6. Luther
Luther
Iget to the office early—partly because I’m still on East Coast time, and partly because I refuse to be unprepared for the meeting with the team working on the Novagene project.
If this goes south, I’ll embarrass myself not just in front of my father but also my Godfather, who happens to be the CEO of Novagene Pharmaceuticals.
Talk about a clusterfuck waiting to happen.
But it’s not just the project putting me on edge.
It’s her.
Anouk Starling, who makes me feel like a Goddamn bulldozer on legs.
I check the wall clock in Conference Room 2A. The meeting with the team starts in twenty minutes. Enough time to—
I open the company messaging app and pull up Anouk’s profile. Her dot is green—she’s logged on.
I type before I can overthink it:
Me: Anouk, can you come to Conference Room 2A? I’d like to speak with you before the meeting.
A full minute passes before her reply pings back.
Anouk: I’m on my way.
Five minutes later, there’s a soft knock on the door.
“Come in.”
She steps inside and offers me a small, tentative smile. “G-good morning.”
“Morning,” I reply gruffly.
She looks different today. The same, but not.
Her hair is braided instead of loose, the way it was yesterday, and soft auburn wisps frame her face. Her eyes—green with a flicker of purple I somehow didn’t notice before—are wide. Expectant. Bracing.
She’s expecting the worst, which makes me feel like even more of an asshole.
I close my laptop and gesture to the chair across from me.
She sets her computer on the table and takes a seat. The leather chair practically swallows her whole. She’s a size zero or two at most—but not in a runway model way, more like a woodland nymph.
Woodland nymph? Seriously, Luther? You’re losing your fucking mind.
Today, she’s wearing black dress pants and a black blouse, offset by a bright silk scarf—purple and pink patterns that shouldn’t work, but somehow do.
Her makeup is minimal. Maybe gloss. Maybe mascara. Nothing else.
It’s all very Parisian chic.
My eyes drop to her shoes, curious. Heels? Sneakers?
Neither.
Black leather booties. Not cheap but not ridiculous either. Somewhere in between comfort and high fashion.
She’s well put together. That’s what I missed yesterday. I saw someone low on confidence because she struggled to speak. But now I’m seeing a woman who dresses with intention, care, and precision.
She could wear a non-descript, boring suit like so many professionals, but she doesn’t—probably because that wouldn’t be authentic to who she is.
She’s professional without being stuffy. Elegant without being dull. The kind of woman who probably lives in yoga pants at home but comes to work armored in fabric.
And that’s when realization strikes.
She’s compensating.
Not for incompetence, though. It’s for assumptions, for the judgment that arrives the second she opens her mouth. She dresses to buy herself credibility. To secure a fair first impression.
A dull ache spreads where my breath should move freely.
She dresses this way for men like me.
Yesterday, I saw someone who struggled to speak.
Today, I see a woman who’s spent her entire career making sure she’s taken seriously anyway.
If I weren’t already feeling like a jackass, this epiphany would’ve done it.
“Thanks for making time to talk to me before the meeting.” I keep my tone level because my emotions are in turmoil, and I’m not used to it.
“N-no p-problem.” She gives me a small smile. If she gave me a full-wattage smile, I’d probably be the one stuttering because she is fucking radiant.
“I want to talk about the Novagene project,” I manage to say, hoping my face doesn’t show that I’m a little smitten with her.
What the hell, Luther? She’s an employee. Plus, she isn’t your type. You’ve always gone for women who are confident, outspoken, and unafraid to claim a room. So why does this quiet, hesitant woman have your attention?
She nods, throat bobbing. “O-okay.”
I keep my posture neutral, hands loose on the table, no raised voice, no clipped directives.
I’m trying. God, but I’m trying.
“You’ll be responsible for the predictive model,” I continue. “Baseline volatility. Forecasting. The supplier risk matrix.”
She leans slightly forward. “I-I’ve b-built mod…mod—” She closes her eyes for a small moment and then opens them again as she lets out a long, deep breath. “Models like this before.”
“Good,” I say.
“I…read everything posted on Sh-SharePoint.”
Already? She only got access to it late yesterday evening.
“Do you have any initial thoughts?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She inhales like she’s about to dive underwater. “N-Novagene uses…uh…uses th-three tiers of suppliers. Their b-b-biggest issue is the v-variance in r-raw m-material costs.”
Her voice trembles.
Her logic doesn’t.
“They p-purchase reagents fr-from a com-company in Istanbul,” she continues. “The lead times d-dr-drop if they renegotiate their m-minimum order thresholds.”
Really? I didn’t notice that, and I’ve gone through all the information, twice.
Did she already parse through all the data and come up with this?
I guess this is what Dot meant.
“Keep going.”
She swallows. “If they re-struc… re—”
“Restructure?” I offer.
Christ, is that okay? Am I supposed to let her take five minutes to say a single word in the middle of a meeting? Or can I help?
“Yes, their MOQ con-contracts.” She straightens, and I worry she’s going to crack her spine. “They can shift the ho-holding costs d-down…down…stream.”
“And what will that do?” I ask, tamping down my impatience because I want to know what’s on her mind.
Maybe Erin needs to schedule longer team meetings, so Anouk isn’t rushed. We need her voice in the room—she’s the one running the damn numbers.
She nods quickly, relieved that I’m understanding her. “Yes. It d-de—decreases volatility by sixty-seven percent in s-scenario two.”
What the hell?
Sixty-seven percent?
Did she run the numbers already?
When did she find the time?
“Show me,” I snap.
She opens her laptop. Her hands shake, and guilt hits me square in the chest—I’ve done this to her.
She turns the screen toward me.
Her spreadsheet is dense, but clean. Tight pivot tables. No clutter. Her formulas are nested in ways even my senior analysts rarely achieve.
I study her work, and a faint warmth crawls up my neck.
She’s good.
Not promotion-good or even top-ten-percent good. More like top-tier, best-in-the-business good.
“And if we, um…i-introduce a st-stoch…stoch— stoch—”
She exhales, jaw tightening as the word catches.
I hesitate, then glance at her. “Is it okay if I say it?”
She shakes her head, just slightly.
“No. I’ve got it.”
I nod immediately, withdraw without comment.
She takes a breath. Another.
“Sto-stochastic re-regression,” she says at last.
I smile—not because she struggled, but because she didn’t stop.
“And you’re thinking of using Monte Carlo simulations,” I say, once she’s finished.
Her gaze lifts—quick, startled—like she didn’t expect me to keep up.
I clear my throat. “It’s ambitious.”
“It’s n-necessary.” Her voice firms. “N-Novagene’s th-threshold for variance has to be b-below—” She pauses. It’s deliberate, probably to give her time to gather her words. “Below f-five percent. O-Otherwise they’ll reject the e-entire model.”
She knows her numbers.
She knows Novagene’s tolerance, risk appetite, and production cycles.
She’s prepared—even if her voice betrays her.
Her intelligence has a pulse.
“You know what you’re doing.” I lean back, studying her face.
Her cheeks flush at my barely discernible compliment.
She nods, shoulders loosening with relief.
“Anouk,” I add quietly. “You can speak freely with me. And take your time. I won’t rush you again.”
Her eyebrows lift in quiet surprise. She wasn’t expecting that.
Hell, I wasn’t expecting that.
But damn—if she can deliver like this, I’ll give her whatever time she needs. We’ll just get someone else to present in high-profile situations.
“Th-thank you.”
Her gratitude hits me dead center in the chest, lighting up every guilt center I have.
Thankfully, the conference room door opens then, and several people pour in, saving me from myself.
Vijay Shah—someone I brought with me to HelixSphere from my last two rotations—gives me a questioning look when he spots Anouk already seated.
I shake my head.
Nothing to see here, folks, keep moving.
He sits next to her and introduces himself. He’s supersmart and down-to-earth. He doesn’t have the stiff professional armor that Erin has, which makes him more personable.
Anouk smiles at him. She looks relaxed—far more at ease than she ever is with me—and a sharp, unmistakable pinch of jealousy twists low in my gut.
What the fuck?
Erin takes her customary place at my right, as always, because she runs my meetings.
“So, she’s going to be on the team?” she asks me.
Anouk’s looking straight at us right then. Erin is whispering, but her voice is not carrying. I don’t think Anouk can hear us. I hope she can’t.
“Yes.” I turn back to look at Erin.
“You sure about that?” She gives me a pointed look.
“Yes.”
“You can’t allow her to present and—”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we get there,” I cut her off, not wanting to get into it now.
Erin runs through the agenda, and the ten people on the team introduce themselves.
It’s important that everyone in this room gets along for the next six to eight months; we’ll be working very closely, and the last thing I need is drama inside the project team.
“Anouk, we will need you to work with Vijay on building the base model. This project will take the highest priority. Dot knows this,” Erin orders.
Anouk smiles and nods. She’s eager, excited, even if she is a little apprehensive.
Vijay says something to her, and she…giggles?
It’s so incongruous with her usual composure that it jolts me. I’ve never heard that sound from her before, so the surprise makes sense. What doesn’t make sense—what rattles me—is the unmistakable surge of desire that follows.
“Something you want to share with the rest of the team?” Erin clips. “Anouk, Vijay?”
Erin is efficient, no doubt about it, but she’s bloodless in how she approaches business.
I know she also thinks she’s competing with Vijay for a VP position in the headquarters when I take over as CEO.
I don’t mind team members being competitive as long as they aren’t mean-spirited about it.
Vijay never is, but Erin can be. I have been coaching her to work through this and regulate her forcefulness, but she struggles, especially when she’s feeling insecure.
Vijay is self-assured and usually doesn’t let Erin get to him, which is why her pokes and prods don’t cause the kind of conflict they could. I make a mental note to talk to her at our next one-on-one about how she interacts with Vijay.
“We were just talking about how if this forecast behaves anything like Novagene’s procurement data. We’re going to need therapy and caffeine.”
Everyone in the room chuckles at that, me included.
Erin stiffens. “Well, let’s move on to the next agenda point.”
The light mood in the room deflates at her tone.
I sigh.
Erin is efficient, but efficiency that erodes morale isn’t a win.
If she continues like this, there will come a point where I won’t be able to promote her as I rise through the company.
I’ve told her this before, but she’s not able to unlearn the consultant-asshole-leadership training she imbibed in the early part of her career.
“What? You already did that?” A team member sitting to Anouk’s right squeals. “How could you already have done that?”
Vijay leans over to her laptop, eyebrows lifting. “This is…wow! And you got all the data just last night?”
She blushes. “This morning.”
“People, can we focus?” Erin stands up, palms on the desk like she’s reprimanding toddlers.
“Erin,” I warn softly.
She looks at me, and immediately, I see her reeling it back in. She knows she’s being a bully, and she needs to calm down.
“Can you tell us what you’ve already worked on, Anouk?” I ask gently. “Can you put it on the screen?”
She looks at me with panicked green eyes, and I want to hold her hand, tell her it’s going to be alright.
Erin sighs. “We don’t have time for this, Luther,” she bites out.
“Let’s make the time,” I reply coolly.
Erin knows this tone; it’s polite, but it’s asking her to shut the fuck up.
Anouk stands slowly, visibly steadying herself.
She connects her laptop to the monitor, and the spreadsheet populates across the screen—clean columns, structured pivot tables, crisp conditional formatting. The work of someone who sees data like music.
“Uh…s-so,” she begins, swallowing. “I—I st-started with N-Novagene’s thr-three…t-tier sup—”
She falters, breath hitching, but she doesn’t stop.
Vijay glances at her—not at the room. “Three-tier supplier model,” he offers, lightly, like a footnote rather than a rescue.
I see a flicker in her eyes, but she keeps going. She seems less bothered by his help, though, when I tried to help her finish her words, she’d shaken her head.
What the fuck was her game?
“The pr-primary driver of cost instability is r-r-raw material v-va…va—”
She pauses, jaw tightening as she works through it.
“Variance,” Vijay says again, gently, almost deferential, eyes still on the screen as if to soften the intrusion.
Her mouth presses into a thin tight smile.
“Y-yes,” she says, reclaiming the floor. “A-and their r-reagent s-supplier in I-I-stanbul—”
“BTI Corporation,” Vijay adds.
A few people glance up, impressed by the coordination.
It bothers me more than it should that he already knows her rhythm—that he fills the gaps like it’s instinct, like permission was ever given.
She straightens, steadier now. “Lead t-times d-drop if they renegotiate m-minimum order th-thresholds.”
“That’s correct,” Vijay says, clearly impressed. “And she quantified the downstream impact.”
Anouk clicks to the next slide. “S-Scenario Two sh-shows a sixty-s-seven percent r-reduction in volatility.”
A stunned silence settles over the room.
One of the analysts whispers, “Sixty-seven?”
I grin at how everyone has gone from thinking ”Can she hurry the fuck up” to ”Holy mother of God, but she’s good.” This is exactly why I wanted her to present to everyone what she’d shown to me.
When she finishes, she lowers herself back into her chair, chest rising and falling like she’s run a race. She twists her fingers in her scarf—clearly thinking she bombed it.
She didn’t.
Not even close.
“That’s damn good work, Anouk.” I give her a reassuring smile. “If this is what you can do in one morning, I can’t wait to see what you deliver throughout this project.”
Her head snaps up.
She looks…relieved?
Surprised?
Beautiful.
Fuck me, where did that come from?