Chapter 89 #7: You've Changed
The room tilts.
Not literally. Nothing so dramatic. The glass walls remain upright, the long walnut table stays polished and still, the city beyond the windows continues breathing in its slow, arrogant way. But something inside me slips out of alignment the second he steps through the door.
David Reid.
Alive. Whole. Unchanged in all the ways that matter and all the ways that ruin me.
For a fraction of a second, I forget how to breathe. I forget how to be the woman seated at the head of the table with a tablet in front of her and a legal pad to her right, forget how to be the COO with her spine straight and her face schooled into professional calm. I am abruptly and violently aware of the girl I used to be, the one who once memorized the cadence of his footsteps, the one who knew when he was in a good mood by the looseness of his tie.
My fingers curl against the edge of the table before anyone can notice the slip.
McAllister rises halfway from his seat, already smiling.
“Ah,” he says warmly. “There you are. I was beginning to think I’d scared you off.”
David’s mouth curves into that familiar, measured smile, the one that never quite reaches his eyes. It used to undo me. I learned, eventually, that it was a warning disguised as charm.
“Apologies,” David says, his voice steady and unhurried. “A call ran longer than anticipated.”
He takes the empty chair across from me. Directly across.
Of course he does.
His gaze lifts then, deliberately slow until it finds mine and locks there.
For a split second, something flickers. Recognition. Calculation. Surprise, maybe, but if it exists, he buries it fast. What he offers instead is polite interest, the kind reserved for strangers who might become useful.
“Nora,” McAllister says, gesturing between us, oblivious to the war detonating under the table. “I'm sure you know David Reid. He’s our… well, silent partner, for lack of a better term.”
Silent partner. The words clang around inside my skull. How did no one bother to warn me that my ex husband is the silent partner of the very agency we’re trying to get to invest into my new husband's firm?
David inclines his head toward me, every inch the consummate executive. “A pleasure.”
The pleasure is not mutual.
I take his hand when he offers it because that is what professional women do. His palm is warm and achingly familiar. His grip is firm without being aggressive. Exactly as I remember.
Exactly.
“Likewise,” I say, and my voice does not betray me. Thank God for small mercies.
He holds my hand after a beat too long before he releases it. His thumb presses lightly at my pulse point, a coincidence that feels like a message.
I retract my hand and fold both beneath the table.
McAllister settles back into his chair, pleased. “Now that we’re all here, shall we?”
David leans back, crossing one ankle over his knee. The movement is effortless, confident, infuriatingly controlled. He looks like a man who has never lost anything of consequence in his life, like time has been nothing but generous to him.
I clear my throat and gesture toward the screen. “As I was saying, the revised projections reflect a conservative growth model post acquisition, with room for expansion once operational redundancies are addressed.”
David’s gaze remains on me, not the screen.
“Conservative,” he repeats. “That’s an interesting choice of word.”
I meet his eyes and allow myself a small smile. “I prefer accurate.”
McAllister chuckles. “Nora has a way of understating wins.”
David finally glances at the figures. “Accuracy depends on assumptions.”
“Of course,” I say smoothly. “All projections do.”
“Which assumptions did you prioritize?”
I tap the screen, pulling up the relevant slide. “Market stabilization, regulatory timelines, and internal restructuring costs.”
“Internal restructuring,” he echoes. “That can be a… flexible category.”
There it is. The first probe.
I keep my posture relaxed. “Flexibility is built into the model. We accounted for worst case scenarios.”
“And best case?” David asks.
“We don’t plan for best case,” I reply. “We build for resilience.”
His mouth twitches, almost a smile. Almost.
McAllister looks between us, amused. “Calder told us she was smart. We should’ve believed him.”
“I’m seeing that,” David says. His eyes lift again, pinning me. “Where did you train?”
The question is casual. The intent is not.
“Reid Global,” I answer without missing a beat.
Silence lands.
McAllister blinks. “Is that right?”
David stills. Just slightly. Anyone who does not know him would miss it.
“Yes,” David says slowly. “I thought you looked familiar.”
He's trying to rile me up to see just how far he can push me before I break. I won’t give him the opportunity.
“I was an executive assistant,” I add lightly. “Long time ago.”
David chuckles. “Isn’t that a fancy word for secretary?”
I grind my teeth together, forcing myself to remember this is a business meeting and he’s a potential investor.
“Maybe. But then again, I moved from being a secretary to where I am now. Some people tend to rise, others tend to... well... not rise.” I say with a sweet smile.
Instead of anger or at least mild irritation, David smiles. Actually smiles.
He studies me with renewed interest now, something sharper threading through his gaze. The past has been named, if not acknowledged, and it sits between us like a live wire.
“And now COO,” David says. “Very impressive.”
“Thank you.”
“Tell me,” he continues, “what prompted the takeover?”
McAllister opens his mouth, but I answer first.
“Opportunity,” I say. “The company was undervalued and mismanaged.”
“Strong words.”
“Accurate ones.”
David’s gaze does not waver. “Mismanaged how?”
I resist the urge to cross my arms. “I’m sure you’ve reviewed the due diligence.”
“I have,” he says. “Which is why I’m curious.”
“Curious about?”
“The timing.”
McAllister frowns. “Timing?”
David nods. “The acquisition occurs shortly after a leadership shakeup, during a volatile quarter, amid pending litigation. Bold.”
“Calculated,” I say.
“Risky.”
“Necessary.”
His eyes flicker again, that familiar dominance threading through his attention, the way he used to look at boardrooms before dismantling them piece by piece. It used to make my skin prickle, used to make me feel chosen when his focus landed on me.
Now it just makes me angry.
“Risk often is,” I continue, voice even. “But we’re confident.”
“In what,” he asks, “or in who?”
McAllister laughs, uncomfortable now. “Gentlemen. And lady. Let’s not turn this into an interrogation.”
David does not apologize. He leans forward instead, forearms resting on the table.
“Confidence,” he says, “is only as good as its foundation.”
“Our foundation is solid,” I reply. “Audited. Verified.”
“By firms with ties to the new ownership,” he counters.
I smile. “Transparency disclosures are included.”
“Yes,” he says. “I noticed.”
The air tightens. Dialogue fills the room, but the real conversation is silent, a push and pull of history and suspicion and something darker threading underneath.
I feel it then, unmistakably. He knows something is off with the Reid Global takeover. Maybe not what, maybe not how, but he senses it.
McAllister clears his throat. “Perhaps we should move on to the operational plan.”
“Of course,” I say, clicking to the next slide. “As you can see, our restructuring focuses on efficiency without sacrificing institutional knowledge.”
David’s gaze drops briefly to my mouth when I speak. It distracts me, making me lose track of what I was saying and I stutter slightly.
The bastard.
I remember how that look used to feel. I remember sitting across from him during late meetings, his voice low, as he challenged me until I forgot to be afraid and started being brilliant instead.
I hated how intoxicating that was.
I hate that my body remembers.
“So,” David says, “no intention to divest the legacy divisions?”
“Not at this time, no.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re profitable.”
“Marginally.”
“Profit is profit.”
“Not when opportunity cost outweighs it.”
“And yet,” I say, “we disagree.”
McAllister looks like he might combust.
David leans back again, studying me openly now. “You’ve changed.”
I meet his gaze. “So have you.”
Another almost smile.
The meeting drags, but only because time stretches when every second feels loaded. Questions volley back and forth. I deflect, redirect, anchor us in data and process. David presses, subtly, expertly, never enough to appear hostile, always enough to signal that he is watching.
By the time McAllister checks his watch, I feel wrung out and wired all at once.
“Well,” McAllister says, rising. “I think we’ve covered enough for one evening.”
David stands too. “Agreed.”
McAllister beams at both of us. “Excellent work both of you. I’ll have my office follow up.”
He gathers his things and exits, humming to himself, blissfully unaware that he has just left two live grenades alone in a glass hallway.
David waits until the door clicks shut.
The silence blooms.
He steps closer.
I do not move.
“Nora,” he says quietly.
I lift my chin. “David.”
His eyes rake over me, no pretence now. “You look... good. Your husband seems to be taking good care of you.”
“And I of him.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Still sharp.”
“Still condescending.”
He exhales, something like amusement ghosting through it. “We need to talk.”
I laugh, soft and humourless. “No, we really don’t.”
He steps closer, crowding my space, lowering his voice. “You don’t get to walk into my world and pretend the past doesn’t exist.”
I feel it then, the old pull, the heat of proximity, the echo of what he used to be to me and what I used to be to him. I shove it down.
“This isn’t your world anymore, David.” I say. “And the past is exactly where you belong.”
His eyes darken. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
He leans in, his mouth close to my ear. “Then why are your hands shaking?”
I clench them into fists. “Because I’m angry.”
“Liar.”
I open my mouth to retort, to slice him open with words the way I used to, when footsteps echo down the hall.
David straightens.
Vincent’s voice carries before he appears. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a nightmare.”