12. Cassian
CASSIAN
"Mr. Griffin,
I've discussed the proposed collaboration with Amara Campbell. She's agreed to a preliminary meeting to discuss terms, creative vision, and logistics.
Looking forward to it.
— K.C."
I read it twice. Then a third time, just to make sure the words don't rearrange themselves into something less promising.
She said yes.
Amara said yes.
Relief floods through me so fast it leaves me lightheaded. I lean back in my chair, press the heels of my hands against my eyes, and breathe.
Jordan knocks on the doorframe. "Sir? The design team's waiting in Conference Room B."
"Tell them five minutes."
"They've been waiting for twenty."
"Then five more won't kill them."
He disappears with a frown. I forward Katheryn's email to my father with a subject line that reads: "Got it. Meeting scheduled for Tuesday."
His response comes back in under a minute. "My office. Now."
I pocket my phone and head down the hall.
Black Lake's executive floor is riddled with opulence, luxury, and spotless glass.
Everywhere you look, a well-dressed executive, intern, or assistant is handling their business with ease.
My father's office sits at the corner of this floor, views stretching toward the Hudson.
Lucian Griffin stands at the window when I enter, hands clasped behind his back. Navy suit, silver tie, hair that's gone mostly gray but still full enough to suggest he's aging on his own terms.
"Close the door," he says without turning.
I do. He gestures toward the chairs arranged in front of his desk. I sit. He remains standing, studying the city like it owes him something.
"Sapphire Studios confirmed the meeting."
"I saw."
"Amara Campbell agreed to participate."
"Apparently."
He turns then, pinning me with that look he's perfected over decades of running a company where hesitation means losing millions. "Tell me why I should trust your judgment on this."
"Because her work is exactly what you asked for. Disruptive, culturally relevant, emotionally resonant. A collaboration with her puts Black Lake back in the conversation."
"Or it makes us look desperate. Chasing trends instead of setting them."
I roll my eyes. "We haven't set trends in five years, Dad. We've been coasting on legacy and name recognition while our competitors innovate. Amara's work gives us an entry point back into relevance."
He moves to his desk, sits, leans back in his chair. "You have history with this woman."
It's not a question.
"We dated in college."
"And?"
"And it ended. We haven't spoken in six years until recently."
"Raylin told me some things I didn't like."
Of course she did. Raylin's been circling my father for years, playing the dutiful family friend, positioning herself as the logical choice for his son's future. She's his friend's daughter and has grown up in the same circles as me, which means she has access to him in ways most people don't.
"Raylin's poisoning your ears," I say flatly. "Don't listen to her."
"She said Amara left you without explanation. Disappeared for six years. That she's unstable, unreliable, not someone we should be building a partnership with."
"Raylin's biased."
My dad raises a brow. "Is she wrong, then?"
"Yes." I lean forward, elbows on my knees.
"Amara left because she thought I'd chosen Raylin over her.
She saw Raylin hanging around me constantly, assumed we were together, and ran before I could explain otherwise.
It was a misunderstanding that spiraled because I was too much of an idiot to shut Raylin down explicitly. "
My dad hums. "And now?"
"Now Amara's back. She's one of the most talented artists working today. Her exhibition at Sapphire is going to make waves. Partnering with her is smart business, regardless of whatever personal history exists between us."
"You're sure about that?"
"Positive."
He studies me for a long moment. I hold his gaze, refuse to flinch or look away. This is how negotiations work with my father. Whoever blinks first loses.
Finally, he nods once. "Fine. We move forward with the meeting. But Cassian, if this blows up because you're chasing an ex-girlfriend instead of focusing on business, I'll pull the plug myself."
"It won't."
"It better not." He picks up his tablet, swipes through something. "Raylin's been asking about the collaboration. Wants to be involved."
My stomach drops. "No."
"She has connections in the art world. Gallery owners, collectors?—"
"I don't care what connections she has. She's not part of this."
"She's Leonard Hart's daughter. Turning her down outright could damage our relationship with him."
"Then damage it." I stand, hands clenched into fists at my sides. "Raylin spent years making Amara feel like she didn't belong in my life. She's the reason Amara left in the first place. I'm not giving her access to this partnership so she can sabotage it."
My dad sets the tablet down gingerly. "Cassian, it seems like you're letting personal feelings cloud your judgment."
"No. I'm protecting a business opportunity from someone who has a vested interest in seeing it fail." I meet his gaze head-on. "Raylin wants me, Dad. She's wanted me for years. And she sees Amara as an obstacle. If we let her anywhere near this collaboration, she'll find ways to undermine it."
"That's a serious accusation."
"It's the truth."
He leans back, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Raylin's been a family friend since you were children. I've watched her grow up. She's ambitious, yes, but I've never known her to be vindictive."
"Because you've never been on the receiving end of it.
" My voice rises slightly. I force it back down.
"I have. I've watched her maneuver for years, planting doubt in Amara's mind, positioning herself as the logical choice, refusing to take no for an answer.
She's relentless, and she's not above using dirty tactics to get what she wants. "
"And what does she want?"
"Me. The Griffin name. Security. She wants to be Mrs. Griffin and she doesn't care what she has to do to make it happen."
Silence fills the office. My dad watches me with an expression I can't quite read, weighing my words against whatever version of Raylin Hart he's constructed in his mind over the years.
"You're certain about this?"
"Absolutely."
"Alright. Then we keep her out of it." He picks up the tablet again. "But if Amara Campbell proves unreliable, if this partnership falls apart because of personal drama, we're done. No second chances, no renegotiations. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good. Now get out of my office. Your design team's been waiting half an hour."
I leave, pulling the door shut behind me. The click echoes down the hallway. My hands shake slightly as I release the handle, adrenaline still coursing through me from the confrontation. I shove them deep in my pockets and head back toward my own office.
Jordan intercepts me halfway down the corridor, tablet clutched to his chest like a shield. "Sir, the design team has been waiting in Conference Room B for?—"
"Tell them to reschedule. Something came up."
He blinks rapidly, clearly thrown by the deviation from my usual routine. "But we blocked out the entire afternoon for this. They flew in from Milan specifically for?—"
"Reschedule, Jordan. That's an order."
I bark out the words. Jordan's expression morphs from confused to neutral in the span of a heartbeat. He ducks his head in acknowledgment, retreating back to his desk with a look that suggests he's seriously considering updating his resume tonight.
I don't care. I can't bring myself to care about bruised feelings or inconvenienced designers right now.
Right now, all I care about is the fact that I have a meeting scheduled with Amara in less than a week.
A real, business-focused meeting where I can prove to her that I'm serious about this.
That I'm not some obsessive ex showing up uninvited at her studio, disrupting her life with my presence.
That I can be professional while still being present in whatever way she'll allow.
And maybe, if I'm very lucky and I don't somehow manage to screw it up before then, she'll start to believe that I'm someone worth trusting with our daughter.