Chapter 32 Terms & Conditions
Terms & Conditions
August
Two hours. Two fucking hours trapped in a conference room with Ethan Crane and his entourage of chaos.
What was supposed to be a quick contract run-through has turned into a deranged circus of digressions. We’ve barely touched the proposal, after all the late nights my team pulled, because Crane can’t stay on topic for more than three seconds.
And then there’s the kicker.
Sloane Kincaid, my ex, walks in as Crane’s legal counsel.
She looks exactly the same. Long brown waves. Ocean-blue eyes sharpened to a point. Rose-colored power suit like she dressed for war and decided to make it pretty. Composed. Calculated. She commands the room without trying, matching every comment with fire and finesse.
Classic Sloane.
She takes the seat directly across from me, eyebrow arched, radiating that smug superiority I know too well. The elephant in the room is massive. But we’re professionals. We ignore it.
Do I care? Not really. It’s been years. I’ve moved on.
Still. Seeing her here, across the table, representing Crane? It’s almost funny. Like the universe has jokes and the punchlines have law degrees.
Crane leans toward Jonas, his designated translator, and whispers like he’s sharing classified intel.
That’s right. Ethan Crane doesn’t speak in meetings. He whispers, and Jonas, stoic and monotone, relays it like gospel.
“Mr. Crane would like to revisit section 4.1,” Jonas says. “He believes the liability language is… optimistic.”
Audrey, our project lead, inhales like she’s counting to ten on the inside. “We’ve already revised 4.1 based on last week’s notes.”
Emmett, James Wilde’s counsel, doesn’t even blink. He’s here for the company, not my feelings.
Jonas continues, eyes on the document. “Mr. Crane would also like a contingency clause for space weather.”
Audrey pauses. “Space weather.”
“Solar storms,” Jonas clarifies, like this is obvious to anyone who owns a calendar. “Mr. Crane feels strongly it could affect long-term viability.”
Audrey’s mouth tightens. Kelley makes a quiet sound in his throat that could be a laugh or a prayer.
“And,” Jonas adds, “Mr. Crane suggests we include contingencies for alien abduction. As a precaution.”
Across the table, I catch Kelley’s eye. He’s been weirdly quiet, probably biting his tongue to keep from tanking the meeting with sarcasm. He’s already scribbling something on his tablet, and I do not want to know what.
Audrey tries to salvage the room. “Back to the proposal. We were discussing section 4.1 and the release timeline.”
“Mr. Crane would like to revisit the budget for unforeseen meteorological phenomena,” Jonas says.
Audrey shoots me a glance. I give her a subtle nod. We’re spiraling.
Before I can step in, Sloane slides in smooth as a blade. “What we need,” she says, voice precise, “is clarity on the language in 4.1.”
Her gaze flicks to mine for half a beat.
“There seems to be confusion around liability and IP.”
Now I get it. Crane didn’t bring a lawyer. He brought a scalpel.
Sloane Kincaid: the kind of contract closer people fly in when the numbers are big and the trust is thin.
Emmett adjusts his glasses, flipping to the section. “We already addressed IP rights in the revised draft.”
Sloane smiles, polite enough to be dangerous. “You addressed a version of it. Crane doesn’t sign versions. He signs certainty.” She taps the page. “Strike ‘reasonable efforts.’ Replace with ‘commercially necessary measures.’ If he’s funding the risk, you stop leaving him loopholes.”
Emmett doesn’t bristle. He studies it like he respects the move. “That language shifts burden.”
“It clarifies burden,” Sloane corrects gently. “There’s a difference.”
Kelley leans back, finally unable to help himself. “Maybe Mr. Crane could just tell us himself. Save some time.”
Jonas doesn’t blink. “Mr. Crane prefers to communicate through me. It ensures clarity.”
Kelley nods, deadpan. “Of course it does.”
I’ve been asking myself why Crane keeps entertaining us. Then I remember: I’m the only one in this room who hasn’t laughed, flinched, or tried to impress him.
People like Crane don’t hire charm. They hire control.
My phone vibrates. Unknown number. Maybe New York City Memorial.
Perfect.
I stand. “Excuse me.”
No one argues. Not even Sloane. I step into the hallway and answer.
“Hello?”
“So you are alive. Hello, Augustus.”
That voice, warm and exasperated, tightens something in my chest.
“Mom?” I glance at the number again. “Whose phone is this?”
“Don’t worry about that. You wouldn’t have answered if it was mine. Twelve voicemails, Augustus. Twelve.”
I rub the back of my neck. “I’ve been busy. I was going to call.”
“I know, sweetheart. You’re always busy. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
There it is. Not just irritation. Loneliness.
I glance through the glass. Crane sits unmoving, Jonas scrolling, Audrey holding herself together by sheer professionalism. I step farther down the hall so my mother can’t hear the meeting leaking out of my life.
“I really was going to call,” I say. “When things died down.”
A sigh. “Oh, Augustus. You always say that. And I know you mean it. But things never seem to die down, do they?”
The guilt lands heavy. It always does with her, because she’s never been wrong about me. She just loves me anyway.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I am.”
“I know.” Her voice softens, tired around the edges. “I just miss you. I hate that I had to borrow someone else’s phone just to hear your voice.”
I wince. “It’s not like I don’t miss you too.”
“It doesn’t feel like it,” she says, and it’s not an accusation. It’s a fact she wishes she didn’t have to say out loud.
I exhale slowly. “Okay. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
A pause. Street noise on her end. Manhattan. Of course she’s moving. She never sits still when she’s scared.
“I’m worried about Carver,” she says.
My jaw tightens on instinct. “Worried how?”
“He hasn’t been himself. Distant. With me, with everyone.”
“Maybe he finally realized he’s a jerk.”
“Augustus.”
I swallow the rest of my bitterness. “Fine. What are you not saying?”
She hesitates, and in that hesitation I hear her pride trying to protect her heart.
“I think Carver is cheating on me,” she says quietly.
My stomach drops. Not because I’m surprised by what that man has done. Because I’m surprised she let herself say it.
“What?”
“I’ve seen things. Heard things. He’s different. There are whispers. I’m not blind.” Her voice wobbles. “I just… I didn’t know who else to call.”
The last time my mother sounded like this was when my father died. That’s what hits me. Not Carver. Her.
“I’m here,” I say, and for once I mean it without multitasking. “I’m listening.”
She inhales, steadies. “Thank you.”
I press my thumb to my forehead. “I’m in a meeting right now, but I’m going to call you tonight. For real.”
A brittle little laugh. “Am I supposed to believe that?”
“Mom.” Too sharp. I soften. “Yes. Believe it. And… come out here.” The words come before I can overthink them. “JWM’s charity gala is next week. I could use your eye. Your advice.”
Silence. Then she’s her again. The pivot is so fast it almost hurts.
“Oh. Well, I’d have to check with Beverly. And I’ll need a new gown, obviously.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “You have a hundred dresses.”
“Augustus James,” she gasps. “I cannot wear the same thing twice. There will be press.”
I almost smile. “Fine. Marylin will book your ticket for tomorrow night.”
“Fabulous.” Her voice warms. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and stand there for a second with the phone in my hand, letting the guilt and the relief fight it out in my chest.
Then I turn back toward the conference room.
Jonas is mid-sentence when I walk in. “Mr. Crane believes section 4.1 should be reworded for clarity on IP rights and liability exposure.”
Emmett flips to the relevant page. “We’ve already revised 4.1 based on prior conversations.”
“Mr. Crane appreciates the effort,” Jonas says, “but would like further clarification.”
Kelley’s chewing the inside of his cheek, visibly dying to say something.
Sloane slides a paper toward Jonas. He scans it, nods. She’s always five steps ahead.
Kelley leans back, voice dipped in sarcasm. “Tell me, Jonas. Does Mr. Crane ever disagree with you? Or are you two telepathically synced at this point?”
Jonas smiles, flat and practiced. “Mr. Crane values efficiency. This method avoids miscommunication.”
Kelley opens his mouth.
Crane moves.
A single gesture. One raised hand. Barely perceptible. Jonas stops mid-breath like someone hit pause.
The room drops into silence.
Crane stands slowly, deliberate, theatrical without trying. His gaze passes Jonas, Emmett, Audrey.
Then it lands on me.
His eyes pin me in place. Calculating. Cold.
And in a low, smooth voice that feels like smoke wrapped in command, he says, “I’ll sign the contract.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him speak. The temperature drops.
Emmett scrambles, papers shifting. “Great. We’ll prepare the final—”
Crane raises his hand again.
Silence.
He steps forward, Jonas falling into step behind him like this was always the plan.
“I trust you’ll handle the rest, Mr. James,” Crane says, looking directly at me.
I nod, measured. “Of course.”
And then he turns and walks out.
Kelley breaks the silence first. “Was that just me, or did he Batman his way out of here?”
Audrey exhales like she’s been holding it for an hour. “I’m going to go stand in sunlight.”
Emmett gathers his tablet. “I’ll follow up with Ms. Kincaid and get the finalized documents by tomorrow.”
“If Crane changes his mind,” Kelley says, “I’ll interrogate Jonas. He probably reads his dreams.”
Emmett leaves. Audrey leaves. Kelley’s still making jokes, but I can feel the curiosity humming under it. He clocked Sloane. He clocked the way I went still when she walked in.
And then I hear it.
Click. Click. Click.
Heels.