Chapter 231

Chapter 231
Blake

"You look like you're waiting for a firing squad, not hosting a charity dinner," Elias said, appearing at my shoulder as I stood under the stone archway leading to Kairo's rooftop garden.

I tugged uncomfortably at my bow tie, feeling like it was choking the life out of me. Goddamn British formal wear. "I feel like a fish out of water. Or rather, an American fish swimming in the fucking Thames."

"The suit helps," Elias nodded approvingly at my custom-tailored Savile Row tuxedo. "Very British."

"Three thousand pounds for fabric that makes me feel like I'm being slowly strangled," I muttered, adjusting my cuffs for the twentieth time. My skin felt clammy beneath the expensive wool. "Remind me again why we're doing this shit?"

Inside my head, a steady drumbeat of self-doubt pounded away: You don't belong here. They'll see through you in seconds. You're just playing dress-up in daddy's clothes.

"Because you're now running Kairo's London division, and the British financial elite expect certain... traditions to be maintained." Elias straightened his own tie. "Besides, it was my idea. A proper English charity gala is the fastest way to establish your presence."

The first black Bentley pulled up to the entrance, and I squared my shoulders. Game time. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape.

"Remember," Elias whispered, "the British respect restraint. No loud American enthusiasm."

"So basically, I should just be miserable and they'll love me?" A bead of sweat trickled down my spine despite the cool evening air.

Elias chuckled. "Precisely, sir."

The former governor of the Bank of England and his wife were the first to arrive. I greeted them with a carefully measured handshake – not too firm, not too familiar. Don't pump too hard. Don't smile too much. Jesus Christ, I feel like I'm defusing a bomb.

Next came the representative of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, followed by the chairman of Deutsche Bank Group, the Lord Mayor of the City of London, and a parade of other financial powerhouses.

Each introduction felt like navigating a minefield of subtle social cues I couldn't quite read. I was used to New York's direct approach – firm handshakes, immediate business talk, clear intentions. Here, everything seemed wrapped in layers of politeness that masked true meaning. What the fuck are they really thinking behind those tight-lipped smiles?

"How am I doing?" I asked Elias as we walked through the corridor between arrivals, my stomach churning with anxiety.

"Admirably restrained, sir. Though you might want to ease up on the smiling—the English find excessive happiness suspicious."

"God forbid anyone thinks I'm enjoying myself," I muttered, my jaw aching from the effort of maintaining the perfect non-committal expression. "What's next on this etiquette obstacle course?"

"These people control the financial heart of London," Elias explained. "Your father spent decades cultivating these relationships."

"And I'm supposed to replace him in one dinner?" The weight of my father's legacy pressed down on me like a physical force. You'll never measure up. Never.

A waiter approached with champagne flutes. I shook my head, desperately needing something stronger. "Scotch. Neat."

"Three ice cubes," Elias corrected smoothly. "The English consider neat drinks somewhat... aggressive."

Jesus Christ. Even my drinking preferences needed translation. I can't even order a fucking drink right in this country.

As we entered the grand ballroom, I noticed how the guests maintained a polite distance from me, smiling cordially but not approaching. The massive chandeliers cast everything in a golden light that somehow made me feel even more like an imposter.

"Why is everyone standing so far away? Did I forget deodorant?" I whispered to Elias, fighting the urge to sniff my armpit.

"It's tradition in British high society. They're assessing whether you're worth talking to."

"Will my American directness offend them?" God, I sound like a fucking teenager before prom, not a CEO.

"Probably," Elias said with a small smile. "Start with Lord Blackwood. He appreciates fine single malt—you can discuss the eighteen-year-old Macallan you're holding. After that, perhaps the French investment banker. Be cautious with your English; the British appreciate proper pronunciation."

I took a large swallow of whisky, feeling the burn center me. At least alcohol was universal. The familiar warmth spread through my chest, temporarily quieting the screaming doubt in my head.

After an hour of carefully modulated small talk, my face ached from the strain of appearing interested but not eager. Gideon caught my eye and nodded toward the center of the room. Showtime.

Don't fuck this up. Every person in this room is judging you. One wrong word and you'll embarrass the entire company.

I tapped my glass and the room quieted. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Kairo's annual charity gala. I'm Blake Sterling, and I'm honored to continue the tradition my father established..."

The words felt rehearsed and hollow in my mouth, like I was reading someone else's speech. I spotted Gideon's tight expression as I mentioned modernizing Kairo's approach to European markets. His lips pinched together like I'd just suggested burning the building down. Clearly, he disapproved.

"Some moderate modernization could benefit Kairo," I added, looking directly at him. His face remained impassive, but I could feel the daggers shooting from his eyes.

As I took my seat at the head table, my phone buzzed. A text from Sophia: "Jasper finally sleeping through the night. Miss you. "

A pang of homesickness hit me harder than expected, like a sucker punch to the gut. For a moment, I could almost smell Lily's strawberry shampoo and hear Emma's giggle.

---

Later that week, I slammed the oak door of my office with enough force to rattle the hinges, the sound echoing through the corridor like a gunshot. "Fuck!" I shouted into the empty room, my voice bouncing off the wood-paneled walls.

The board meeting had been a goddamn disaster. Liora had publicly questioned every market strategy I'd proposed, her British accent somehow making her criticisms sound even more cutting. And Gideon had sat back, refusing to take sides, watching me flounder like it was his favorite sport.

"Something troubling you, sir?" Elias appeared in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral.

"Just the small fucking matter of running a multinational company in a country where I apparently can't even order coffee correctly." I loosened my tie with a violent tug, nearly ripping the silk. "Did you see Liora in there? She practically eviscerated me. 'Perhaps Mr. Sterling isn't familiar with the nuances of European banking regulations.' Like I'm some college intern who wandered into the wrong building."

My hands were shaking with rage. I wanted to put my fist through the antique desk that had probably belonged to some British lord.

"I did notice," Elias said carefully, closing the door behind him. "What I don't understand is why you're allowing it."

"Allowing what?" I snapped, pacing the room like a caged animal.

"Allowing Ms. Hale to dominate your public relations strategy. Allowing Mr. Falk to remain neutral when he should be supporting you."

I sank into my chair, the fight suddenly draining out of me. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly commanding respect around here. They look at me like I'm a fucking joke."

"That's precisely my point." Elias's voice hardened. "The European financial elite showed you tremendous respect at the gala. Yet you allow your own team to treat you with none."

His words stung because they were true. I felt my face flush with embarrassment. "I don't have my father's experience with European markets," I admitted, hating how defensive I sounded.

"What are your plans for Kairo's European future?" Elias asked directly.

I hesitated, staring at the family photo on my desk. Sophia's smile, the girls' bright eyes, baby Jasper in my arms. "Honestly? Finish the acquisition and get the hell back to New York as soon as possible."

Elias studied me for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. "I'm not just your security chief, Mr. Sterling. In London, I may be the only person truly on your side."

The loneliness of my position hit me suddenly. I'm surrounded by people but completely fucking alone here.

"I have a family waiting for me in New York, Elias. A sick child who needs me." My voice cracked slightly on the last words, and I cleared my throat to cover it.

"I understand your concerns," Elias said softly. "But while you're here, you are in charge. The European strategy for Kairo is yours to decide, not Ms. Hale's or Mr. Falk's."

"Even on their home turf?" I asked, feeling like a kid asking permission.

"Especially on their home turf." Elias smiled slightly. "Americans can succeed in England, Mr. Sterling. But first, you must believe it yourself."

Time to show these British bastards what a New Yorker can do.