Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Maverick
The boardroom was filled with quiet conversations, the subtle shifting of papers, and the occasional clink of coffee cups against polished coasters.
Every man at the table was a calculated presence—polished suits, firm handshakes, and the kind of practiced arrogance that came with knowing their net worth before they even introduced themselves.
It was a scene I had sat through too many times before.
The only difference this time? Solenn Wheeler, sitting at my right, perfectly composed and completely unreadable.
She was flipping through my itinerary, eyes scanning details with the same focus she always had. But I knew she was listening. She was always listening.
She wasn’t here because she had to be. She was here because I had made her a permanent shadow in every deal I closed, every strategy I executed, every power play I maneuvered.
She had spent months absorbing everything—watching, learning, filing away every detail until she could anticipate my decisions before I even made them.
And yet, despite all of that, no one in this room took her seriously.
I could see it in the way Lawson, the CEO of Westbridge Holdings, barely glanced in her direction when he walked in. His CFO didn’t even acknowledge her, speaking only to me, assuming she was nothing more than my note-taker.
They had no idea that she had been the one reviewing the deal terms with me all morning, the one who had pointed out the critical flaws in Westbridge’s financial reports, the one who had, at least twice, saved these men from making absolute fools of themselves.
I didn’t say anything. I let them make their assumptions.
Because I knew exactly what was coming next.
Lawson leaned forward, adjusting his cufflinks before flashing me the kind of smile that men in his position perfected—the one that said he thought he was in control.
"As you know, Spencer & Co. has been interested in Westbridge for some time," he began smoothly. "We’ve reviewed the terms, but frankly, I don’t see any urgency in finalizing a deal today. "
I didn’t react, simply letting the words settle. I wasn’t about to play his game.
Then, beside me, Solenn moved.
The shift was subtle—a quiet flipping of a page, the tap of her pen against the edge of her notepad—but I knew what it meant.
I turned my head slightly, watching her out of the corner of my eye.
Then she spoke.
"You should," she said simply.
The room went dead silent.
I saw Lawson’s expression flicker for just a second before he schooled it back into polite amusement. Slowly, he turned to face her, his brows lifting as if he had just now realized she could speak.
"I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced," he said, his tone patronizing and lazy, like she was some new intern speaking out of turn.
Solenn didn’t even blink. "Solenn Wheeler," she said, extending a hand across the table, steady and controlled. "Executive Assistant to Mr. Spencer."
I watched as Lawson’s smirk widened just slightly.
A single glance at the title, and I knew exactly what he was thinking—that she was just here to take notes.
I could have corrected him. Could have warned him.
I didn’t.
Because I wanted to see what she’d do next.
And she didn’t disappoint.
Solenn withdrew her hand and flipped another page in my schedule. "Since you don’t seem to understand the urgency," she said, her voice as smooth as glass, completely unbothered by his condescension, "let me clarify."
Lawson’s smirk faltered.
"You’re currently overvalued by at least fifteen percent based on projected revenue versus actual performance this quarter," she continued, not even sparing him a glance. "You’ve been sustaining that valuation with aggressive buybacks, but those aren’t sustainable long-term.
If you were truly confident in your market position, you wouldn’t have offloaded assets to secondary investors last quarter, nor would you have diversified into short-term commodities—which, according to your financials, have resulted in a 3. 2% loss margin."
She finally looked up, tapping the edge of her notepad with slow, calculated precision. "So, unless you’re prepared to lose more market share by dragging this out, I’d reconsider your stance on urgency."
The room went completely still.
I watched Lawson’s entire posture shift, his confidence cracking just slightly, his smirk long gone.
He hesitated, his jaw tightening, his fingers curling around the armrest of his chair. And then—slowly, carefully—he smiled.
"I see," he said, nodding slightly. "You’ve done your research."
Solenn just tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "Mr. Spencer believes in being fully prepared," she said lightly. "As does his team."
Lawson’s jaw ticked.
I leaned back, hiding my smirk.
She had him.
And more importantly—she had just proven, in under a minute, that she wasn’t someone to be ignored.
The silence stretched, thick and charged, before Lawson finally exhaled and picked up his pen.
"Looks like we have a deal to finalize," he muttered.
A few minutes later, as the meeting broke for a short recess before the final signatures, I stood, adjusting my suit jacket before glancing at Solenn.
She was already gathering my notes, her movements calm, and methodical, like she hadn’t just taken control of the entire room.
The others filed out, leaving us alone for a moment.
I took a step closer.
She didn’t look up.
I took another.
Still nothing.
Finally, I leaned down, lowering my voice just enough that only she could hear.
"That," I murmured, "was dangerous."
She froze.
Just for a second.
Then she breathed in slowly, set her pen down, and finally met my gaze.
"That," she said, her voice just as calm, just as controlled, "was business."
I held her stare, my pulse kicking up a notch.
Because it wasn’t just business.
It was her.
And I was dangerously close to wanting more.