Chapter 20 Numbers and Nerves
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“…and as you can see, the quarterly expenditures exceeded projections by twelve percent,” the finance head concluded, clicking to the next slide. “If we continue at this rate, operational costs will surpass the budget ceiling by the end of the fiscal year.”
The long table gleamed under the soft white light of the international conference room. Beyond the glass walls stretched the skyline of Singapore, steel towers rising into a hazy afternoon sky. The joint finance meeting between Valmere Enterprises and Cain Dominion had gathered and some of the most powerful minds in the business world.
Among them sat Deborah Valmere, poised and elegant, her sharp gaze locked on the financial breakdown before her. Across from her, seated with infuriating calm was Luther Cain, the man she had once sworn to avoid, and the one she couldn’t seem to escape.
Her heart might have skipped a beat when she saw him, but she buried it beneath perfect professionalism.
“The numbers are clear,” said the head accountant. “We need to determine which side will shoulder the adjustment.”
Luther’s voice broke the silence, smooth and low. “Then let’s be realistic. The Valmere division overspent on marketing and hospitality. The Cain Dominion has already covered the logistics costs. It’s only fair your side compensates.”
Deborah’s brow arched. “Fair?” she echoed, her tone clipped. “Fairness would’ve been consulting both sides before making a decision that affects our finances, Mr. Cain. You can’t keep throwing that word around when your own branch doubled its executive travel expenses.”
A flicker of a smirk crossed Luther’s lips. “That’s called investment. You wouldn’t understand it if you think every cost should be cut.”
“Oh, I understand investment,” she said coolly. “What I don’t understand is why you mistake excess for efficiency.”
The tension between them drew subtle glances from the others in the room. Their rivalry wasn’t new, in fact, it had become something of an industry spectacle. Whenever Cain and Valmere shared a table, sparks flew, professional, personal and otherwise.
Luther leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled loosely. “Maybe if you stopped micromanaging every budget line, Miss Valmere, your team would actually perform better.”
Deborah’s jaw tightened. “Or maybe if you stopped assuming that dominance equals intelligence, you’d learn that precision keeps a company alive.”
That earned her a small, almost approving smile from one of the financial advisors. But Luther’s eyes darkened, a silent storm gathering behind his composed facade.
“Precision doesn’t scare me,” he said. “But arrogance does.”
“Then you must live in constant fear,” Deborah shot back.
A few executives tried to hide their smiles, others pretended to focus on the presentation slides. The air was alive, sharp and electric. Beneath the surface of every exchange, something dangerous simmered.
And then, from further down the table, Samuel Cortez, the heir of the Cirtez Group, the one who sent a flower to Deborah, decided to speak.
“If I may,” he began, his tone polite but confident, “Miss Valmere’s approach makes the most financial sense. It’s cautious but strategic. Overexpansion is risky right now, especially with currency fluctuations.”
Deborah turned her head slightly, her expression softening just enough. “Thank you, Mr. Cortez. That’s exactly the point.”
Samuel smiled, his gaze lingering on her a bit too long. “I’ve always admired your analytical mind. You see the balance others overlook.”
Luther’s grip on his pen tightened. The faint click of metal against his knuckle echoed faintly, small, sharp, deliberate.
When he finally spoke, his tone had cooled several degrees. “While I appreciate the… compliment parade,” Luther said, his words like a blade wrapped in silk, “we’re not here to admire anyone’s analytical mind. We’re here to make financial decisions based on profit, not charm.”
Samuel raised a brow, half-amused. “I wasn’t aware professionalism excluded appreciation.”
“It doesn’t,” Luther said. “But it does exclude distraction.”
The subtle challenge in his tone drew the room’s attention, and Deborah’s glare. “Gentlemens,” she interjected, her patience thinning, “if you’re done measuring who’s more charming, perhaps we can return to the numbers?”
The finance head cleared his throat awkwardly, moving to the next slide. “Ah, yes… as I was saying, we’ll need consensus on the expense redistribution before we finalize projections.”
But Deborah wasn’t listening anymore. She could feel Luther’s eyes on her, steady, unreadable, and far too knowing. Every time she tried to ignore him, her pulse betrayed her, beating louder than reason allowed.
And yet, when Samuel spoke again, Luther’s gaze sharpened like glass. “Miss Valmere,” Samuel said, smiling, “perhaps we could meet later to review the breakdown? I’d value your perspective, maybe over dinner?”
Luther didn’t move, but his knuckles turned white around the pen.
“She’s busy,” he said flatly.
Samuel blinked. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“No,” Luther said, voice quieter, darker. “But you should’ve been talking to her professionally.”
Samuel gave a low chuckle. “What’s the matter, Cain? Afraid I’ll win her over with balance sheets?”
“Afraid you’ll mistake competence for invitation,” Luther said evenly. “And trust me, you wouldn’t survive that mistake.”
The silence that followed was thick and stifling. Every executive pretended to be fascinated by their documents.
Deborah exhaled sharply. “Enough. Both of you. This is a business meeting, not a territorial debate.”
Her voice, though calm, carried command, the kind only a Valmere could possess. Samuel raised his hands in mock surrender. “Of course, Miss Valmere. My apologies.”
Luther said nothing, but his stare didn’t waver.
When the meeting finally adjourned, most of the attendees filed out quickly, grateful to escape the tension. Deborah gathered her papers, ready to leave, but as she passed Luther, he spoke quietly.
“You shouldn’t let him talk to you like that.”
She stopped but didn’t turn. “And you shouldn’t pretend you care.”
Luther’s voice softened, dangerously so. “Pretending’s not my style, baby.”
Her breath caught, just for a second. She forced herself to keep walking, her heels clicking sharply against the marble.
But she didn’t look back. Because if she did, she knew she’d see that same look in his eyes. And for now, pretending was the only thing keeping both of them from falling again.