Chapter 9
"The idea is to present a plan that covers everything from the strategic and financial phase through post-acquisition integration, with special attention to identifying operational synergies, cost optimization, cultural alignment, and defining a roadmap for the first hundred days after the deal closes.
" Cassidy pauses and hands each of the two women in front of her a sheet with three charts.
"They want a solid proposal—very practical in focus—aimed at maximizing the value of the acquisition while minimizing execution risks and ensuring an orderly transition for both organizations. "
"What is this?" Diane doesn't take her eyes off the color-coded circles on the page.
"The first chart simulates the reduction in operational costs.
" Cassidy moves closer to her, and from above, her gaze drops straight to her boss's neckline—but she pulls it away immediately.
"This one measures projected risks, though that's for internal use only.
We can't hand a client a number we can't control.
And the third one tracks progress—it lets us measure technology, operational, and financial integrations. "
Diane sits so rigidly upright that she feels like there's a steel rod running through her spine.
She's spent three days working side by side with Cassidy Collins, and her body has responded as though the girl is stress made human.
Her stomach is knotted, her pulse is faster than it should be, and there's a buzzing drilling through her brain that she can't shake.
Clara looks up, and her eyes go straight to Diane's tense figure.
She's been watching her for days because, without any fear of being wrong, she knows the hostility Diane shows toward the intern is nothing more than a response to how unsettled she is by what she's feeling—and what she refuses to accept.
"And what's your final assessment?" The marketing director would rather keep evaluating the proposal the girl has put together than analyze her colleague.
"I ran a cross-analysis using data from the acquisition they made two years ago alongside their current resources, and if my numbers are right, Arnico will start turning a profit just six months after closing."
Diane's left eye twitches, because the girl standing there guaranteeing the success of a transaction is the same one who, five weeks ago, challenged the profit margin her business development director had promised a client.
"And this analysis doesn't depend on the market?" She asks it calmly, lifting her chin. "Your forecast is precise—and yet mine apparently amounted to an empty promise."
Cassidy raises one corner of her lip, hiding a smile.
"This acquisition doesn't depend on any external factor beyond Arnico's own resources.
" She steps in front of Diane and holds her gaze from above.
"They gave us their numbers, and I built my analysis from those.
Once the acquisition closes, the product stays the same—so sales fall outside our scope. "
And then, when she finishes and can't stop herself, Cassidy Collins dares to wink at the Cobra, leaving her frozen and practically speechless.
Clara takes off her glasses, fairly certain she has never seen an employee answer Diane so squarely—and without flinching—and it's easily the most interesting thing she's witnessed in months.
What she likes most about the intern isn't just her knowledge or her work ethic: it's that her answers hold up, and she doesn't hesitate to defend them in front of whoever needs to hear it, even if it costs her the job.
Diane stands up, dizzy, with an overwhelming need to get out of there. She glances at her watch out of habit and shifts her eyes to Clara.
"Have the financial team run their analysis and get it ready by this afternoon." Even though she can feel the intern's gaze on her, she ignores it. "Tomorrow at three, we make a decision."
The wake she leaves behind when she walks out is almost identical to the one the Pied Piper cut with his music in that famous legend, and Cassidy has to plant her feet firmly on the floor to keep from following her.
"Keep it up, Collins." Clara puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes once. "You're doing better than expected."
"I don't think everyone would agree with you," Cassidy says without looking at her, gathering her laptop to leave the room.
Clara runs her fingers through her short hair—a habit she picked up a few years ago when she decided to trade the long hair that drove her crazy for the pixie cut she loves now.
She has no intention of defending Diane Carter, no matter how well she knows that underneath that steel shell hides a woman who's been through more than her share. That's not her place.
"Do you think you're doing good work?"
The question makes the blonde fix her eyes on Clara.
"I hope so."
"That's not the answer I want to hear." The department head's voice hardens, and for a moment she and the Cobra seem like the same person. "It's a yes or no question, and I'm pretty sure you know which one to give."
The intern's nostrils flare as though she's caught the scent of prey she's been tracking for a while. She's not sure if it's a trick question, but she decides to say what she actually thinks.
"Yes, I think I'm doing well." She steps off the ledge.
Clara Fitzgerald nods.
"Then that's the only thing that matters—because if you're good at what you do, there's a whole world out there to choose from.
" Before taking another step, Clara touches her hair again and opens her mouth.
"You remind me a lot of someone when she was just starting out at Whitestone.
Back then, the company was run by dinosaurs who, thankfully, aren't around anymore, and they made it anything but easy for her—but she didn't give up. Don't you give up either."
Clara leaves the room, and Cassidy stands there a moment, turning those words over in her mind.
She might be talking about herself, about Diane, or about someone else entirely—but either way, the intern isn't the kind of person who quits easily just because someone decides to throw obstacles in her path.
She's twenty-eight years old and those years weigh twice as much as they should, and ever since she was a girl she understood that she had absolutely nothing to lose.
Not trying, not fighting for what she wants—that's what she counts as a loss.
● ● ●
"The kid's all grown up, working at big corporations." Kenny raises his glass and the two women clink with him.
"I'm not a kid," Cassidy mutters, taking a long pull of her beer. "God, this tastes terrible."
Kenny lets out a laugh that rings like a little boy doing something he knows he shouldn't. Despite being thirty-six and the oldest of the three, he still acts like he's back at sixteen, when they first met in the group home where they all found each other.
"You insisted on drinking that garbage." Kenny shrugs and takes a sip of his sugar-free soda. "Beer has alcohol in it—it's not one of those awful modern inventions where people insist on taking all the fun out of everything."
Payton watches them from across the table and smiles at her two siblings arguing about the same pointless subject they've been arguing about ever since Cassidy switched to non-alcoholic beer whenever they're together.
Five years ago, moments like this didn't exist—there was only anxiety mixed with dread every time the phone rang and she thought it might be the police calling to say Kenny had been arrested, or worse, that they'd found him dead in some rundown hole.
"You bought the cheapest one—that's why it tastes awful," Cassidy complains, eyeing the glass as though it were full of something other than clear liquid.
Kenny laughs again, and the chipped tooth that's been in that same state for years gives him the look of a bad boy he isn't and never has been.
"Sorry, Cass—not all of us have your smart-girl brain for landing a good job and buying decent beer," he says, tilting a grin her way. "But I promise you'll have the good stuff next time. You deserve it, little sis."
The blonde bites the inside of her cheek and takes the compliment.
"We shouldn't be celebrating." She gets up, walks to the kitchen, and swaps the flat beer for water. "I've only cleared one of a lot of hurdles. I'm still just an intern."
"At Whitestone Consulting Group, no less," Payton adds, raising her eyebrows. "If that witch of a boss lets you finish the internship, I'm sure you can land a job anywhere."
"Or we could give the witch a little scare." Kenny leans over the table, voice dropping low and conspiratorial. "You both know I'm very good at that."
Payton's expression shifts.
"Don't even think about it, Kenneth Pierce." The lawyer points at him, and the boyish laugh bubbles up from his throat again.
He raises both hands in surrender and puts on his best innocent face.
"No trouble," he promises, and takes a sip of his drink.
The conversation flows among the three of them and stretches on until ten at night.
Payton had wanted to take Cassidy to an old diner that serves giant burgers and fries that taste like too much oil—her favorite place, the one she has a soft spot for, the one where she celebrates every milestone in her life—but Kenny is short on money, and she knows that no matter how hard she pushed, he wasn't going to let her pick up the whole tab.
Before he started looking for shady ways to scrape a few dollars together, she decided to keep it a quiet get-together at home and save the end of the week for a girls-only night.
"Time for me to head out." Kenny finishes helping clear the table and comes over to his sisters. "Thanks for dinner."
Payton is the first to hug him—she's always had a soft spot for Kenny. She lived through every nightmare that woke him in the night from the moment she met him, and one day she promised herself she would never abandon him. In part, she became a lawyer so she could always have his back.
"Take care of yourself, little one." He kisses Cassidy on the cheek. "And don't let anything stop you."
The intern nods, her expression serious. It's something Kenny has always said to her, and it means a lot.
And Cassidy Collins has no intention of letting anyone hold her back. She makes herself a promise that in five months—when her time as an intern is up—she'll be exactly where she decides to be.