Chapter 229

Chapter 229
Blake

I ended the video call and tossed my phone onto the sleek glass desk with enough force that it skidded across the surface, nearly falling off the edge. "Goddamn it!" I growled, running both hands through my hair and pulling slightly in frustration.

"Shit. Shit. Shit," I muttered, leaning back in the leather executive chair hard enough that it creaked in protest. The London skyline glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of Kairo's headquarters, but I couldn't appreciate the view. All I could see was Sofia's exhausted face, her hair mussed from sleep, those dark circles under her eyes that I'd helped put there. The guilt hit me like a sucker punch to the gut.

The call had gone sideways from the moment I dialed. I'd wanted to introduce her to Liora professionally. Instead, I'd dragged my wife out of bed at an ungodly hour, only to subject her to what must have felt like an ambush. The tension between the women had been palpable, even through the screen.

I wasn't completely oblivious—I'd caught Sofia's expression shifting when Liora touched my arm. That flash of hurt in her eyes made me feel like the world's biggest asshole.

"That went well," Liora said, closing the door behind her as she reentered my office. She perched on the edge of my desk, closer than necessary. "Your wife is beautiful, even half-asleep."

I shifted uncomfortably, a knot forming in my stomach. "I shouldn't have called so late. I completely fucked up with the time difference."

Liora smiled, reaching forward to straighten my tie. Her fingers lingered at my collar. "You've been working too hard. The jet lag, the meetings... it's a lot for anyone."

I gently leaned back, putting distance between us, irritation prickling under my skin. "I need to focus on these acquisition documents. The Eastern European division is showing concerning numbers."

"I could help you relax," she said, her voice dropping lower. "London can be very lonely when you're used to having family around."

My skin crawled at the implication. Before I could tell her to back the hell off—thank God—the door swung open without a knock. Gideon Falk strode in like he owned the place, his tall, thin frame impeccably dressed despite the late hour. His gray hair was slicked back, and his eyes narrowed as he took in the scene.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked in that irritating French-accented English, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

Liora straightened, but maintained her position on the edge of my desk. "Blake and I were discussing tomorrow's press conference. The Financial Times reporter has been particularly aggressive about—"

"I need to speak with Mr. Sterling about urgent matters," Gideon cut her off, glancing pointedly at the door. "Privately."

I watched Liora's face tighten. "I was just explaining the media strategy we've—"

"Thank you, Ms. Hale. That will be all for tonight." Gideon's tone left no room for argument.

Liora stood, smoothing her skirt. She glanced at me, clearly expecting me to intervene, but I needed this conversation with Gideon. I'd been trying to corner him about the Eastern European division all damn day.

"We'll continue tomorrow," I said, nodding toward the door. "First thing."

She left, throwing a meaningful look over her shoulder that made my skin crawl.

The moment the door closed, Gideon turned to me. "You should be more careful, Mr. Sterling. The Financial Times would love nothing more than to run a story about the American CEO's indiscretions while his wife cares for their newborn back home."

My temper flared instantly, hot and dangerous. "There are no fucking indiscretions, Gideon. Liora is helping me navigate the British press, nothing more. Don't ever imply otherwise." My voice had dropped to a dangerous rumble.

"London is not New York," he said, walking to the window with that superior attitude that made me want to throw him through it. "The City has different rules, different expectations. Your father understood this."

I clenched my jaw so hard I could hear my teeth grinding. "I have a wife and three children I'm desperately missing right now. My son Jasper is still recovering and vulnerable as hell, and I'm on the other side of the goddamn Atlantic trying to clean up whatever mess you've made of the Eastern European division."

"In the financial world, Mr. Sterling, personal sentiment is your greatest weakness." He turned to face me. "Your competitors will exploit it. Your investors will flee from it. And your father's enemies will leverage it against you."

"I didn't come to London to take a fucking vacation, Gideon." I stood, tired of looking up at him, my hands balled into fists at my sides. "I'm here to complete this acquisition my way."

He scoffed, the sound making my blood boil. "Your way? You know nothing about European markets. Your performance in this morning's meeting made that abundantly clear."

That stung because it was partially true. I'd been unprepared for the technical questions about EU regulatory compliance. The reminder made me want to put my fist through the wall.

"And the way you've been living in London—the mansion, the chauffeur, the late nights at private clubs—it doesn't inspire confidence in the team." He gestured dismissively. "They see an American playboy, not a leader."

"I don't give a damn what they see," I snapped, my voice rising. "I'm the one making decisions now. Speaking of which, I want a full report on the Eastern European division by morning. Something's not adding up in the numbers, and I want to know what the hell you're hiding."

Gideon's expression hardened, his eyes turning to ice. "Nothing is hidden, Mr. Sterling. Perhaps if you spent more time reviewing the financial statements and less time with our PR department, you'd understand the complexities of the situation."

"I understand enough to know when I'm being bullshitted," I countered, stepping closer until we were almost nose to nose. "My father may have trusted you implicitly, but I form my own opinions. Tomorrow, I want those reports on my desk, or I'll send my own team to audit every fucking transaction from the last five years."

We stared at each other for a long moment, the silence heavy with tension. My heart was hammering against my ribs, the rage a living thing inside me.

"The City of London doesn't tolerate American recklessness," he finally said. "Play by the rules or fail. There is no middle ground here."

"I'll play by my rules, Gideon. And I'll succeed. Now get the hell out of my office."

After he left, I stood alone in the massive office that still felt like someone else's, my chest heaving with suppressed anger. On the desk sat the Eastern European file—the one he'd claimed wasn't hiding anything. I pulled out my phone to call Sofia again, then stopped myself when I saw the time. She needed sleep, not another interruption from her selfish prick of a husband.

Instead, I ordered from a high-end local restaurant that delivered, asked for their strongest coffee, and settled into my father's leather chair. If Gideon thought I'd back down, he didn't know me at all. I'd spend all night in this office if that's what it took.

I missed Sofia and the kids like a physical ache that hollowed out my chest. I missed Lily's laughter, Emma's thoughtful questions, and even Jasper's midnight cries.

But right now, proving myself in London was the only way to secure our future. And no one—not Gideon, not my father's legacy, not even my own doubts—was going to stop me from getting back to my family with this deal done right.