Chapter 7 Flight into Fire
The Gulfstream G700 was a floating boardroom disguised as a jet. Cream leather seats, polished wood, silent flight attendants gliding between us with trays of champagne and espresso. I'd been on private planes before, but never one that felt this... intimate. Or dangerous.
Damian sat across from me, jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked like a man who could sign away a country and then relax with a single malt. He was scrolling through his tablet, but I could feel his attention on me even when his eyes weren't lifted.
I crossed my legs and stared out the window at the shrinking blue of Lake Geneva below. "So," I said finally, "Zurich. What's the plan?"
He looked up. "Straight to the point. Good."
"I don't have time for games."
His mouth curved faintly. "We're meeting with three of my board members at the Kronos Hotel tonight. Lang's people have been whispering to them. If we're lucky, we cut him off. If we're not-" he shrugged, "-he'll think he has us cornered."
"Do we?"
"Do we what?"
"Have a chance."
He set the tablet aside. "Always."
I held his gaze. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you'll get until we're there."
The flight attendant placed a porcelain cup in front of me. Double espresso. She didn't even ask. I raised an eyebrow at Damian.
"I told them what you like," he said.
I blinked. "You've been paying attention."
"I pay attention to everything."
His voice was quiet but it felt like a touch, a ripple under my skin. I turned back to the window. "That's creepy."
"It's strategic," he said lightly. "Details win wars."
"Everything's a war with you."
He didn't argue. Instead, he leaned back, studying me. "You're different on a plane."
"How?"
"Less armor. More you."
I frowned. "You don't know me."
His eyes were steady. "Don't I?"
For a moment the cabin felt too small, the air too warm. I sipped my espresso to steady myself. "Tell me about these board members," I said.
He listed them off. Reinhardt, an old-guard industrialist who loved his dividends; Katerina, a tech philanthropist who hated bad press; and Gruber, a swing vote with an ego the size of a continent. "They all like power," Damian said. "They all like winning. Tonight is about making them believe they're on the winning side."
"And you're sure I should be there?"
"I'm sure you need to be there," he said. "Lang will spin you as the liability. You have to show them you're the asset."
"Asset," I repeated dryly. "That's flattering."
He smiled. "It's reality."
We fell into silence, the hum of the engines filling the space. I took out my tablet, pretending to review slides, but my mind was a swirl of last night's candlelight, this morning's confrontation, Marcus's betrayal, Damian's steady presence. I hated that I was starting to trust him, even a little.
"You're thinking too loud," he said suddenly.
"Excuse me?"
"I can practically hear it from here."
I rolled my eyes. "Do you ever stop being insufferable?"
"Rarely."
Despite myself, I laughed. It startled both of us. His expression softened, just for a heartbeat, and then he looked away.
The plane began to descend. Zurich spread beneath us like a map of glass and steel. The Alps were ghostly white in the distance.
When we landed, a black Mercedes was waiting. Damian's driver held the door for me first. "Kronos Hotel," Damian said as he slid in beside me.
Zurich's streets were clean, precise, lined with gold-lettered boutiques. I watched them blur past, my reflection faint in the tinted glass. Damian sat close enough that I could feel the heat of him, but not touching. He smelled faintly of cedar and something darker.
"You're nervous," he said quietly.
"I'm focused."
"Same thing."
I turned to him. "What happens if we fail tonight?"
His eyes flicked to mine. "Then Lang wins. And we lose everything."
I exhaled slowly. "No pressure."
He smiled faintly. "Pressure makes diamonds."
We pulled up to the Kronos Hotel, a glass tower on the edge of the lake. Inside, the lobby gleamed with marble and gold. Guests in designer suits murmured in multiple languages. Damian led the way to a private elevator, a keycard in his hand.
The suite at the top was less a room and more a kingdom - floor-to-ceiling windows, a dining table big enough for twelve, a view of Zurich's lights like a scatter of jewels. Staff had already laid out wine, crystal glasses, a spread of delicacies.
"This is neutral ground?" I asked.
"It's our ground," he said. "I booked it under one of my subsidiaries. Lang doesn't know we're here yet."
I set my bag down and moved to the window. The lake was dark, glinting under the city lights. "You live like this every day?"
He joined me at the glass. "Sometimes I don't even see it."
"That's sad."
He glanced at me. "Maybe."
I turned to face him. "Why are you really doing this merger, Damian? The truth. Not the press release."
He studied me for a moment. "Because I'm tired of building empires that don't matter. Because your company does. Because-" he hesitated, "-you do."
My breath caught. "That's a nice line."
"It's not a line."
I didn't know what to say. The distance between us felt electric, charged. For a heartbeat, the world outside the glass disappeared.
A knock on the door broke the moment. Damian stepped back, composure snapping into place. "They're early," he murmured.
I moved to the table, picking up a folder, trying to look busy. Damian opened the door. Reinhardt, Katerina, and Gruber entered, each exuding money and power.
"Thank you for coming," Damian said smoothly. "Shall we?"
I stood, smiling as if my heart wasn't pounding. Time to show them I wasn't the liability. Time to play this game like my life depended on it - because it did.
As they sat and Damian began his pitch, I caught his eye for a fraction of a second. No smile, no smirk. Just an unspoken message: We're in this together.
For now.