Collision: The CEO'S Unexpected Reunion

Chapter Four

Rafael

The color drains from my face so fast I suck in a breath to steady my racing heart.

Cole's elbow catches my arm. "You look like you've seen a ghost." He laughs, slaps my shoulder. "Been turning around firms since you were twenty-five. This one's a walk in the park."

I nod. I don't trust myself to say much, the heat crawling up my neck has nothing to do with the building. Three years, and somehow my heart still skips. I still remember her laugh on that rooftop, the way she came up on her toes and kissed me like the decision was made before we met.

That kiss knocked the air out of my lungs and woke a hunger I hadn't felt in years. It lasted a few seconds, but those seconds have followed me through three years of sleepless nights, endless flights, and more work than any sane man should take on.

I had her that night, and it wasn't enough. I wanted another kiss, another conversation, another reason to keep her close. She made me feel something I hadn't felt since Mom and Trisha died, the grief loosened its grip. That should've been good, but all I could think about was how fast I could lose it.

Losing people changes how you love. It teaches you distance, because distance hurts less than loss. I wasn't ready to let someone matter that much, and if I'm honest, I'm still not.

I push the memory aside before it pulls me deeper. I didn't come here to relive old mistakes. I came because Edmund asked and I owe him that much.

He wants me to take over one of the firms he recently acquired. This time he's honest about the work it needs, no dressing it up, no promise of an easy fix. He tells me about the debt, the declining revenue, the projects bleeding money, the hole Mercer & Holt has dug itself into.

Last time he talked me into something like this, he wrapped the truth in promises and left out the details that would've made me hesitate. By the time I realized what I'd signed up for, my name was already on the papers. I spent eighteen months cleaning up a mess that shouldn't have landed on my desk.

Not making that mistake again. I won't sign anything until I've seen the firm myself. Reports get polished, figures get massaged. Walking through those doors is the only way I'll know if Mercer & Holt is worth saving.Cole's still talking beside me, something about the lobby and what it says about how a firm's run. I catch pieces of it. My head keeps drifting to that glass partition, to the half second where her head turned and I couldn't tell if she'd see me.

"You ready?" Cole asks at the conference room door.

I roll my shoulders back. "Yeah, let's get this over with."

"Welcome to Mercer & Holt, Mr. Knight," a man in a gray suit says, holding the door.

I step inside and recognize a handful of faces, charity galas, Edmund's golf club. Then there's Martin Calloway, Edmund's oldest friend.

I didn't know he sat on the board. Either Edmund forgot to mention it, or left it out on purpose, knowing I'd be less inclined to walk away with a familiar face in the room.

Trust has never been our thing. Edmund isn't a saint, and neither am I, but omehow we've built something resembling a family, and that's enough.

I keep my eyes ahead, though I feel their stares. They're sizing me up against whatever stories they've heard. A quiet laugh escapes when one man leans toward another and whispers something.

"Why are they all so old?" Cole mutters.

I bite back a laugh. "Give it a few years. We'll be the old men everyone whispers about."

"Mr. Knight, it's good to have you here." The gray-haired man at the head of the table rises and extends his hand. "I've heard so much about you."

I shake it. "Good things, I hope."

He laughs. "Nothing but good things."

I take the seat beside him, forearm on the glass table, check my Rolex. 12:30. A call with a potential partner in Tokyo at two, I've been eyeing the Japanese market for months, and Kenji Nakamura's made it clear he wants in.

Someone clears his throat, and a board member slides a document toward me. Out of the corner of my eye, Cole's chatting up one of the directors. He looks over and winks. Takes real restraint not to flip him off.

"Mr. Knight," the chairman says, "this is Mr. Elliott, our managing director. He's been with the firm for years and knows the business inside out. He'll walk you through our current position."

Elliott nods and walks to the front, straightens his jacket, picks up the remote.

"I'll keep this brief. Revenue's declined steadily over three quarters despite a strong portfolio. Rising costs, delayed payments, and underperforming contracts have put us under real pressure. Cash flow's unstable, several projects are over budget, and we've lost two long-term clients in six months. It hasn't been enough. Our staff's kept delivering strong work, design was never the problem. The challenge has been staying profitable while obligations keep growing. We're hoping new leadership gives this firm a chance to recover before it's too late."Every eye in the room turns to me.

I look down at the document, financial statements, projected losses, outstanding liabilities. The figures are bad, but nothing I haven't seen. A business isn't built or broken by numbers alone. Behind every loss is a decision, behind every decision a person.

I'm about to ask my first question when the conference room door swings open.

I barely glance up, assuming it's an assistant with paperwork. Then my eyes lift and the air goes out of my lungs. Brown eyes meet mine, and for a second the room disappears.

Selene Carter.

She's in a cream silk blouse tucked into a charcoal skirt, fit sharp without trying too hard. Black pumps click against the floor as she walks in with a file at her side. Her dark hair is pulled into a ponytail, loose strands framing a face I've spent three years trying and failing to forget.

Her steps falter for a beat before her expression hardens. She looks at me like I'm a stranger, mouth twisting into something close to a sneer before it disappears behind a composed mask.

I didn't expect her to run into my arms. Three years is a long time, people move on, hell, I counted on it. But I wasn't ready for that coldness. It lands harder than I'd like, leaving a weight in my chest with no business being there.

She walks past without another glance, heads straight for Elliott, hands him the file. He thanks her quietly and opens it.

A shiver works down my spine as she passes again. If I ever needed a reason to walk away from this deal, it's standing three feet from me.

But I've never walked away because something's difficult. Business is business. Whatever happened between us stays in the past.