Chapter 88 #6: Boring Predictable Profits
Tiny hands wrap around my legs and pull me out of the past so violently that I gasp.
“Mama.”
I look down blinking, my heart still somewhere years ago, still standing in my living room with divorce papers shaking in my hands. My daughter presses her cheek against my thigh, warm and solid and real, her hair tickling my skin.
“Mommy, you’re squeezing too tight,” she mumbles into my thigh, voice muffled by the silk of my dress.
I loosen my grip right away. “Sorry, baby. Mommy got lost in her thoughts for a second.”
She tilts her face up, sleepy eyes huge. “Were you thinking about dragons again?”
“Something like that.” I smoothen her hair behind one ear. “Go on, back under the covers. I already read you two chapters tonight.”
“Three,” she corrects, climbing onto the mattress with the slow confidence of someone who knows she has won.
I tuck the blanket around her shoulders, and kiss the tip of her nose, then her forehead. “Sleep now. No more negotiating.”
“Promise you’ll be careful with the scary investors?”
I smile. “I promise, baby."
She yawns wide enough to show every tiny tooth. “Love you to the moon and back and around again.”
“Love you more, snowflake,” I whisper, then flick off the lamp.
The room goes completely dark except for the faint glow-in-the-dark stars Vincent had stuck to the ceiling last summer. I stand there a moment longer, watching her chest rise and fall until I'm sure she is asleep, then I slip out and close the door with a soft click.
Vincent is waiting in the hallway, his jacket already on, phone to his ear. The second he sees me, he ends the call. “She down?”
“Finally.” I adjust the strap of my clutch. “You sure you can’t come? McAllister specifically asked for both of us.”
He steps closer and puts his hands on my waist, warm and firm. “Emergency at the Tokyo office. Supply chain issue that could cost us forty million if we don’t fix it tonight. I’ll make it up to you.”
I study his face for a moment. “You know I hate walking into these meetings alone.”
“You’re not alone. You’re the COO of Calder Investments. You built half the projections they’re excited about.” He brushes his thumb along my jaw. “And you look like you could close a deal in your sleep.”
“Flattery won’t get you out of trouble when I get home.”
“I’m counting on that” he says with a wink. He kisses me then, deeply, the kind that promises more later. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker. “Be brilliant. And text me when you’re done.”
“I always am.” I touch his cheek once, then step away before I can change my mind about leaving Lucy.
The car ride is uneventful. I spend it skimming through notes on my tablet, revisiting figures I already know by heart. Calder Investments has been circling this deal for months. McAllister likes leverage. He likes reminding people of history, of legacy, of who built what first.
He’s going to mention Reid Global. I know he is.
My phone buzzes almost right away.
Vincent: Tokyo crisis escalated. Might be all night. Call if you need me.
I type back: I’ve got this. Don’t let them bankrupt us.
Three dots appear, disappear, appear again.
Vincent: Wouldn’t dream of it. Love you.
I stare at the words longer than I should and smile as I proceed into the building.
The hotel lobby is all marble and quiet money. I cross the floor with the steady stride I have practiced over years of boardrooms and events. Heads turn as I walk past; I pretend not to notice.
The boardroom is already set up. Polished wood, floor to ceiling windows, the city stretching out beyond the glass. McAllister stands near the window, hands clasped behind his back, watching traffic below like he owns it.
“Nora,” he says as I enter, turning with a practiced smile. “You look absolutely radiant. And right on time.”
“Wouldn’t dream of being late,” I reply, shaking his hand.
“You’re flying solo today?” he asks, glancing past me.
“My partner was pulled into an emergency,” I say smoothly. “He’ll be on calls until dawn. You’re stuck with me.”
He laughs. “Lucky me. Please, sit. My partner’s running late, but he should be here any minute.”
I sit in the chair across from him. The table is set for four, crystal catching the chandelier light. A bottle of ’82 Lafite is already open. Someone knows just how to set the mood.
“How’s the little one?” McAllister asks, pouring wine without even asking if I want any. “Lucy, isn’t it?”
“She’s five going on twenty-five. Keeps me on my toes.”
He smiles, the indulgent smile of a grandfather who doesn’t have to handle the tantrums. “They grow up too fast. My youngest just started college. Feels like yesterday she was stealing my cufflinks to play pirate.”
We both laugh politely. Small talk is just the warm-up; we both know it.
“So,” McAllister says eventually, leaning back in his chair. “Calder Investments. Quite the rise.”
“Consistent growth,” I correct. “We don’t rush.”
“Smart,” he says. “Reid Global rushed. In the early days, at least.”
Ah... there it is.
“I wouldn’t say rushed,” I reply. “They capitalized on opportunity.”
“Sometimes too aggressively,” he counters. “It cost them darely.”
I meet his gaze evenly. “Every empire has growing pains.”
He smiles thinly. “Indeed. Still, the Reid name carries weight. Legacy does that.”
My pulse picks up, but I take a slow sip of wine to buy time. “I’m not here to discuss David Reid’s personal life.”
“Of course not.” He waves a hand. “But legacy matters to investors. We’re putting real money behind Calder because we believe in the team. In you specifically, Mrs. Calder. Vincent’s the visionary; you’re the one who makes sure the numbers add up.”
“I appreciate the confidence.”
He studies me over the rim of his glass for a moment. “You should. You’re the reason we’re even considering the full commitment. Some of my partners were hesitant after the Reid fallout. They didn’t want to back anything that smelled like drama.”
“And now?”
“Now they’re reading the same projections I am. And they’re seeing the same woman who turned a thirty-million-dollar loss into a forty-two percent return in eighteen months.” He raises his glass. “To smart women who don’t need drama to get attention.”
I clink my glass against his. “To boring, predictable profits.”
Just then, the door opens behind me.
Before I can turn, McAllister looks up, his smile widening. “There he is. Nora, may I present my partner, who finally decided to join us. I believe you know him very well.”
I turn in my seat, ready to give the standard polite smile.
And freeze.
The man stepping through the doorway is tall, dark-haired, wearing a charcoal suit that fit perfectly. His posture is easy and confident. An all too familiar watch on his left wrist catches the light: Patek Philippe – familiar because I distinctly remember purchasing it and wrapping it in a gift box for our second anniversary.
My heart slams against my ribs.
David Reid walks into the room.