Chapter 23 #2
“Mr. Bell,” I said, before he could recover. “You’re right—Elion’s smaller. But the technology is the backbone of this merger. Without it, scale is irrelevant.”
He shot me a look that could have cracked glass. “I’m suggesting we don’t set a dangerous precedent.”
“Precedent?” Emma tilted her head, that sharp edge returning. “For what? Equality?”
The question landed gentle as silk and sharp as a knife. Even I had to bite back a laugh.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly.
“I’m sure it isn’t,” she replied, satisfaction flashing across her features before she dropped her attention back to her notes, dismissing him with the smallest movement.
He wasn’t finished.
“Damien,” Nathan said, voice oily. “Do you mind if we have a quick word?”
I blinked once. Bold. Dragging a superior out of his own meeting was the kind of move that usually ended careers. It might have ended his, if he weren’t insulated by six signatures on a board ledger.
Brave. Reckless. Predictable.
I considered shutting him down, forcing him to sit and remember his place. But if I did, he’d just shift tactics and find another outlet—one that started with Emma and ended with collateral damage.
So I rose, smooth and controlled. “Please, excuse us,” I said to the table.
Emma’s eyes cut to mine, quick and questioning. I tried to send something through the space between us—I’m sorry, I’ve got it—but the faint furrow in her brow told me it hadn’t quite landed.
The door closed behind us with a click. The hum of the room fell away, replaced by the low thrum of the hallway. Just the two of us now.
Nathan opened his mouth, but I was faster.
“What the fuck is this about, Nathan?” The words came out low, honed.
He laughed once, humorless. “What’s this about? What the fuck was that in there? Equality?” He spit the word out like it offended him.
“Yes. Equality.” My tone stayed deadly calm. “You should try it sometime. Might surprise you.”
His eyes narrowed, venom brightening in them. “You don’t have the authority to negotiate like this on your own.” He sneered. “Did you forget that?”
He wasn’t wrong. He was just irrelevant.
Technically, I didn’t have full clearance to sketch the structure alone. Pragmatically, I’d stopped caring thirty seconds into watching him line her up as a target.
A hard stillness settled along my features. “I didn’t forget,” I said, stepping closer. “I decided I’m done watching you treat her like she doesn’t deserve to be at the table.”
For a heartbeat, something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe—but it vanished under the expression I’d wanted to wipe from his face for years.
“Oh, Damien.” He dragged my name out, voice slick. “You’ve always been very protective of women in business.”
Meant to sting. It landed like a compliment.
“Not protective,” I snapped, fingers curling at my sides. “Just not a misogynistic asshole.”
I forced my shoulders to loosen, hand running over my tie. Through the glass, I caught movement—Emma glancing between Maria and Tessa as the others made small talk, awareness in the tilt of her head.
His words dropped into a mock-casual drawl. “Are you implying something, Holt?”
“I wouldn’t call it implying.” I closed the distance another inch. “More like stating a fact. You always go harder at the women in the room.”
He shrugged, lazy and smug. “Not my fault they can’t take it.”
The air went razor-edged.
“I’d say if they can’t stand the heat, they should get out of the kitchen,” he added, smirk deepening. “But…”
The implication hit like acid.
My teeth locked so hard my jaw ached. “You really are an asshole.”
His smile widened, pleased with himself, and for the first time all day I wanted to put my fist through something that wasn’t made of glass.
“That comment just revoked your return to the room,” I said, straightening my jacket. The words dropped hard enough to strip the amusement from his face.
“Bullshit,” he snapped.
“Go back to your office.” I stepped close enough that he flinched. “Shut your door, and shut your mouth. That’s not a suggestion.”
He swore under his breath but turned, footsteps pounding down the hall until the sound faded into the hum of the building.
I stayed where I was for a long breath, letting the adrenaline drain enough to slide the mask back on. Hand through hair. Straighten tie. Reassemble the man they expected to see.
Then I stepped back into the conference room.
“Apologies for the delay.” The door clicked shut behind me. My voice came out level, almost bored, like I hadn’t just been a breath away from breaking my CFO’s nose. “Mr. Bell and I were revisiting Falkirk’s position.”
I saw her first. I always did.
Emma held my gaze without the slightest hesitation, reading me in a way no one else ever could—and I tried, again, to give her the truth I still couldn’t speak.
He crossed a line. I cut it.
The tightness in her features released. A small nod passed between us before she turned back to the table, the picture of professional ease.
“It’s no problem at all, Mr. Holt. In fact, we’ve been having quite the conversation while you were away.”
I lifted a brow. “Really?”
“Yes.” Amusement threaded through her tone. “Ms. Morgan was just sharing her exciting news.”
I glanced toward Tessa and caught the way her hand drifted to her midsection, pride softening the hard focus in her eyes.
“Mr. Smith’s wife just had twins,” Emma explained, humor warming her tone. “He was offering some tips.”
Tessa grinned. “More like horror stories.”
Smith let out a booming laugh. “That might not be entirely wrong.”
Laughter rippled around the table, loosening the coil in the room by a degree. The storm from the hallway receded, replaced by something that almost felt like normal.
Then the door opened behind me, and normal evaporated.
Nathan rolled in, loud and unbothered. “Damien. Sorry, I took a second. The line for coffee was three deep.”
Everything in me tensed, but I reached out anyway—accepting the cup because appearances demanded it. A bland smile settled on my face. “Now that everyone is adequately caffeinated, we can pick up where we left off.”
I hadn’t even finished before Nathan cut across me.
“Actually,” he said, tapping his lid, “Mr. Holt and I discussed this, and I believe we’ll have to table today’s discussion.”
The room went very still. Emma’s expression saying everything her voice didn’t—what the hell is happening?
Nathan kept going, syrupy smooth. “Falkirk needs to align expectations internally before we can agree to today’s talking points.”
Her timeline flashed through my head like a warning flare. Every delay cut deeper into her margin. For a fraction of a second, panic crossed her face before she smothered it and folded her hands in her lap like she’d expected this all along.
Cold and heat hit me at the same time. I wanted to humiliate him. I wanted to drag him out of the room by his tie.
Before I could move, Emma stepped in.
“Actually,” she said, voice crisp, “that’s fine with us. We were a bit rushed for time today.”
It knocked him a step off center. The people who’d leaned in for spectacle leaned back again. Maria’s posture eased into something that looked a lot like satisfaction. Tessa’s shoulders dropped.
A smile threatened, but I kept my voice even. “If we’re tabling, let’s at least leave with a date. We’ll schedule a follow-up within five business days. Shorter if needed. I’ll have legal draft a precise timeline and a weighted decision framework by tomorrow morning.”
Emma lifted her pen, eyes on me. In that look I could read gratitude, challenge, and complication. “Five business days is acceptable provided Falkirk commits to shared access to all deployment metrics effective immediately, and we establish a live reporting channel for governance.”
Nathan started to protest—something about procedure, precedent, counsel.
I cut him off, polite and final. “Counsel will be looped in. This isn’t about ceremony. It’s about preventing delays that hurt both sides. I assume we’re aligned on that outcome.”
Agreement rippled through the room. Nathan’s protest trailed off into a muttered nothing.
Emma closed her portfolio with a decisive snap. “Excellent. Then we’ll reconvene on the proposed date and move forward with the items we agreed in principle today.”
The room emptied. I watched her go—the unhurried stride, the way her hips moved like she knew I was watching. She disappeared around the corner, and the composure I’d fought for cracked wide open.
The anger came roaring back, big and bright. I turned away from the conference room and went straight where I wanted to go.
Nathan’s office.
I pushed the door open hard enough that it hit the stopper, then shut it behind me with a slam that made his glassware rattle.
“Damien.” His expression was rot. Feet up on the desk, hands laced behind his head. “Here to thank me for keeping things interesting?”
“I’ll have your head for that.” I jabbed a finger toward his throat. I meant every word.
“Oh, please.” He scoffed. “All I did was save Falkirk from embarrassment.”
“It’s my company,” I snapped. Anger blurred the edges of the room.
“It was—before you went public.”
My hands found the edge of his desk and tightened, knuckles blanching.
“Now it’s my company,” he went on calmly, “and Richtner’s, and Shores’s, and Lang’s, and—”
“Enough.” The word cut through him. “We both know I’m still majority owner.”
He leaned back, folding his fingers like a man counting down to a punchline. “Yes. And that’s all very impressive.” Sing-song. Patronizing. “But you and I both know I hold the board.”
The words landed like a physical hit.
Five to five.
The numbers had followed me through too many sleepless nights.
I’d built Falkirk from nothing—late flights, ugly bets, deals signed over bad coffee at worse hours.
Growth had been the god, capital the offering.
I’d sold off pieces of the whole, one stake at a time, until the name on the door was more ceremonial than sovereign.
Nine seats. Ten votes—mine counted twice. Founder’s privilege. The only piece of the original stake I’d refused to let go.
And it still wasn’t enough.
Eight others sat on that board, and Nathan had been patient. That was the worst of it.
He’d made pets of four of them—drinks, jokes, late-night calls that blurred into shared secrets and lazy loyalties. Strangers who’d once sat across from me now laughed at his stories and nodded when he spoke. He’d slid himself into their trust like a hand into a glove. They were his now.
I let that truth settle between us. Let the fury cool into something sharper.
“Board majority or not,” I said finally, voice low enough to scrape, “you pull a stunt like that again, and I will end you.”
His face turned poisonous. “We’ll see how the board feels about that,” he said.
The threat hung there, quiet and real.
A knock cracked the air. Sharp, efficient. Both our heads turned to the door.
Nathan’s attention came back to mine, still lit with that slick satisfaction.
He adjusted his tie, oozing satisfaction. “Now, if that’s everything you wanted to discuss… my next meeting just arrived.”
The dismissal was clear. Get out.
I didn’t move at first. A dozen things crowded my tongue. None of them would’ve made it past the legal team.
So I stepped back instead, every muscle coiled.
“Enjoy your meeting.” Cool enough to frost glass. It wasn’t a courtesy. It was a promise.
Then I opened the door and walked out, shutting it behind me with just enough force to make the wall shiver.