14. Declan
FOURTEEN
DECLAN
Left hook. Right cross. Left.
The bag swung. I followed it.
Stay out of my personal life, Declan. It doesn't involve you.
I hit it again before it came back, driving my fist into the leather with a force that traveled up my arm and into my shoulder and sat there, burning.
I offered to help. That's what I did. That's the one thing I knew how to do — see a problem, produce a solution. But Thea Calloway was a different type of woman. She looked at me like I'd tried to buy her.
Left. Left. Right.
I was angry. I was confused. I was standing on the wrong side of a line I didn't draw. For the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to do.
I stopped, pressed my forehead against the bag, and breathed. I straightened up, unwrapped the tape, and looked at my knuckles — raw, red, the skin split on the left.
I made a decision there and then. I was going to do everything but stay out of her life.
The Vanguard was already humming when I stepped off the elevator. Julian was in my office. He was in the chair across from my desk, legs crossed, a folder open on his knee. He looked up when I walked in.
"The Caine sit-down is at two. Their turf last time, ours today. I've got the revised term sheet and the…" He stopped and tilted his head. "What's wrong with you?"
I frowned and marched to my chair. "Nothing."
"It’s not nothing." He closed the folder. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”
My frown deepened. “Are you begging to be tossed out on your ass?”
“Ha! Give it your best shot. I’d love to see you try.”
I sat behind my desk, pulled the Roland Caine file toward me, and opened it. The numbers blurred. "The Caine revenue projections," I said. "What's the run rate on the streaming platform?"
He eyed me for a beat, but he answered anyway. "Four hundred thousand subscribers at a forty-dollar annual price point. Sixteen million top-line. But that's not what I asked you."
"The podcast network. What's the advertising Cost Per Mille (CPM) across the — "
"Declan." I looked up. Julian's hazel eyes were steady. The grin was gone. "What happened?"
I leaned back and rubbed the back of my neck. "I offered to help with her nonprofit, and she shut me down. Now, can we get back to business?"
“She gives you a hard time?”
I shrugged. “Pretty much.”
Julian was quiet for a moment. He uncrossed his legs and crossed them the other way. His fingers tapped the folder once. "So she's the first person in your life who doesn't want your money. And you're confused because you don't know what else to offer."
Well, that was accurate. Providing was the only language I spoke. She just told me she didn't need a translator.
"So what do I do?"
Julian picked up his folder. "You figure out what you have that isn't money, and you offer that instead." He stood. "In the meantime, we have a deal to close. Get your head right."
He walked out of the office. I spent the next hour trying and failing to focus on Caine’s file. All I could think about was the argument and possible ways to make it up to her. I couldn’t come up with anything.
My mind was still blank as we made our way to the conference room. We sat. Graham was behind me, notebook open. Julian to my right. Nolan to my left, still as a wall.
Roland Caine walked in with two of his people — his Chief Financial Officer (CFO) and a lawyer I hadn't seen before. "Declan." I cocked my head. So we were on a first-name basis now. Interesting. I leaned over so we could shake hands. "Beautiful building you have here."
"Thank you, Caine. We try."
The term sheet was between us. Twenty pages.
Six weeks of negotiation compressed into clean type and defined margins.
I walked Caine through the revisions, the valuation adjustment, the earn-out structure, and the retention package for key personnel.
He listened. His CFO took notes. His lawyer read ahead.
"The earn-out," Caine said. He tapped the page. "Three years is too long. My team will lose motivation if they're waiting three years for the upside."
"Two years with a performance accelerator," I said. "If the streaming platform hits a million subscribers in eighteen months, the earn-out triggers early."
Caine looked at his CFO. The CFO nodded.
"And the board seats?" Caine asked.
"Two. You and your choice of a second. Advisory capacity, not operational. You built this, Caine. I'm not going to pretend I know how to run a media company, but the acquisition is ours to execute."
He leaned back. His fingers drummed the table. The silver ring on his right hand caught the light. "My name stays on the building."
"For two years. After that, it transitions to the Vanguard brand. But the Caine name stays on the foundation — the one Evelyn runs. That's permanent."
He grinned. "You're a smart young man, Declan."
"I learned from the best, Caine. We’ll make adjustments to the contract, and we can meet again for signing.”
Caine stood and extended his hand. "Welcome to the media business, gentlemen."
"Welcome to the Vanguard, Caine."
Caine left with his people. The door closed. The conference room was quiet for three seconds.
Julian leaned back in his chair and grinned. "About time."
Nolan huffed. “It’s not over until we sign. Let’s keep our eyes down still.”
Julian was already on his feet. "Relax, man. We need a drink. Immediately. Graham, is there anything in the bar?"
Graham adjusted his glasses. "Several things."
Julian found a Macallan that had been sitting in the Vanguard's bar for occasions exactly like this. He poured three glasses. We stood in the conference room with the city spread behind the glass and raised our drinks.
"To Caine Media," Julian said.
"To the Vanguard," I said.
Nolan raised his glass. He drank wordlessly.
Julian set his glass down and loosened his tie. "All right. I have a pressing matter to discuss. I haven't met your daughter, which is completely unacceptable. I plan to rectify that tonight." He turned to my left. "Nolan, you're coming too."
Nolan looked at Julian. "No."
"Yes. It would be rude not to meet her in person. She's a Vanguard baby. She deserves to meet all three partners."
"She's an infant. She doesn't know what a partner is."
"All the more reason. We need to establish the relationship early." Julian was already gathering his jacket. "We'll stop to get her gifts on the way. I saw a place in Madison that sells cashmere baby clothes."
"I'm not buying cashmere for an infant," Nolan said.
"Fine. You can get a stuffed animal."
Nolan closed his eyes. "I’ll give you one hour."
Julian grinned. "That's the spirit."
We stopped at the shop on Madison. Julian disappeared inside and emerged ten minutes later, carrying a gift bag with tissue paper billowing from the top. Nolan walked to the shop next door and came back with a small brown paper bag.
"Don't say a word," Nolan said to Julian.
Julian crossed his hands over his lips.
We climbed into our respective cars and drove to my apartment next. The elevator opened onto the penthouse, and Nolan stepped out last. He looked at the foyer, the hallway, the lack of art or any colorful furniture.
It was then that I realized this was their first time in this apartment.
"Do you actually live here?" he asked.
"It looks like a hotel lobby, doesn’t it?" Julian chimed in.
I shook my head and started walking. "Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment," Julian called after me.
Mrs. Parrish was in the hallway, coat on, bag in hand. She nodded at me. "Mr. Hale, the baby is with Dominique in the nursery." She glanced at Julian and Nolan. "Gentlemen."
"Mrs. Parrish." Julian gave her his most charming smile. "A pleasure, as always."
She frowned. "You've never met me."
"And yet the pleasure is already immense."
She blinked once, turned, and left.
Julian looked at me. "I like her."
I groaned. This was why I kept Julian as far away from my apartment as possible.
We went to the nursery first. Dominique was in the rocking chair with Lena on her shoulder. She stood when we walked in and transferred the baby to me. I took her with both hands carefully. She looked up at me with those blue eyes and blew a bubble.
Julian leaned in. His face was inches from hers. "My god, she's gorgeous. She looks nothing like you, Dec. Thank God for that."
"Thank you, Julian."
"I mean it. She must take after her mother, because there's no way this face…" He gestured at Lena. "...came from this face." He gestured at me.
I rolled my eyes. "Are you done?"
"Not even close." He reached for her. "Can I hold her?"
I transferred Lena into his arms.
He held her gently. "She's looking at me." He glanced at Nolan. "Is she judging me? She's definitely judging me." Nolan stood near the door. Arms at his sides. He didn't reach for her. He didn't step closer. "Your turn, Reeves," Julian said.
"No."
"Come on. She doesn't bite. She doesn't have teeth."
"I said no."
Julian looked at me. I shook my head slightly. Not tonight.
We were still heading for the kitchen when Julian handed Lena to me. I cradled her against my chest with one arm, the other free — and then I caught the smell of smoke.
Thea was at the stove. Her hair was up, the off-center bun, a dish towel over her shoulder. Something was simmering in a pot, and a thin plume of gray smoke was rising from a pan beside it.
She stirred with one hand and reached for the spice rack with the other. She looked up, saw Julian behind me, and Nolan behind Julian. Her eyes went wide, and she jerked back from the stove. The spoon in her hand sent a splatter of something red across the counter.
"I should have called ahead," I said.
She glared at me. "You think?"
Julian stepped around me, gift bag in hand, and a smile already deployed.
"Thea Calloway. Julian Cross. I've heard everything about you, and I brought presents.
" He set the gift bag on the counter and extended his hand.
"You're even more beautiful than Declan described, which is saying something because he's usually very stingy with compliments. "
Thea wiped her palm on the dish towel and shook Julian's hand. "He's never complimented me."
"See? Stingy. Told you."
Nolan stepped forward. He didn't extend his hand until she extended hers first. "Nolan Reeves."
"Thea." She shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you."
"Likewise." He stepped back.
Thea smiled at them and moved toward me. "You could have warned me," she hissed under her breath.
"I know."
"I look like a disaster."
"You look fine."
She grabbed the pan and moved it off the burner. She scraped the contents into the trash, blackened garlic from the looks of it — the third funeral this week for that particular ingredient.
“Can I hold her again?” I heard Julian ask. I nodded and handed her to him. Lena’s tiny hand reached for his tie immediately. "I think your baby’s trying to strangle me, Hale."
Thea crossed the kitchen and eased Lena's fingers off the fabric. "Here. Support her head with this hand. Tuck her against your body, not away from it."
She adjusted his hold. Julian looked down at Lena. Lena looked up at Julian. She grabbed his finger.
"Oh." Julian's voice dropped. "Oh, that's…okay. That's…" He swallowed and looked at me. "You're in trouble, Dec. She's going to own every room she walks into."
"Like father, like daughter," I said.
Julian carried Lena to the living room and sat down carefully on the couch, like the cushions were made of glass. Nolan stood across the room, watching. His hands were behind his back.
Dinner was Thea's rescue attempt after the garlic catastrophe. She'd pivoted to pasta with butter and herbs, which was within her skill range, and a salad that Nolan assembled without being asked, which startled everyone. I almost didn’t want to eat it. Just in case.
We ate at the kitchen counter because the dining table was covered in case files Thea was reviewing.
Julian ate with enthusiasm. "This is delicious."
"It's butter and pasta."
"Exactly. Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." He raised his fork. "Leonardo da Vinci said that."
Thea chuckled. "He was talking about art, not about my inability to cook garlic."
After dinner, Dominique took Lena to bed. Mrs. Parrish had already left. Julian stood, stretched, and picked up his jacket.
"Thea" — he opened his arms — "it's been a genuine pleasure."
She looked at the open arms. She hesitated for one second. Then she stepped in and let him hug her. Julian wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.
Nolan was already at the door. He nodded at Thea. She nodded back. Nolan said nothing. They stepped into the elevator. The doors closed.
And we were alone in the kitchen again. The last time we were alone here, she yelled at me. What was going to happen now?
Thea moved to the sink. She began running water over the plates, her sleeves pushed up, the dish towel back on her shoulder. I picked up the serving bowl from the counter and brought it to her. She took it without looking.
I picked up the glasses and brought those too. She washed. I dried.
"I'm sorry." Her hands kept moving in the water. She didn’t stop to look at me. "About yesterday. I was harsh. You were trying to help, and I know that." A plate. Rinsed. Handed to me. "I just don't know how to let people help without hearing something else underneath it."
I took the plate, dried it, and set it on the counter.
"I'm sorry too." I picked up the next one. "I should have asked what you needed instead of deciding for you." The towel moved over the plate. "That’s the only thing I know how to do."
She handed me another plate. Our fingers brushed on the ceramic. She didn't pull back. Neither did I.
"Your partners are interesting," she said.
"That's one word for them."
She laughed. Her eyes crinkled, her mouth opened, and the stiffness in her shoulders dissolved. The laugh was full and bright, bouncing off the kitchen walls. I stopped mid-dry with the dish towel in my hand and stared at her.
The laughter faded. She looked at me. I was still staring.
"What?" she said.
I didn't answer. The dish towel was in my hand. I was thinking about how this kitchen never smelled like anything before she moved in, and now it smelled like burnt garlic, butter, and lavender, and I didn't want it to stop.
She saw me looking. She didn't look away. Her hands came out of the water. She dried them on the towel on her shoulder. Her eyes were on mine.
I left the plate on the counter and stepped toward her. She didn't step back.
My hand came up and found her chin. My thumb against her jaw, my fingers light on the side of her neck. Her skin was warm. Damp from the steam.
I kissed her. Slowly. Her lips pressed back. Her hand came up to my wrist as she held on. We pulled apart. Inches between us. Her breath in my mouth.
"What are we doing?" she whispered.
"I don't know." My thumb moved along her jaw. "But I like where it's going."
I kissed her again.