19. Orion

19

ORION

"... a nd as you can see, Mr. Davenport, our proposed improvements would increase the property value significantly."

I was only half-listening to Roman's presentation. The other half of my brain was stuck on Ember—how she'd looked yesterday morning, disheveled and hungover, yet somehow still managing to be irritatingly distracting. Those full lips had been extra puffy, slightly swollen from sleep, and I'd caught myself wondering what it would feel like to...

No. I refused to acknowledge that line of thought. It was wildly inappropriate and unprofessional. Colton's words from our morning basketball game weren't helping either.

Marcellus Davenport sat across the conference table, studying me with shrewd eyes. He was pushing ninety but sharp as ever, his weathered hands folded neatly on the polished wood.

The meeting wasn't exactly going well. Marcellus Davenport appeared to be a highly emotional man who didn't care about our impressive numbers, contract success rates, or unparalleled resources. He seemed unmoved by the carefully crafted presentation Roman had spent weeks perfecting.

In short, I wasn't getting through to him, and I could see it in his cold expression. From the looks on Roman and Moira's faces, they could see how poorly this was going as well. Worse, Moira had insisted on letting some of her people sit in, which meant I wasn't entirely surprised to find Ember at the conference table along with a few other familiar faces.

My failure of epic proportions had quite the audience.

"The projections speak for themselves," I said, attempting to salvage things with a more personal pivot. "But ultimately, Mr. Davenport, what matters is preserving your legacy. These factories have been in your care for decades. We want to honor that history while bringing them into the future."

Davenport's eyes narrowed. "And what do you know about legacy, young man?"

More than you think, I wanted to say. Instead, I found myself wondering what Ember would do. She'd probably send him a plushy replica of one of his factories or something equally ridiculous. And somehow, it would work.

I felt my eyes slide to her along with my thoughts, and Ember seemed to take my gaze as permission to speak.

"We know it's not just about the buildings," Ember said suddenly, drawing several sharp looks from around the table. She was specifically briefed by Moira to stay quiet during this meeting, and it took serious backbone for her to be speaking right now. To her credit, her cheeks were flushed and she looked uncharacteristically nervous. But she pressed on, voice confident and clear. "It's about the people whose lives were shaped within those buildings—the families who relied on these factories for generations."

Something in Davenport's expression shifted. "Go on."

"At Foster Real Estate, we believe real estate isn't just about property—it's about potential," Ember said, cutting her eyes to me briefly before returning to Mr. Davenport. "It's about seeing what something could become while respecting what it has been."

Davenport studied her for a long moment. "Who are you, young woman?"

"Ember Hartwell, Sir," she said.

Davenport looked up at me. "I'd prefer to deal with her from now on. I prefer the cut of her jib to your... dry and depressing personality." He punctuated his words with a slightly disgusted gesture of his hand in my direction.

Wonderful.

I swore I could see Ember trying not to smile. I ignored it, swallowing my pride. "We're happy to accommodate you, Mr. Davenport." What else could I do or say? In a few short seconds, Ember just turned herself into my most indispensable employee.

The thought was troubling. Very troubling.

"Good," Davenport said, standing and straightening his dated but impeccable suit. "Miss Hartwell, would you walk me out?"

He held his arm out and Ember rushed to her feet to walk him out the door. She shot one bemused, wide-eyed look that was somewhere between gloating and shock over her shoulder as she left.

The door closed and I watched them through the glass. Ember said something that had the old man smiling as they walked from view.

"Sir?" Roman's voice broke through my thoughts. "That went well, didn't it?"

"It did," I agreed, though it hadn't gone well in the way I would have preferred. I liked to be in control. I wanted Davenport to like me and understand my messaging. The fact that Ember had charmed him and made herself even more indispensable was... concerning. But it was something I could work with.

This was why I succeeded where others failed. I was willing and able to adapt and improvise—to take the unexpected and make it appear as though it had been part of my plans all along.

"Should we celebrate?" Roman asked hopefully.

"We haven't closed the deal yet," I reminded him. "Moira, you can take your people with you. Roman and I need to debrief. After that, I'll track down Ember and find out what she spoke with Davenport about on the way out."

I found Ember at her desk half an hour later, head down on her keyboard, a cup of coffee clutched in one hand like a lifeline.

"Ember?"

She jerked upright, a row of random letters appearing on her screen. "I wasn't sleeping!" she said quickly. "I was just... resting my eyes. Very professionally." She sighed. “Sorry. I had such a bad headache from the wine all day yesterday. I tried to go to sleep at a reasonable time last night but I tossed and turned for hours. I’m running on fumes today.”

I paused, torn between offering a word of sympathy and ignoring her plight. I cleared my throat, nodding. "Good work in there."

She opened her mouth like she hadn't heard me, paused, and then smiled. "Oh. Thank you."

I studied her for a moment. "Have dinner with me tonight."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"To discuss the Davenport account," I added quickly. "Professionally."

"Right," she said slowly. "Professionally."

"Eight o'clock?"

"Perfect," she said. "As long as you promise not to make me drink wine again."

I smiled despite myself. "Noted."

As I walked back to my office, I assured myself the dinner was necessary to discuss an important client and had nothing to do with my growing fascination with Ember.

Maybe the most concerning fact was that I hadn’t at all intended to ask her to dinner when I approached her desk. The suggestion had bubbled up out of nowhere and reached my mouth before I could stop myself.

My usually impeccable self-control seemed to be short-circuiting where Ember was involved, and I worried where that might lead if the trend continued.

Considering the… things I thought about doing with Ember, a lack of self-control could lead to some very, very complicated and unprofessional places.