When I Stopped Waiting

Episode Four

Chapter 4

At His Right Hand

The boardroom at Yale Group occupied the highest floor of the building.

It was long, cold, and bright, with a wall of glass overlooking the city and a table polished so deeply it reflected faces like dark water. Every Monday morning, the directors gathered there with their folders, their coffee, and their carefully neutral expressions.

And almost all of them disliked Charles.

Not openly, of course.

Open dislike was for people without power.

They smiled when he entered. They greeted him with polite voices. They asked about his health, his schedule, his grandfather, the market, and anything else that could be used as a weapon later.

Charles walked in without slowing.

I followed half a step behind him, tablet in hand.

The room quietened at once.

Charles took his seat at the head of the table.

I stood to his right.

Not beside him as a woman.

Beside him as a function.

The projector was already on. Director Lewis’s revised presentation waited on the screen. Shane had managed to remove the worst of the nonsense, but the title slide still looked far too confident for a proposal that had been bleeding risk since Friday.

Charles glanced at it once.

His expression did not change.

That meant he hated it.

Director Lewis, unfortunately, did not know him well enough to be afraid yet.

“Mr Yale,” Lewis began, smiling in the enthusiastic way of a man about to step on a trap, “as you can see, this proposal represents a highly promising direction for the second quarter. We believe the market response will be aggressive, but positive.”

Charles leaned back in his chair.

“Aggressive and positive are not the same thing.”

Lewis’s smile faltered.

“Of course. What I mean is that the market is ready for an ambitious expansion.”

“Based on which figure?”

Lewis blinked.

Charles looked at him.

The silence stretched.

I lowered my eyes to the tablet.

“Page twelve,” I said softly.

Charles did not turn his head, but his fingers tapped once against the table.

Lewis quickly flipped through his notes.

“Yes, page twelve. Based on the projected demand increase of eighteen per cent over the next six months.”

Director Grayson gave a faint cough from the other side of the table.

“Projected by whom?”

Lewis froze again.

I scrolled down.

“Northbridge Market Analytics,” I supplied quietly. “Their report was published last Thursday. However, the eighteen per cent estimate applies to the broader regional sector, not our specific product line.”

Charles’s gaze moved to Lewis.

Lewis’s face tightened.

I continued, voice calm.

“For our segment, the adjusted figure is closer to nine to eleven per cent, depending on whether the new distribution agreement is signed before the end of the month.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Charles looked away from Lewis and said, “Continue.”

Just one word.

Lewis swallowed and continued.

The presentation limped forward.

Every few minutes, someone asked a question designed less to clarify than to expose weakness. Director Grayson wanted the cost analysis. Director Huang questioned the hiring plan. One of the older board members asked whether the West City project had already overextended the company’s cash flow.

Each time, Charles answered without hesitation.

When he needed a date, I gave it.

When he needed a number, I placed it on the screen before anyone else could search for it.

When someone tried to misquote last quarter’s revenue, I opened the original report and corrected him before Charles even raised his eyes.

A secretary who spoke too much became annoying.

A secretary who spoke at the right moment became furniture with excellent timing.

By the time Lewis finished, the confidence had drained from his face. His collar sat too tight against his throat, and he no longer looked at Charles directly.

Charles closed the folder in front of him.

“This proposal is not ready.”

Lewis’s lips parted.

“Mr Yale, if we delay, Phillip Corp may move first.”

“If Phillip Corp wants to make a reckless move, let them.”

“But the market…”

“The market does not reward panic simply because it is wearing a suit.”

A few directors lowered their eyes.

I pretended not to see.

Charles’s voice remained flat.

“Revise the proposal. Cut the projected growth to a defensible range. Recalculate costs using the actual hiring plan, not the fantasy version. Remove every sentence that sounds like it was written for investors who cannot read.”

Lewis’s face turned pale.

“Yes, Mr Yale.”

“And Director Lewis.”

“Yes?”

Charles looked at him.

“Do not bring me ambition without arithmetic again.”

Lewis lowered his head.

“Yes, Mr Yale.”

The meeting moved on.

Next was West City.

The room shifted almost immediately.

West City was not just another project. Too much money had already been committed, too many people were watching, and Henderson’s sudden request to delay the compensation clause had made everyone uneasy.

Charles’s fingers rested lightly on the edge of the file.

He did not look at me, but I knew what he wanted.

I tapped the tablet and sent the supporting documents to the boardroom screen.

“Yesterday evening, Henderson’s office contacted three external consultants connected to Phillip Corp,” I said. “At the same time, Phillip Corp registered two subsidiaries in West City. The timing is unlikely to be accidental.”

Director Huang sat forward.

“Are you saying they’re preparing a competing bid?”

“I’m saying they are preparing the option,” I replied. “Whether they use it depends on how much room we give Henderson.”

Grayson looked at me for the first time that morning.

His eyes were sharp behind his glasses.

“Miss Bennet, when did you receive this information?”

“At seven thirty-two this morning.”

“And you verified it?”

“Yes.”

“With whom?”

I named the legal contact, the registration database, and the analyst who had confirmed the connection.

Grayson tapped his pen once against the table.

Then he smiled faintly.

“Efficient as always.”

Praise from Director Grayson was never free.

I lowered my head slightly.

“Thank you, Director Grayson.”

Charles’s expression cooled.

The meeting ended twenty minutes later.

Chairs shifted. Folders closed. The directors stood one after another, smiling again now that the sharper knives had been put away.

“Mr Yale, good work.”

“Strong handling of West City.”

“Miss Bennet, please send through the updated materials.”

I nodded.

“Of course.”

Charles had already turned towards the door.

I gathered the files and followed.

As soon as we left the boardroom, the tension in my shoulders loosened by a fraction.

Only a fraction.

Charles walked ahead, silent.

I matched his pace.

Behind us, the directors’ voices faded. Ahead, the corridor stretched long and bright towards the private lift. The glass wall reflected us as we moved: Charles in front, me behind him, the distance between us perfectly measured.

Not too close.

Not too far.

The same distance as always.

When we reached the lift, Charles pressed the button.

The doors opened.

We stepped inside.

The moment they closed, the polished quiet wrapped around us.

Charles looked at me through the reflection in the metal doors.

“Seven thirty-two?”

I knew what he meant.

“The registration update came through after breakfast.”

“You didn’t mention it in the car.”

“You were reading the German contract.”

“That wouldn’t have stopped you.”

“No,” I admitted. “But you looked annoyed.”

Charles turned his head slightly.

“So you decided to protect my mood?”

“I decided to protect the meeting.”

His eyes stayed on me.

For a moment, I thought he might laugh.

He did not.

Instead, he said, “You should have told me earlier.”

“Yes, Mr Charles.”

The lift continued downward.

After a pause, Charles added, “You handled Grayson well.”

I looked at the floor numbers changing above the doors.

“Thank you.”

“He was testing you.”

“I know.”

“He does that because he thinks I rely on you too much.”

My fingers tightened around the files.

“And do you?”

The question escaped before I could stop it.

The lift seemed to grow even quieter.

Charles looked at me.

His face was unreadable.

Then the doors opened.

Charles stepped out first.

The moment had passed.

He walked towards his office.

I followed.

At my desk, Shane looked up with anxious eyes. I gave him a small nod to show that no one had died in the boardroom. His shoulders collapsed in relief.

Charles stopped outside his office door.

“Send the West City documents to legal. Have them prepare the alternative clause before three.”

“Yes, Mr Charles.”

“And tell Lewis to revise the proposal before noon.”

“Yes.”

His hand touched the door handle.

For one foolish second, I thought he might answer my question.

Do you rely on me fully?

But Charles only said, “Coffee.”

The word landed lightly.

It still managed to sting.

I lowered my eyes.

“Of course.”

He entered the office and closed the door.

I stood outside with the files in my arms.

Around me, the workday continued. Phones rang. Messages arrived. Assistants moved between desks with documents and paper cups. Somewhere near the pantry, Shane was whispering a prayer of survival over Director Lewis’s doomed presentation.

Everything was ordinary.

Everything was as it should be.

I sent the West City documents to legal. I messaged Lewis about the revisions. I updated Charles’s calendar, confirmed Henderson’s meeting, checked the German contract, and asked the driver to prepare the car for the afternoon appointment.

Then I made Charles’s coffee.

The machine hummed softly.

I watched the dark liquid gather in the cup and thought, somewhat absurdly, of the question I had asked in the lift.

And do you?

It had been a dangerous question.

Not because Charles did not know the answer.

But because perhaps I did.

By the time the coffee was ready, I had put the thought away.

I carried the cup to his office, knocked twice, and entered.

Charles was standing by the window, phone pressed to his ear. He did not turn around. I placed the coffee on his desk, exactly where his hand would reach for it without looking.

As I stepped back, he said into the phone, “No. Send it to Mia first.”

My movement paused.

Charles continued, voice cold and certain.

“If she says it’s fine, then I’ll look at it.”

The person on the other end said something.

Charles’s tone sharpened.

“I don’t pay you to be offended by procedure.”

I lowered my eyes.

There it was again.

Trust, shaped like work.

Dependence, disguised as efficiency.

A place beside him, but never beside his name.

I left the office quietly.

The door closed behind me.

At my desk, a new email had arrived from Human Resources.

Subject: New Assistant Onboarding Schedule.

I opened it.

The first line read:

Miss Bennet, please confirm your availability this week to assist with training Ms Dakota Lane, newly appointed assistant to the president’s office.

For a moment, the office noise thinned around me.

I read the sentence once.

Then again.

Newly appointed assistant to the president’s office.

I sat very still.

Inside Charles’s office, he continued speaking on the phone, his voice low and controlled.

Outside, I stared at the email until the words stopped looking like words.

Then I placed both hands on the keyboard and typed my reply.

Confirmed.