelain thrown against the wall.
He turned in place, circling around the rug in the center of the office suite, his pulse pounding in his ears as he tried to recompose himself.
But it wasn’t working.
Some kind of lump in his throat made it hard to breathe. His fingertips brushed the collar of his shirt. feeling far too warm. For a moment, Connor even considered removing his sport jacket before remembering himself.
Everyone had their breaking point, and this was too much for Connor to bear.
“Whose kid did you have to be to even get here?” He asked hollowly. So much for maintaining any facade of professionalism.
Maybe he expected Nate to be offended, to blow him off. Maybe he expected some nothing name, no one who had any real power.
And then Nate said “Isaac Berkshire’s,” like it was some shameful secret better left for the hallows of a Catholic confessional, Like being the son of the chair of board at Alarie Inc. was something worthy of feeling embarrassment. But that wasn’t it, not really.
Nepo babies hated being caught. They liked to think they only ever made it by mere virtue of their hard work. And Connor had just shattered that illusion.
“Isaac Berkshire,” he repeated, his voice dripping with venom. “Figures.”