Chapter 229: Whatever She Asks, I Accept

Chapter 229: Whatever She Asks, I Accept
Alexander’s POV

The numbers on the financial report swam before my eyes like a bad hangover. I'd been glaring at the damn thing for twenty minutes, but all I could feel was this gnawing emptiness in my chest where my heart used to beat. Pathetic. Work was my escape from her—from the ghost of Nora haunting every quiet moment—but lately, even that fortress was crumbling.

A sharp knock at my office door yanked me out of the fog. Finally, a distraction.

"Come in," I snapped, not bothering to look up.

My assistant, Leo, slipped inside with his usual polished efficiency. "Mr. Claflin, I need to confirm your schedule for the week. There's a board meeting on Thursday that—"

"Cut the crap, Leo." I tossed my pen down and met his gaze. "What's the real reason you're here?"

He cleared his throat, fiddling with his tie like it wasn't already perfect. "I got a call from Traynor Group. Miss Traynor wants a meeting to discuss a potential collaboration."

My hand froze halfway to my coffee mug. Nora. The name I'd been dodging like a live wire for weeks. Heat surged through me—anger, longing, something darker.

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers. So she wanted to see me.

"Clear my weekend," I said, decision made. "I'll meet with the Traynor reps myself."

Leo's eyebrows shot up, but he nodded. "Yes, sir. Should I book your flight to Highcrest?"

"No." The word came out like a whip. "They come here. My turf."

As he headed for the door, I added, "And Leo? Set it for Sunday. Ten a.m. Sharp."

"Yes, sir." He paused, like he wanted to say more, but thought better of it.

---

Saturday night dragged on in the office, buried in Traynor's proposal docs. It was pushing midnight when I finally called it quits. My Maybach purred through Kingsley's deserted streets, and I rummaged in the glove compartment for my emergency cigars. I hadn't touched one since... since Nora wrinkled her nose at the smell clinging to my shirts.

Screw it. I lit up, cracking the window to let the smoke curl out. Anything to steady the storm brewing inside me for tomorrow.

By the time I pulled up to Claflin Estate, a dull knot twisted in my gut. Stress, no doubt—I'd been skipping meals like a bad habit.

The butler met me at the door, his expression neutral despite the hour. "Working late again, sir?"

"Big meeting tomorrow." I shrugged off my coat, wincing as the ache sharpened. "Grab me something for indigestion from the medicine cabinet. Whatever we've got."

"Right away, sir."

That night, I paced my study like a caged animal, rehearsing lines, picturing her face—every curve, every spark of defiance. By dawn, a throbbing headache joined the party, turning my stomach into a war zone.

Just stress, I told myself. You've powered through worse.

Sunday morning slammed into me like a sucker punch. I barely swung my legs out of bed before doubling over, fire ripping through my abdomen.

"Shit," I gasped, gripping the bedpost to stay upright.

The butler found me like that when he brought my coffee. Cool as ever, he set the tray down. "Shall I call the family doctor, sir?"

"No," I growled, teeth clenched. Then another wave hit, and I caved. "Fine. But tell him to haul ass—I’ve got a meeting at ten."

The family doctor arrived in under thirty, by which point the butler had wrestled me back into bed. His verdict came quick and brutal.

"Acute gastritis," he said, stowing his stethoscope. "Triggered by stress, skipped meals, and..." His eyes flicked to the empty whiskey glass on the nightstand. "...poor coping mechanisms. You need rest, fluids, and I'm hooking you up to an IV."

"I don't have time for this crap," I muttered, already shoving the covers off. "Meeting in two hours."

"Mr. Claflin," he said firmly, "your stomach's a mess. Push it, and you're looking at ulcers—or worse."

"Three bags of that IV junk," I bargained. "Then I'm out of here."

Two bags in, I was glaring at my watch like it owed me money. "That's enough," I snapped, yanking at the tape on my arm.

"Sir," the nurse protested, "the doctor recommended a full three—"

"I don't give a damn. I've got a meeting." When she froze, I reached for the catheter myself. "Fine, I'll rip it out."

"Mr. Claflin!" The butler looked ready to faint.

The nurse jumped in. "I'll handle it properly, sir."

As she worked, I turned to the butler. "Car ready in twenty. And get me strong painkillers—nothing that knocks me out. Pack extras in case it flares up mid-meeting."

"Sir, I really must—"

"Not a request."

In the Maybach's backseat, I checked my reflection in my phone camera. The meds dulled the edge, but I looked like death warmed over—pale skin, shadows under my eyes.

I asked my driver, "how do I look? Too washed out?"

He glanced in the rearview. "A little pale, sir. But still... intimidating as hell."

I straightened my tie, fiddled with my cufflinks. Intimidating would have to cut it.

---

The boardroom was primed like a battlefield—water pitchers gleaming, docs laid out, my exec team fidgeting in their seats. I claimed the head of the table, ignoring their stares at my ghostly complexion.

"Miss Traynor's team is heading up," my CFO murmured.

I nodded, breathing through a fresh stab of pain. Hold it together. Collapse later.

Heels clicked down the hall, followed by her laugh—like a spark to dry tinder. My palms slicked with sweat. Get a grip, Claflin.

I grabbed a random file, pretending to scan it.

The door swung open, and the air charged like a storm front. I felt her before I saw her—electric, pulling at every nerve.

"Good morning," my COO said, all charm. "Welcome to Claflin Enterprises."

My team rose to greet them, but I stayed planted, a deliberate snub. The silence stretched, turning thick and uncomfortable.

Finally, her voice cut through—cool, sharp, the one that still invaded my dreams.

"Well," she said, "I see Claflin Enterprises' hospitality is as overhyped as its CEO."

I lifted my head slowly, schooling my face into bored detachment. "Miss Traynor. Have a seat."

She stood framed in the doorway, stunning in a blue suit that clung to her. Ponytail sleek, eyes like daggers. God, she was gorgeous—it hit me like a gut punch, literally.

But she didn't budge, arms crossed, staring me down.

"Mr. Claflin," she said with fake sugar, "I've been standing here forever. Hearing aid acting up? Or is it your eyesight?"

My execs squirmed, trapped in our invisible crossfire.

I rose deliberately, swallowing a wince from the pain. "My bad. Reviewing key figures. Sit."

Only then did she glide into her chair, the room following like dominoes. Tension hung heavy, electric.

"You look like shit," she said, eyeing me up and down. "Rough weekend?"

"Just busy," I shot back. "Some of us run empires."

"Hmm." Skepticism dripped from her tone. "Surprised Mr. Sterling isn't handling this. He's always been... easier to deal with."

The jab landed hard, as intended. "Jason's tied up. You're stuck with me."

"Pity," she whispered, just for my ears.

I cleared my throat, seizing control. "Let's cut to it. Claflin sees synergy with Lunora—major market potential."

Our eyes locked then—not in war, but something raw, real. What was she thinking? Did she despise me? Or was this just a game?

"Before we dive in," she said, shattering the moment, "I have non-negotiables. No deal without them."

My team traded uneasy looks. Normally, I'd boot demands like that out the door. But this was Nora.

"Shoot," I said, bracing.

"First: profit split. Seventy-thirty, Lunora's favor."

Shock rippled through my side. Ballsy, even for her.

But I'd seen it coming. "Done. Leo, note it."

Her brows arched—she hadn't expected surrender. Good. Keep her guessing.

"Second: Claflin absorbs all market losses."

My CFO choked back a protest; I shut him down with a glare.

"Agreed," I said, voice steady as pain clawed my insides.

Nora blinked, off-kilter. "You're being awfully flexible, Mr. Claflin."

"I know value when I see it," I replied, the words loaded.

"Final one," she leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Lunora can bail anytime, with full control over product dev."

This was insane. "So you get the lion's share, we eat the risks, and you walk whenever?"

"It's protective," she said smoothly. "Saves you from dragging losses."

"How generous," I sneered. "Almost as generous as you've been with... other things."