Longing For Him

CHAPTER 6: Her

Jace

The Irish delegation represents Byrne Capital, a Dublin-based investment firm that manages commercial property and private equity holdings across Ireland and the UK. Their presentation fills the screen at the end of the table.

The figures move quickly as my CFO takes us through the revised numbers.

“The updated valuation is slightly higher than the previous assessment,” my CFO says. “The revised projection puts the company’s value at—”

“Why?” I ask.

She looks at the figures on the screen. “Higher projected revenue. Their existing contracts are performing better than initially expected, and they’re anticipating further growth over the next three years.”

“The projections are optimistic,” I say.

Byrne Capital CFO, Brittany McCartney, looks across the table. “They’re based on actual performance.”

“Partly,” I say. “The rest is an assumption.”

“The assumption is reasonable,” she says.

I glance at their CEO, Dave Mercer. “You agree?”

“I do,” he says. “The company has consistently exceeded its targets.”

“Which is reflected in our offer.”

“Your offer was based on the previous valuation,” he says.

“And the revised valuation still falls within the range we’ve offered.”

“Not comfortably,” Mercer says.

I look at her. “We’re already paying a premium.”

“A premium for what the company is worth now,” she says. “Not what it is likely to be worth in three years.”

“I don’t pay today’s money for tomorrow’s possibilities.”

Mercer gives a faint smile. “You negotiate hard.”

“I negotiate realistically.”

My CFO changes the slide.

“The revised figures also affect the proposed payment structure,” she says.

Brittany nods. “That’s something we’d like to discuss.”

“What about it?” I ask.

“We’d like a larger portion of the purchase price paid upfront,” she says.

“No.”

She pauses. “You haven’t heard the percentage.”

“I don’t need to.”

Mercer looks at me. “We’re asking for greater certainty.”

“You’re asking me to increase the amount of capital committed before we’ve even completed the acquisition.”

“We’re asking you to meet us halfway,” he says.

“I already have.”

Byrne’s legal adviser opens the agreement in front of him.

“There is also the matter of the liability clause,” he says.

“My legal team flagged it yesterday,” I say.

“They consider the wording too broad,” he says.

“They’re right.”

He looks at me. “We believe the provision could be narrowed.”

“Then narrow it.”

“The concern is that some of the existing contractual obligations may continue after completion.”

“And any liabilities arising from those existing obligations remain your responsibility,” I say.

Mercer shifts in his chair. “That’s difficult to accept.”

“Why?”

“Because once the acquisition is complete, those contracts become part of your business.”

“The contracts do,” I say. “The liabilities that existed before we acquired them don’t.”

Brittany looks down at the agreement.

“We could discuss a different allocation of the risk,” she says.

“My legal team can review any proposal you make.”

“And in exchange?” she asks.

“In exchange for what?”

She looks directly at me.

“A concession on the financial terms.”

I lean back in my chair.

“What concession?”

“We’d like some movement on the valuation,” she says.

“You want me to increase the valuation because you’re agreeing to limit the liabilities we’re assuming?”

“I’m suggesting that we find a balance.”

“That isn’t balance,” I say. “That’s asking me to pay more while taking on the same level of risk.”

Mercer speaks before she can respond.

“Then what would you consider reasonable?”

“The valuation stays where it is.”

“And the payment structure?”

“Unchanged.”

Their legal adviser looks at the agreement again.

“And the liability clause?”

“My lawyers will review your amendment.”

Mercer is silent for a moment.

“And if we can’t agree?”

I look at him.

“Then we walk away.”

Mercer doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches, and I let it. Silence is a tool because most people can’t stand it, so they fill it.

Brittany breaks first. “Walking away costs you as much as it costs us.”

“No,” I say. “It costs you more. You need this deal to close before your fund’s reporting period ends. I don’t need anything.”

Mercer’s jaw tightens, barely, but I catch it. That’s the tell. He’s not looking at the valuation anymore. He’s doing the math on what his investors will say if this collapses.

“You knew that,” he says quietly.

“I did.”

My CFO shifts beside me, uneasy with how bare I’ve laid it. She’s still thinking about numbers. I’m thinking about leverage.

Brittany tries once more, gentler this time. “There has to be something we can agree on today.”

“There is,” I say. “You keep the liability clause as drafted, with a narrower carve-out for obligations arising after signing but before completion — that’s the only movement I’ll make, and it costs me nothing. In exchange, upfront payment stays at the original percentage. Valuation stays where it is. You walk out with a deal that closes this quarter.”

“And if we don’t accept the carve-out?”

“Then the clause stays exactly as written, and you can explain to your investors why a nine-figure acquisition fell apart over three sentences of legal drafting.”

Mercer looks at Brittany. Something passes between them. A silent conversation of two people who already know they’ve lost but haven’t said it aloud yet.

“The carve-out,” Mercer says finally, “in exchange for the payment structure as originally proposed.”

“Yes.”

“And nothing else moves.”

“Nothing else moves.”

He exhales, and for the first time since we sat down, his shoulders drop half an inch. “Fine.”

Their legal adviser starts making notes and my CFO slides a quick glance at me.

Brittany closes the folder in front of her. “You don’t negotiate like someone trying to reach an agreement,” she says. “You negotiate like someone who already knows the outcome.”

“I do know it,” I say, standing. “I knew it before you walked in.”

I signal to my CFO to draft the amendment, shake Mercer’s hand firmly and briefly. I leave the room before the small talk can start.

I reach my office and loosen my tie, pour water instead of the whiskey I’d rather have at eleven in the morning, and sit. I look at my watch, it 10: 37 a.m. The meeting with Byrne Capital meeting took longer than scheduled.

My assistant has already sent the summary: signatures expected by Friday, the amendment routed to legal, a congratulatory line from the board chair that I’ll answer later, if at all. I close it without replying.

My shoulders are tired from all the tension and the base of my neck aches.

A notification slides across my screen.

‘Subject: Introductory Meeting— Director of Real Estate Investment— Today, 11:00 a.m.’

It is company policy that Director-level appointments and above are assigned office space on the executive floor and are required to complete an introductory meeting with the CEO.

I don’t open the email. For a moment I consider pushing it. But I’m not one to move things because I’m tired.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

“Sir,” my assistant Natalie pokes her head in, “I just wanted to confirm ... should I move the Introduc—”

“No,” I cut in, not looking up from the file in front of me.

I hear the door click shut behind her.

A knock sounds less than a minute later. The door opens.

“I said no—.”

My voice comes out sharper than I intended as I finally look up from the file.

And stop.

For one disorienting second, I don’t understand what I’m seeing. My mind refuses to make sense of the woman standing in my doorway.

It’s her.

My entire body goes rigid. Everything inside me stills.

She stands just inside the doorway, one hand resting against the handle, her expression just as stunned as mine. Ten feet away from me.

I stare at her.

I don’t blink.

I don’t breathe.

She’s beautiful. Breathtaking.

Neither of us says anything. Her eyes are on mine, mine on hers.

The air between us is thick with unsaid words and unresolved feelings. I don’t move. I can’t. My pulse is loud in my ears, but the rest of me has gone quiet.

She lets the door close behind her with a soft click. The sound is small, almost careful. Her hand falls away from the handle. She takes one step forward, then stops again, as if the floor itself might give under the weight of this.

I can’t take my eyes off her.

Her brown hair is twisted into a tight bun, with a few soft curls left loose, framing her face. They brush her temples and fall delicately along her cheeks.

Her face is sweet in a way I remember too well. Soft features, a small, straight nose, and a delicate chin give her an almost tender appearance.

Her eyes are a warm shade of brown I’d gotten used to staring at. Wide and expressive, they’ve always made it impossible for her to hide what she’s feeling.

Her skin is fair, smooth and warm beneath the light, with the faintest flush across her cheeks. Her lips are full but soft, naturally pink, pressed together now as though she’s trying to steady herself.

Her lips part slightly as she searches for something to say. My chest tightens.

For years, I’ve imagined what it would feel like to see her again. None of those imaginings got it right.

She draws a breath.

“Hi, Jace.”