"Page fourteen," I said, tapping the paper lightly. "Bottom paragraph. The projected margins are off by six percent."

"We can address that in the follow-up," Gerald replied smoothly.

"We will address it now." My voice stayed calm, but firm. "Six percent isn’t a rounding error."

The room went quiet. Nobody argued.

I didn’t even look up when the door opened. I finished my point, capped my pen, and only then lifted my eyes.

Charlie stood in the doorway.

For a second, everything in him froze. His hand stayed on the door handle like he’d forgotten what to do with it. His gaze locked on mine across the long table, and I watched something heavy settle over his face not quite shock, but close. Like a man who knew this moment was coming but still wasn’t ready for it.

I let the silence stretch for two beats.

"Mr. Hargrove," I said evenly. "We started at nine."

He walked in without a word. His team shuffled behind him, filling the seats on the opposite side of the table. He took the chair directly across from me.

Gerald cleared his throat and started the introductions. When he finally got to me, he said it like it was just another name:

"Noelle Cassidy. Founder and CEO of Cassidy and Co."

Charlie already knew that, of course. He’d known my name longer than most people in this room had been alive. But no one else here knew our history, so they didn’t catch the way his jaw tightened when my name was spoken out loud. They didn’t see the way his eyes flicked over my charcoal suit the one that cost more than my first apartment ever did.

I gave Gerald a small nod. "Shall we get started?"

We did.

Twenty minutes in, I leaned forward slightly. "Your eastern asset valuations are inflated. I’ll need the full methodology today, not at the end of the week."

Charlie’s CFO tried for a condescending smile. "Those figures were independently reviewed."

"I’m sure they were," I said, meeting his eyes. "Today still works better for me."

The smile slipped. "I’ll see what I can do."

"Great." I flipped the page before he could recover. "Moving on."

I avoided looking at Charlie as much as possible.

But when I did glance up, he was already watching me. Not in the sharp, calculating way you look at an opponent across a negotiating table. This was slower. Heavier. The kind of look that had no place in a glass-walled boardroom on the thirty-fourth floor.

*Don’t,* I warned myself. *Stay in the room.*

I stayed.

Then one of his younger analysts spoke up, eager and oblivious.

"Same model Hargrove used before," he said, eyes on his notes. "The Hargrove marriage of those two asset classes is what drove the Q3 return."

The words landed like a quiet bomb.

Nobody else reacted. Gerald nodded. Pens moved across paper. My own team kept their heads down.

I drew in a slow breath and wrote a number in the margin that I didn’t actually need. My hand stayed steady. Five years of practice will do that.

"Moving on," I said. "Page thirty."

We moved on.

By the time the meeting ended, the tension in the room finally loosened. Chairs scraped back, voices rose, phones came out. I started packing my documents into my folder, keeping my movements deliberate.

I felt him before I heard him.

He stopped beside me, close enough that his voice stayed low.

"We need to talk."

I kept sliding papers into the folder. "About the tabled items? My lawyer will reach out to Gerald by Thursday."

"You know that’s not what I mean."

"I know."

I finally looked up at him. Really looked. He was broader now, more worn around the edges. The boy I used to know had been replaced by this harder, heavier version of himself. Still dangerously magnetic. Still completely unfair.

"Noelle." His voice dropped. "Please."

That word hit harder than I expected. Charlie had never been big on "please." Not with me. Not ever.

I kept my face neutral. "I’d think carefully about what you want to say… and where you want to say it."

"Then tell me where."

"I’ll see you at the follow-up, Mr. Hargrove."

I picked up my folder and walked out.

The elevator came quickly. I stepped inside and turned around just as the doors began to close. Charlie was standing at the glass wall of the boardroom, watching me. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t gone back to his team. Just stood there, hands at his sides, looking at me like something precious had slipped through his fingers.

The doors shut.

I stared at my reflection in the polished steel and let out a long, shaky breath.

I had prepared for today. For weeks.

What I hadn’t prepared for was hearing him say *please*.

My phone buzzed as I stepped into the cold Manhattan air. Unknown number. Four words.

We need to talk. Tonight.

I slipped the phone back into my coat pocket, hands trembling just a little, and kept walking.