He pulled it free from his pocket and examined it critically. “This isn’t food. This is a cry for help.”
“Give it back.” I said tightly but he didn’t. And we reached for it at the same time. Our hands collided - his warm against my cold - and for half a second neither of us moved. He didn’t let go.
“Strong grip,” he murmured and smiled.
“Get your own.” I said as I ripped it from his hand. My pulse betrayed me, skidding out of rhythm, but I refused to let him see it. But he was watching anyway.
“You’re nervous,” he said.
“Nervous isn’t in my vocabulary.” My voice cracked on the lie and there was no way he didn’t catch it.
He leaned close, just enough to box me in, and lowered his voice. “You love this. High stakes. Winner takes all.”
“What I love,” I said tightly, “is not losing.”
“That’s the problem.” His words turned surgical. “What if you do?”
They landed harder than I expected.
“What if you’re not as essential as you think?” he continued quietly. “What if today proves it?”
For a split second, I couldn’t breathe.
Then he stepped back, resetting the distance like nothing happened. Except his exhale wasn’t quite steady.
I gathered my notes and moved past him. He tracked me with his eyes, but I could not read but just felt the heat of his stare and anger built in me.
At the door, I paused. “You’re projecting,” I said. “It’s been years. Get over losing the hackathon to me when I was in the third grade. This obsession is embarrassing.”
He didn’t answer.
Out in the corridor, I leaned against the wall and protein bar crushed in my fist, fury tightened my chest. I hated him for getting under my skin and I hated myself for letting him.
But in the meeting, I was going to win.
Because the thing about pressure?
It makes diamonds.
Chapter Two
Gabriel
Most boardrooms reeked of fear. This one, with its fifteen-foot ceilings and thirty-thousand-dollar conference table, reeked of something more dangerous, ambition on overdrive.
I watched the glass walls as they reflected every twitch and tic, every micro-expression, every failure to blink at the wrong time. You could see someone’s entire career burn down in the time it took to pour a cup of coffee. However, I liked it that way.
I was in control of the flame. “Let’s open with the Saito deck.” I rapped my knuckles against the table, never loud enough to seem insecure, always enough to reset the tempo. The board of directors, senior members, and Reeves clustered as they watched the PowerPoint, ready to peck at the corpse of my acquisition.
The exception sat to my right–Eliza Reeves in an immaculate navy suit, hair pulled back in a punishing bun and eyes dark as malice. Her portfolio was closed, her pen aligned parallel to its edge. She was unreadable, in the way of only the very clever or the truly bored. I’d put money on the former, but the day wasn’t over yet.
“The board has concerns about executive attrition post-close,” I said, nodding toward the C-suite fossils at the farend. “Ms. Reeves, you’re closest to the ground. What are your thoughts?”
Her gaze flicked up, totally disinterested, until it wasn’t. “Your culture assessment assumes static incentive models. That’s… quaint.” The corners of her mouth didn’t move, but there was a smile in her voice. “If you want them to stay, flip the equity vesting schedule. Six-month cliff, heavy front load. They’ll eat glass to hit the first quarter’s numbers.”
And here was a pause. Her brother—Calvin Reeves, my best friend—blinked like he’d just heard the sun insult his mother.
I watched her hands. Not fidgeting. Not even pretending to take notes. She didn’t need the armor of movement, which meant she wasn’t afraid of anyone here, including me.