42. Damien
Chapter forty-two
Damien
The next day came far too quickly.
Not even twenty-four hours ago, I'd been in a hot bath with Emma, her laughter echoing off the tile while I explained—in excruciating detail—why leading with I want to fuck your throat in my sex dungeon would result in a police report rather than a date.
"Context matters," I'd told her.
"You win," she'd conceded, still shaking with giggles, water sloshing over the sides of the tub.
I'd cleaned her.
Washed the sweat from her skin.
Held her until the trembling stopped and the sass returned—my personal metric for knowing she was alright.
And now I was here.
The hallway outside Falkirk's main boardroom.
I leaned against the wall outside the door, waiting for her.
Jennifer's plan had worked spectacularly.
Emma and I no longer drew strange looks or whispered speculation. The subtle shifts between us had settled into routine—no longer a shock, increasingly normal. A hand at her back. A lingering glance. The slow, deliberate work of making us invisible by making us boring.
Then she rounded the corner.
And boring went up in smoke.
Slate gray blazer. Sharp shoulders. A silhouette that meant business. And underneath—
The burgundy silk blouse I'd picked out.
The same color as my ropes.
She walked toward me like she owned every square inch of Falkirk.
That's my girl.
"Hey, Emma," I said, keeping my voice casual. "I'm looking forward to discussing your proposal this morning."
She shifted her weight, popping a hip. "Thank you, Damien."
God, she was magnificent.
"Proposal?" Farnsworth's gravelly voice came from behind her.
I straightened, extending my hand. "Farnsworth, it's nice to see you. And yes, Ms. Sinclair plans on proposing a new initiative to the board this morning."
"Really?" He turned to Emma—caterpillar eyebrows raised. "It isn't often that a new board member proposes initiatives."
Emma smiled at him. "I'm not a typical board member."
Pride surged through me—bright and immediate, a rush to the chest.
Farnsworth's eyebrows climbed higher, lips curving into a surprised smile. "No," he said slowly. "I don't suppose you are."
Behind him, more board members filtered down the hallway.
Alicia Morgan caught Emma's eye and offered a brief nod—professional, assessing. Sharp-featured, immaculate, dark hair twisted into a low chignon. Her charcoal suit whispered old money and don't waste my time.
Linda Cavanaugh walked beside her, blonde and composed, tablet already in hand, reading glasses perched on her nose.
Allies. Or close enough.
Lang trailed a few steps behind—mid-fifties, perpetually undecided, his loyalty swaying with the wind. He nodded vaguely at no one in particular.
Then came Nathan's entourage.
Richter's voice arrived before he did—booming something about a golf tournament in California, too loud for the hallway.
Sunburned, as always. Suit straining across a belly built on client dinners.
Shore followed—gaunt, hollow-cheeked, blinking so infrequently it unsettled half the office.
Ashford brought up the rear, tall and thin as a lamppost, mouth pressed into its usual line of legal disapproval.
Nathan himself appeared last.
He paused when he saw us, eyes flicking between Emma and me.
My hands stayed loose at my sides—relaxed, disinterested.
A lie.
"Ms. Sinclair," Nathan said smoothly, his entourage pausing. "I didn't realize you'd be presenting today."
"Surprise," Emma replied dryly.
He smirked. "Well. This should be entertaining."
He brushed past without waiting for a response, his loyalists trailing behind him like ducklings.
Entertaining.
I was going to savor watching her eviscerate him.
Farnsworth watched them go, then turned back to Emma with a dry expression. "You'll have your work cut out for you with that one."
"I'm aware."
"Good." His mouth kicked up in a smile. "Looking forward to seeing what you've got."
He disappeared into the boardroom, the two of us left alone in the hallway.
"You ready?" I asked, voice pitched low.
She smoothed her blazer, adjusting an invisible crease.
"I'm about to present to a room of people who think I'm either a threat or a joke." She shot me a look. "How do you want me to—"
"I want you to feel relaxed," I said. "Confident."
"I am confident," she bit out.
Liar.
"I know." My fingertips brushed the edge of her cheekbone—quick, discreet. "That's why I'm not worried."
And I wasn't.
Not about her.
I'd seen Emma Sinclair walk into rooms designed to break her and leave holding the keys.
I'd watched her hold her ground against Nathan's condescension. Against investor skepticism. Against every obstacle this industry threw at women bold enough to build something of their own.
She didn't need me to fight her battles.
But god, I loved watching her win them.
Footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor.
I stepped back, professional distance sliding into place with practiced ease—but I let my gaze stay warm as I opened the conference room door.
"After you, Ms. Sinclair."
The boardroom was a cathedral of glass and walnut.
Ten chairs ringed an oval table that cost more than most people's houses. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline, morning light cutting hard lines across the polished surface.
I'd sat at the head of this table for years.
Watched deals made and broken.
Careers built and destroyed.
But I had never watched Emma Sinclair present to my board.
This was going to be a pleasure.
I took my seat and let my gaze sweep the room—neutral, assessing—before I spoke.
"Let's begin." The murmurs died instantly. "We have several items on the agenda this morning, but I'd like to start by yielding the floor to our newest board member. Ms. Sinclair has prepared a proposal I think you'll all find worth your attention."
A ripple moved through the room.
Nathan's expression sharpened.
Enjoy it while it lasts.
Emma rose, tablet in hand, and moved to the presentation screen. Her heels clicked against the hardwood—the only sound in the room.
She didn't rush. Didn't fidget. Didn't crack.
The first slide flashed on the screen.
ELION INTEGRATION: SUSTAINABILITY & INFRASTRUCTURE OPTIMIZATION
"Good morning," she said. "I'm not here to relitigate the merger or the audit. You've seen the verified numbers. You know what Elion brings to the table."
Next slide: operational footprint breakdown.
"What I want to discuss today is what Elion can do for Falkirk's bottom line. Specifically, your infrastructure and energy expenditure."
Linda's pen uncapped. Alicia leaned forward.
I kept my expression neutral.
Inside, I was doing backflips.
"Falkirk currently operates fourteen global data centers. Based on your sustainability reports and industry benchmarks, your annual energy costs for server maintenance alone are approximately ninety-three million dollars."
She let the number sit.
"Elion's backend architecture was designed for efficiency from the ground up. Our systems run at forty-two percent lower energy consumption than industry standard—independently verified, fully documented." She gestured to the folders. "Page four."
Papers rustled.
"If integrated across even half of Falkirk's infrastructure, we project annual savings of nineteen to twenty-four million dollars within the first eighteen months."
Silence.
The good kind.
Nathan's smirk flickered.
Next slide: Consolidation visualization.
"Additionally, Elion's architecture would allow Falkirk to consolidate three legacy systems into a single platform. Reduced overhead, simplified maintenance, and a scalability runway beyond your current five-year projections."
"Interesting," Alicia said. "Implementation timeline?"
"Twelve to fifteen months. Partial savings within the first two quarters."
Alicia nodded.
Slide: ESG metrics.
"Finally, this isn't just cost savings. It's positioning. ESG metrics aren't optional for institutional investors. Falkirk's carbon footprint shrinks, sustainability profile strengthens, and investor optics improve across the board."
Final slide:
THE QUESTION ISN'T WHETHER FALKIRK NEEDS THIS. IT'S WHETHER FALKIRK CAN AFFORD TO WAIT.
The room held its breath.
That's my girl.
Nathan's chair creaked.
"Impressive presentation," he said. "But I have a few concerns."
"Of course," she said, fixing her eyes on him.
Nathan angled his head, a grin spreading. "Elion was built for a company a fraction of Falkirk's size. How do we know it'll scale?"
"Page seven," Emma replied. "Stress testing by Hartwell Analytics. Elion's architecture handled simulated loads at three hundred percent capacity without performance degradation."
Nathan's eye twitched.
Beautiful.
"And page twelve," she added, "contains case studies from our beta partners, Meridian Financial and CoreTech—both comparable to Falkirk's mid-tier divisions."
Farnsworth whistled softly. "These numbers are solid."
"They're optimistic," Nathan countered. "Best-case scenarios dressed as projections."
"They're conservative," Emma said calmly. "I can walk you through the methodology if you'd like. It's thorough."
Richter shifted. Shore blinked.
Nathan's expression hardened.
"I'm sure it is. But I think the board would benefit from a more measured approach. A pilot program. Limited scope."
"A pilot program," Emma echoed.
"Six months. One data center."
A delay tactic. Transparent.
Emma opened her mouth—
I saw it.
A tiny shift in her shoulders.
Time to end this.
"If I may," I said.
The room turned to face me.
"I agree a pilot isn't unreasonable in principle," I said. "But the timeline Mr. Bell suggests would cost Falkirk roughly eight million dollars in delayed savings—assuming Ms. Sinclair's conservative projections."
I glanced at her.
I've got you.
Her expression softened for half a heartbeat.
"And delaying integration undermines the merger's strategic rationale."
"I'm suggesting caution," Nathan said.
"We've already exercised caution," Linda cut in. "The audit debacle delayed us for weeks. Ms. Sinclair's numbers are sound."
She turned to Emma.
"I move that we approve the proposal as presented."
"Seconded," Alicia said.
"All in favor?" I asked.
Hands rose.
Farnsworth. Alicia. Linda.
Then mine—counting double.
Five.
Nathan blanched, stilling.
The room's attention shifted to Emma.
She didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Letting the silence coil around Nathan's throat. Her expression curdled him in stages—smugness cracking, uncertainty bleeding through, then the slow dawn of panic.
You forgot about her, I thought.
I never do.
Emma raised her hand.
Slow.
Deliberate.
"Six to five," I said. "The motion carries."
Nathan's face went the color of old brick.
Emma didn't smile.
She held his gaze—steady, unblinking—until he looked away first.
I sat at the head of the table and watched the woman I loved dismantle my enemy with nothing but competence and composure.
Pride settled into my chest.
This is what it feels like to be hers.