CHAPTER TWO
1581 Words
The black sedan rolled beneath the glass canopy of Voss Meridian Group forty-three minutes later.
Daniel opened the rear door.
“Morning, Ms. Voss.”
“Morning.”
Arabella stepped onto polished stone.
Her cream blazer sat over an ivory blouse and charcoal skirt, sharp without looking like she had dressed for anyone’s approval. Her hair was pulled into a low knot. A slim watch hugged her wrist.
Nothing unnecessary.
The lobby shifted around her.
Not enough to be obvious.
A security guard straightened. Two junior analysts lowered their voices. A woman from finance lifted her coffee in greeting.
Arabella nodded and kept walking.
Iris followed half a step behind, three folders hugged to her chest.
Arabella checked the clock above reception.
“Seven minutes.”
“We can make it.”
“I know.”
They reached the private elevators.
Arabella pressed the button.
“I need coffee.”
Iris blinked.
“You already had coffee.”
“That was family coffee.”
“There are categories?”
“There are now.”
The elevator opened.
Arabella stepped inside.
“I need something strong enough to survive a room of men asking whether my brother approved my homework.”
Iris smiled.
“Triple shot?”
“Please.”
The doors opened on the executive floor.
Iris hurried toward the coffee station while Arabella continued toward the conference room.
Richard Mercer stood outside speaking with two investors.
Sixty-two.
Silver-haired.
Immaculate.
And blessed with the remarkable confidence of a man who had survived long enough to mistake seniority for divine revelation.
He noticed her.
“Arabella.”
“Richard.”
His gaze dipped briefly to her skirt.
Then returned to her face.
“Bold choice for the boardroom.”
Arabella kept walking.
“So is assuming I dressed for you.”
One of the investors glanced down at his phone.
Richard’s smile tightened.
Before he could answer, Iris appeared beside Arabella with a coffee in one hand and the folders in the other.
“Your coffee.”
“Thank—”
The conference-room door opened.
A director stepped out.
Arabella moved right.
Iris moved left.
Their shoulders collided.
The lid came free.
Coffee splashed across Arabella’s blouse.
Iris froze.
“Oh God.”
Arabella looked down.
Brown spread quickly across ivory.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see him and I thought you were—”
“It’s fine.”
“I’ll get something.”
Richard’s gaze moved from the stain to Arabella’s skirt.
“If the hem were slightly longer, perhaps your mornings would involve fewer wardrobe emergencies.”
Silence.
Arabella slowly raised her eyes.
His expression remained mild.
Almost concerned.
Which made it worse.
She took the napkin from Iris.
“My designer took inspiration from the length of your d**k when choosing the cut.”
One investor coughed hard enough to turn away.
Richard’s smile disappeared.
Arabella dabbed at the stain.
“Spare blouse?”
Iris nodded quickly.
“In your office.”
“Two minutes.”
She hurried away.
Richard watched her go, then looked back at Arabella.
“That language won’t impress the board.”
Arabella folded the ruined napkin and handed it to him.
“Good.”
She stepped past him.
“I brought numbers.”
At 9:04, Arabella entered the boardroom in a black silk blouse.
Twelve people waited around the walnut table.
At the far end, a screen displayed the proposal that had stolen most of her sleep for the past three weeks.
Voss Meridian wanted control of a newly available shipping terminal before a competing logistics company got there first.
Arabella wanted the board to fund the deal.
Forty-eight million dollars.
Simple enough.
Until Richard Mercer opened his mouth.
“We’ve reviewed your proposal.”
Arabella sat at the head of the table.
“Then we can save time.”
Mr. Callahan, one of the outside investors, closed the folder in front of him.
“Forty-eight million dollars is an expensive way to be wrong.”
“It would be.”
Callahan’s brows rose.
Arabella clicked the remote.
The figure on the screen changed.
31.6 million.
A few people shifted in their chairs.
“The cost changed yesterday,” she said. “The port reduced its entry fee, and Northstar signed on as our first major client this morning.”
Callahan leaned forward.
“How major?”
“Enough to cover more than a third of the terminal’s first-year volume.”
Richard picked up the new document.
“You negotiated with Northstar without board approval?”
“I spoke to a client.”
“You made commitments.”
“No.”
Richard looked at her.
Arabella held his gaze.
“I made them interested.”
Someone near the other end of the table smiled.
Richard didn’t.
He turned another page.
Then stopped.
Arabella noticed.
“What?”
Richard placed the document flat against the table.
“If Northstar backs out before the final contract is signed, we pay for the terminal ourselves.”
The room went quiet.
Arabella looked at the clause.
She knew it was there.
She had read it at two in the morning.
She simply hadn’t given it enough weight.
Callahan looked at her.
“You knew about this?”
“I knew the clause existed.”
Richard leaned back.
“But?”
Arabella hated that question.
Mostly because he had earned the right to ask it.
She closed the folder.
“I underestimated the risk.”
Richard’s mouth twitched.
“So perhaps forty-eight million was ambitious.”
Arabella looked at the figures on the screen.
The answer she had prepared sat uselessly at the back of her throat.
For once, Richard wasn’t simply being difficult.
Annoying.
She stared at the numbers again.
Then picked up the remote.
“Fine.”
Richard frowned.
“Fine?”
“Don’t approve forty-eight.”
Callahan leaned forward.
“How much?”
Arabella did the calculation in her head.
“Twenty-five.”
Richard stared at her.
“You walked in asking for forty-eight million dollars.”
“The facts changed.”
“In the last thirty seconds?”
“My understanding of them did.”
Nobody laughed.
Good.
She wasn’t joking.
Callahan tapped his pen.
“And what does twenty-five get us?”
“The first phase of the terminal. Enough space to begin operations, not enough to leave us exposed if Northstar walks away.”
“And the rest?”
“We buy it when their contract becomes final.”
Richard folded his arms.
“That gives our competitor time to take the remaining space.”
“Yes.”
“So we lose control.”
“We lose complete control.”
Arabella met his gaze.
“We also stop pretending risk disappears just because I dislike it.”
That quieted him.
Callahan looked down at the revised numbers.
“You’re cutting your own proposal in half.”
“Almost.”
“Does that bother you?”
Arabella exhaled.
“Immensely.”
A few smiles appeared.
She continued.
“But being irritated is cheaper than being stupid.”
Callahan laughed once.
Then raised his hand.
Another director followed.
Then another.
Arabella waited.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Enough.
Richard looked around the table.
He didn’t raise his hand.
Arabella didn’t need him to.
“Motion carried.”
She closed the folder.
Twenty-five million.
Not forty-eight.
Not the clean victory she had imagined while rehearsing the meeting at three in the morning.
But a victory that probably wouldn’t bankrupt anyone.
She could live with that.
Probably.
As everyone began leaving, Callahan stopped beside her.
“You recover quickly.”
Arabella tucked the folder beneath her arm.
“I dislike dying in public.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“I know.”
He nodded toward the screen.
“Your father reviewed the proposal?”
“No.”
“Julian?”
“No.”
Callahan studied her.
“You came in alone?”
Arabella glanced at the clause Richard had caught.
“I came in prepared.”
Callahan looked at it too.
“Mostly.”
Arabella stared at him.
Then laughed.
“Mostly.”
He left.
Iris waited outside the conference room holding another coffee.
Arabella stopped in front of her.
Iris looked at the cup.
Then back at Arabella.
“I put the lid on properly.”
Arabella took it.
“That’s reassuring.”
“How did it go?”
Arabella sipped.
Too hot.
Pain shot across her tongue.
She swallowed anyway.
“Twenty-five million.”
Iris brightened.
“You got it?”
“I asked for forty-eight.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly.”
They headed toward the elevator.
Arabella’s phone buzzed.
Julian.
A photograph filled the screen.
Nadia stood beside him in oversized sunglasses, surrounded by enough shopping bags to suggest Julian’s bank account had suffered a personal tragedy.
Beneath it:
Your niece says you still owe her dinner.
Arabella smiled.
She typed:
Tell the parasite I remember.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Then:
She says remembering and showing up are different things.
Arabella’s thumb stopped.
The elevator opened.
Iris stepped inside.
Arabella remained outside for half a second.
Dinner.
Nadia.
Northstar.
Twenty-five million dollars.
The stack of revised paperwork waiting upstairs.
Her phone vibrated again.
She expected Julian.
Instead, her father’s name appeared.
My office. 7:30 tomorrow morning.
Nothing else.
Arabella stared at the message.
Iris held the elevator door.
“Everything okay?”
Arabella slipped the phone into her bag.
“He checked his email.”
She stepped inside.
The doors closed.
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