Chapter 4: Forced Proximity & Others
1494 Words
Sloane walked into the headquarters of Knight Industries the next morning with the cheerful optimism of someone walking into a dentist’s office to get a root canal. The building didn’t help. It was all sharp angles, cold glass, and a lobby so quiet she could hear her own impractical heels clicking on the marble like guilty verdicts.
Miles, bless him, was trying to be supportive. “Look on the bright side,” he whispered as the silent elevator shot them upward. “At least we’re not meeting in a literal dungeon.”
“Give him time,” Sloane muttered. “I’m sure there’s a sub-basement.”
The conference room they were ushered into was clearly designed to intimidate. The table was a slab of polished something-or-other so long you could have used it for bowling. And at the head of it, already seated, was Jax.
CEO Jax. Not last-night’s Jax. This version was carved from ice and wearing a suit that probably cost more than Verity’s first-year office rent. He looked up as they entered, and his expression was so professionally neutral it was offensive.
“Sloane. Miles. Coffee?” he offered, his voice smooth and utterly empty.
“I’m good,” Sloane said, her own voice coming out tighter than she wanted. She’d had three cups already, her nerves jangling like loose change.
“Let’s get started, then.” He launched in without further pleasantries, and the next hour was a masterclass in polite, corporate warfare.
They argued about everything. Budget lines. Timelines. The font size on the preliminary proposal slides. It was all delivered in calm, measured tones, but every agreement felt like pulling teeth, and every disagreement was a tiny, civilized knife fight.
“Your distribution model is efficient, I’ll give you that,” Sloane said during a debate about supplier contracts. “It’s also famously ruthless to small vendors. We have ethical sourcing standards.”
Jax didn’t blink. “My model ensures reliability. Your ‘standards’ introduce risk. The client isn’t paying for our ethics, Archer. They’re paying for a building that stands up.”
“They’re paying for a future-proof, sustainable landmark,” she shot back, leaning forward. “Or does ‘future’ not factor into the Knight Industries five-year plan?”
Across the table, Miles kicked her gently under the table. Be nice, his wide eyes screamed.
Jax’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “The future is a series of manageable quarterly goals. Let’s focus on the one due in six months.”
It was infuriating. He was infuriating. This whole situation was infuriating. The man who’d made a genuinely funny pun about blockchain last week was now talking about “manageable quarterly goals” like a robot reading a terms-of-service agreement.
The breaking point came over—of all things—the insulation.
“The data on the plant-based foam is clear,” Sloane insisted, pushing her tablet across the table toward him. “The environmental payoff is worth the marginal cost increase.”
“The data on its structural integrity under sustained load is also clear,” Jax countered, not even looking at her tablet. He tapped his own screen. “It’s a liability. We use the synthetic blend.”
“The synthetic blend is a fossil fuel derivative! It’s like putting a coal furnace in a Tesla!”
“It’s like putting a proven, reliable component in a multi-million-dollar project!” he snapped, his cool finally cracking a hair. “This isn’t a university ethics symposium, Sloane. It’s a business.”
The room went very still. Miles looked like he wanted to vanish into his chair. Lena, Jax’s ever-present assistant, had stopped typing.
Sloane felt her face grow hot. She saw it in his eyes the moment he realized what he’d said. Not “Archer.” Sloane. And the reference to university—she’d told AnonymousUser22 about losing a big ethics prize in grad school. It had been a vulnerable, late-night confession.
He’d just used it as a weapon.
He looked down, adjusting his already-perfect cufflink. A faint flush crept up his neck. “My apologies. That was out of line.” The words were stiff, but they sounded real.
The apology threw her more than the insult had. The ice-king didn’t apologize.
“Forget it,” she mumbled, suddenly exhausted. “Can we… take five? I need some air.”
“Of course,” he said, still not meeting her eyes.
She didn’t go to the terrifying balcony. She found a sad little alcove with a fake ficus tree and stared out at the city, her mind churning.
A few minutes later, she heard footsteps. She knew it was him without turning.
He didn’t speak at first, just came to stand beside her, also staring out the window. The silence was different this time—charged, but not with hostility. With something awkward and heavy.
“I read your paper,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “The one in Advanced Materials Quarterly. On the algae-cellulose composite.”
She turned her head, surprised. “You did?”
“Last night.” He finally looked at her. He looked tired. Not CEO-tired, but human-tired. “It is brilliant. The potential tensile strength increase is… remarkable.”
“But?” she prompted, hearing the unsaid word.
“But it’s still in prototype. You need capital, scaling partners, about a year of stress-testing.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was the same frustrated gesture from the bar. “My job—the one you hate—is to mitigate risk. The synthetic blend is a known quantity. Your composite is a beautiful gamble.”
He was speaking to her now. Not to Archer, his rival. Not to SunsetSilhouette, his secret pen pal. Just to her.
“What if we gamble on part of it?” she heard herself say. “Not the whole facade. One wing. A pilot. We use your procurement for the main build, but we designate the south atrium as a live test site for my composite. Dual monitoring. Shared data.”
He stared at her, his dark eyes assessing. The CEO was back, but he was considering it, really considering it. “The cost overrun would have to come from the contingency fund. My board would scream.”
“Our project, our shared contingency fund,” she said, a spark of the old fight returning. “And my board would scream louder if we just cave to the easy, dirty option. At least this way we both get something to complain about.”
A slow, real smile touched his lips. It was brief, but it was there. “A shared complaining point. Now that’s synergy.”
She almost laughed. The tension broke.
“Okay,” he said, nodding. “The south atrium. We draft the pilot plan together. And if it fails…”
“It won’t.”
“If itfails,” he repeated, the smile turning wry, “we blame it on Miles.”
“Hey!” Miles’s voice came from the doorway. He and Lena were hovering, holding fresh coffees. “I heard my name. Are we blaming me for the insulation? Because I’m willing to take the fall if it means we can finally pick a glue and get lunch.”
Back in the conference room, the atmosphere had shifted. It wasn’t friendly, but it was functional. They worked through the next items with a grudging efficiency that felt almost like cooperation.
As they packed up to leave, Jax walked them to the elevator again. This time, when the doors opened, he spoke low, for her ears only.
“For the record,” he said, “the plant-based foam’s R-value is impressive. Even if it is a high-maintenance, ethically superior diva of a building material.”
She stepped into the elevator, a real, unstoppable grin spreading across her face. “Just like its inventor,” she shot back.
The doors closed on his answering chuckle.
Miles looked at her, then at the closed doors, then back at her. “Okay, what is going on? Because that wasn’t just ‘professional respect.’ That was… banter. Flirty, hateful banter. Did you two have a fight club match in the alcove?”
“We reached an understanding,” Sloane said, her mind already racing ahead to composite stress tests and shared data logs. And maybe, just maybe, to the next time she’d get to see the ice-king’s façade c***k again.
“An understanding,” Miles repeated, skeptical. “Right. Well, this ‘understanding’ is making my job very confusing.”
You and me both, Sloane thought as the elevator descended. You and me both.
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Next Chapter Teaser: The pilot project means shared lab time, late nights, and one very expensive, very fragile prototype. When a breakthrough leads to an accidental celebration, two rivals find themselves alone after hours with a bottle of champagne and far too many unspoken truths.
- Writer
