Chapter 23
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Damien
Emma and her team would be here any minute.
The thought alone was enough to set every nerve in my body humming. The faint trace of her perfume still clung to the T-shirt beneath my button-down—the same one I’d worn the night we’d breathed new life into the ruins between us. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to wash it.
Now, nine days and a handful of meetings later, the fabric itched against my skin, and I couldn’t decide if I’d tipped from sentimental into pathetic. Possibly both. Definitely not hygienic.
I’d already put my team through final prep that morning, every line sharpened enough to cut through distraction. Or it should have been. But between the memory of her mouth on mine and the knowledge that Nathan would be parked at the same damn table, focus was a lost cause.
I’d done everything short of criminal to keep him out of this meeting—reassignments, a conveniently “urgent” call with legal. None of it had stuck.
So I’d done the only thing left: apologized in advance for him. A preemptive strike born of ugly experience.
Now I paced the length of the glass-walled conference room, a caged animal in a very expensive suit. The skyline threw my reflection back at me: knees weak, shoulders set, hands buried in my pockets to hide the slickness on my palms.
“Mr. Holt.” Amber’s voice sliced through the noise in my head. Efficient, preppy, hungry—she treated every meeting like a rung on the ladder. Ms. Sinclair and her team have just arrived in the lobby.”
The sweat on my brow betrayed me. “Perfect.” I kept my voice level. “Bring them up.”
She dipped her chin and vanished, the echo of her heels fading down the corridor.
I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders once to bleed off tension. Across the table, Maria caught my eye. She’d already claimed the chair opposite mine—Emma’s chair. Temporary, but deliberate. A blockade to keep Nathan from sliding into it the second her back was turned.
A small nod passed between us. She understood the game. Nathan always played the same three cards: intimidate, undermine, invade. Not his official motto, but close enough to engrave on his headstone.
Not today. Not with Emma in the room.
Tessa had set up shop beside me, her folder a controlled explosion of highlighted prep notes and color-coded tabs. She’d nearly bowed out with a migraine, but she’d shown up anyway—knuckles white around the handle of her bag and posture straight as rebar.
I’d always believed that the more women in a room, the smoother the negotiation ran. Not in a fetishized way, just… a pattern. They tended to show up prepared and interested in outcome over ego.
Nathan, predictably, was the exception.
He’d already sprawled near the far end of the table, taking up space like it owed him rent. Face sour, shoulders heavy with whatever personal crisis had ruined his morning.
He’d muttered something earlier about a call from the child support office.
I hadn’t asked for details, but the implication had been enough to make me want to laugh.
As far as I knew, Nathan hadn’t contributed genes to anyone who’d admit it.
Whoever was on the other end of that call, I hoped they took him for everything he had.
Voices drifted down the hall—two male, two female—and then hers.
That sound hit me like a live current. She could cut glass one minute and ease a room the next. Perfection, spun into syllables.
The air around me seemed to tighten. My fingers flexed inside my pockets, a useless attempt to burn off the restless energy building under my skin. She hadn’t even stepped through the door, and my body reacted as if she was still pressed against my chest.
Her heels clicked down the hall, each step a countdown.
When she appeared in the doorway, the rest of the world fell out of frame.
She was… dangerous. Dark curls piled high into a bouncing updo, tiny spirals pulled from the sides to frame her face.
The fitted pencil skirt hugged her hips in a way that made my attempt at restraint feel like a full-time occupation, and her blouse—a deep, commanding red—matched the color painted across her mouth.
Ambition wrapped in silk and steel. If she’d asked for my soul, I wouldn’t have bothered negotiating.
But she wasn’t here for that. Not today. Today she was here for Elion.
I stepped forward, forcing my heartbeat into something that resembled a professional rhythm as I extended my hand. “Ms. Sinclair.”
“Mr. Holt,” she replied, taking my hand. Her grip was firm, unflinching. A silent declaration that whatever had passed between us would not bleed into today’s agenda.
“Thank you for offering to host today’s meeting,” she added, the words gliding over the formality with practiced ease.
“Our pleasure.” I inclined my head, keeping my tone measured. “I hope you had a chance to see the building. Meet some of our people.”
“I did. Everyone spoke very highly of you and what you’ve built.”
The pride that rose in me was impossible to hide. My hand brushed briefly over my sternum, the gesture instinctive. “That means more than you know.”
I could’ve stayed in that moment—held there between her smile and the weight of her words—but the room demanded motion, and the deal demanded precision.
I turned to Jennifer first, extending my hand. “Ms. Capolli. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“You as well, Mr. Holt.” Her expression was the professional version of a blade—polished, effective.
Then Broughton. Smith. Names, handshakes, the choreography of corporate civility.
Smith carried a faint scent of baby formula, cloying and sour at the edges.
I wondered how much sleep he’d lost this week.
Tessa would notice it—she missed nothing.
Maybe she’d use it later as an icebreaker; she had a way of disarming people with the smallest observations.
Emma had already shifted to Maria and Tessa, exchanging pleasantries with that effortless grace she weaponized so well.
Then Nathan.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bell,” Emma said, perfectly polite, not a trace of the disgust I knew sat under her skin.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Sinclair,” he replied, tone flat, making no move to offer his hand.
She didn’t falter. Didn’t blink. If anything, the lack of contact seemed to please her—a still victory tucked beneath immaculate control.
God, she is magnificent.
“Please, take a seat.” I gestured toward the mahogany table that cut through the center of the room like an altar.
Maria, perceptive as ever, had already shifted her things down the row, leaving Emma’s chair open across from me.
Emma took it without hesitation, smoothing the fabric of her skirt as she sat.
The gesture was unhurried, deliberate—command disguised as poise.
In the same motion, she flipped open her portfolio, pen poised in her hand, already the woman who could dismantle a boardroom with a single well-placed sentence.
“Today I’d like to address a few key points,” I began, taking my seat across from Emma. “Primarily—distribution of power.”
She glanced up, sharp and unreadable. “That works well for us. Elion’s ready to move into the finer details of our potential partnership.”
At the far end, Nathan leaned forward, mouth parting, ready to infect the conversation with whatever toxin he’d prepared.
I didn’t give him the chance.
“Falkirk is proposing shared command during the transition period,” I continued, tone even. “After integration, operational oversight would shift to our infrastructure division, while Elion retains management of its core systems.”
Emma didn’t look up right away, her pen moving in slow looping strokes. “Shared command,” she repeated, light but thoughtful. “And after integration?”
“Our logistics teams would take lead. You’d still hold advisory control—regular updates, review access.”
“Advisory control sounds like a polite way of saying we’ll be watching from the sidelines.”
I leaned back, letting one corner of my mouth lift. “Depends on your vantage point. Some people find oversight to be a position of power.”
Her expression glinted—amusement and challenge braided together. “And others prefer to be the ones giving the orders.”
Beside me, Tessa cleared her throat, pretending to rearrange her notes. At the end of the table, Nathan shifted, irritation rolling off him in waves at being excluded.
I ignored him and kept my focus where it belonged. “If control is the concern, Ms. Sinclair, Falkirk is open to discussion on weighted decision rights. Strategic calls could require joint approval in the first quarter. Equal power. Equal accountability.”
Nathan’s chair creaked as he leaned in, the sound sudden as a snapped branch. “Splitting control?” he repeated, incredulous. “That isn’t how these things work, Damien. Especially not with a company of Elion’s size. It’s… unprecedented.”
There it was. The baked-in condescension. Smaller therefore lesser.
Emma didn’t flinch. She finished the note she was writing, then looked up, cool and unbothered.
“Unheard of doesn’t mean unwise, Mr. Bell,” she said, unyielding.
“The structure we’re discussing supports integration while maintaining accountability on both sides.
It isn’t about size. It’s about competence. ”
Tessa’s fingers curled against the notepad. Maria’s lips twitched, amusement barely contained.
Nathan’s jaw ticked. “Competence isn’t the issue, Ms. Sinclair. Scale is. Falkirk operates on a global platform. Elion’s reach barely skims a fraction of that.”
“Then you should be relieved,” Emma replied, pleasant as honey. “We’ll only be taking responsibility for the systems we built—systems your global platform now depends on. I’d call that a fair division of power.”
Nathan blinked, thrown off by the clean hit. His mouth opened. Closed.
She was carving him up with a smile and a pen, and I almost felt bad for him.
Almost.