Chapter 4 Sam planted himself on my desk; he knew how much I hated it. Yet he continued to do it anyway, just like fiddling with the stack of folders in my tray and sliding my pen holder three inches to the right. I had known Sam since college, and he'd always had this habit of marking the space he occupied-tearing off corners of fliers tacked to bulletin boards, rotating desks a few degrees, leaving behind origami gum wrappers. At first, I'd almost believed he wasn't aware of it. But then I'd caught him looking around, gauging whether anyone had noticed the way he'd ruffled the world around him. It was a wonder we were friends since I preferred my world wholly unruffled. But Sam had made his mark on me as well, giving me no option but to accept his friendship. He tapped the top of my computer monitor. "Have you looked at the proposal yet?" I spun the ring on my index finger, continuing to scan the line of code I had been checking before he'd walked in. He waited for me to finish, knowing me well enough to understand there was no other choice. Once focused, I wasn't easily diverted. Finally, I came to a stopping point and looked up from my screen. "What was that?" He sighed heavily through his nose. "The proposal I sent you three days ago. The one we're discussing at our weekly meeting, which is taking place in twenty minutes, like every Tuesday." Exasperated. That was what he was. This was a new thing with Sam. Being in my life required patience, which Sam never had a shortage of, but lately, he'd been doing this sighing thing when I did not comply with his arbitrary timelines. I'd been mulling over his sighs, trying to decipher what they meant for the future of our friendship and partnership. Of course, it wasn't only the sighs I'd been contemplating. We were in the midst of a fundamental disagreement over the direction we would be taking the company in the next few years, one I did not see an easy way out of. "Tore," he grumbled. "Did you read the proposal?" "I glanced at it. You know my answer. It's not the right time to go public. It may never be, but the near future is absolutely out of the question." He crossed his arms, tucking in his normal, easygoing energy. "That's it? You won't even read what I spent hours laying out for you?" I shook my head. "Your timeline is impossible. If you take a step back and remove the dollar signs from your eyes, I think you'll acknowledge that." "The dollar signs?" He shot to his feet. "Are you kidding me? That's what you think this is about?" He wasn't even trying to hide his anger anymore. Along with the sighs, he'd been losing his temper with me more often. It gave me pause, but not about my decision. I was certain about keeping Nox private. I wondered if Sam had outgrown Nox. If he needed more of a challenge. There was a decent chance he'd outgrown me as well. As uneasy as those possibilities made me, I wouldn't have blamed him. I had a particular way of doing things that couldn't be changed easily. I'd done more than my fair share of changing after the upheaval I'd gone through two years ago. Finally in a good place, where things were running smoothly again, I had no interest in turning it all upside down. "I don't know what it's about. I-" A flash of blue passing my open door robbed me of speech. Sam turned to follow my gaze, but all that remained was an empty doorway. There was no way... Not two weeks in a row. Paul hadn't said anything. Then again, he had no reason to say anything. Except he knew I didn't like surprises. "What was that?" Sam asked. "Nothing." Leaning back in my chair, I refocused on him. "I'm sorry for the dollar sign remark. The point stands, though. At our last valuation, we were worth-" "I know our valuation, Tore. If you'd read the proposal, you'd understand my reasoning. I wrote it for you. So yeah, it hurts you won't even take the time to read it. How can we have a real conversation if you won't?" As sure as I was about my decision, I didn't like the idea of hurting Sam. A long time ago, I had been a gawky, lonely nineteen-year-old college senior, and he'd taken me under his wing. First, as a partner in class, then as a friend. Since interpersonal relationships had never come easily to me, I'd never taken our friendship for granted. At least, I hadn't before. There was a chance I had in recent years. Another flicker of unease churned in my gut. Dismissing him outright was not the way to go, even if I already knew reading the proposal would be a waste of time. This was Sam. He'd been beside me every step of the way in building Nox. He'd supported me when I'd needed it most. I could do this for him. "I'll read it," I told him. "But you have to understand-" "I understand you think you won't agree. All I'm asking is you keep an open mind when you read it." I nodded once. "I'll do what I can." His mouth hitched into a crooked grin. "And I know you'll tell me exactly what you think without pulling a single punch." I let out an internal sigh of relief at Sam reverting to his usual lighthearted self. "Do you want me to?" I asked. He chuckled. "Absolutely not. You wouldn't be you if you pussyfooted around." Problem solved for now, my mind was already elsewhere when I pushed back from my desk. "Is there anything else?" "Uh...no. I guess not." I buttoned my jacket and smoothed a hand over my hair. "All right. I have to talk to Paul before the meeting. I'll see you there." Paul was nowhere in sight, and I didn't feel like hunting him down for a question I could answer myself. Stalking toward the main conference room, I halted in the doorway. Twenty minutes before our weekly team meeting, the only person in the room was the caterer. Even facing away from me, it was abundantly clear this was not Rachel, who had been catering our meetings for a year. Rachel did not have big, blue curls. I'd never noticed the shape of her hips and ass, so I couldn't state with one-hundred percent certainty, but I was pretty sure they hadn't come close to filling out her pants like this woman's. Rachel moved with quiet efficiency. This woman moved with the smooth grace of a ballet dancer wrapped in the curves of burlesque. Rachel had also been sixty-two. This woman? Not sixty-two. Pulling my gaze from her, I scanned the table she was setting, and a knot unfurled in my gut. Cups filled with meats and cheeses lined up in neat rows. A tray of fruit, perfectly arranged in a rainbow spray. In between movements, she used a black pen to check off items listed on a small clipboard. The orderliness of it all was a fascinating contrast to the streaks of royal, sky, and ocean weaving through her hair and the glint of silver in her nostril. She looked like the kind of woman who'd enter a room and send it into delightfully maddening disarray, yet she was methodical and precise. It was soothing to watch. Too soothing. She turned abruptly, catching me staring, and her brows dipped. I probably looked like a creep. Watching her work. Standing in the doorway. Saying nothing. She gathered herself first, wiping every trace of wariness and replacing it with polite professionalism. "Oh, hi. How are you?" Her voice was a 1920s speakeasy. Illicit. Thick with smoke and velvet. "Where's Rachel?" I blurted. Her head jerked. "I don't know who Rachel is, so I can't answer that. The only person I know here is Paul. He might know where Rachel is." Of course. Why would she know where our usual caterer was? "All right." I rapped on the doorframe as she stared, her eyes bouncing over me. I was keeping her from her job-the only reason she was here. Now wasn't the time for conversation. Swiveling on my heel, I went in search of Paul. Normally, I didn't like disruptions. This one, though? I didn't think I was going to mind. Not in the least. 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