Chapter 2 - THE MULTIMILLION-DOLLAR INTERRUPTION"Nathaniel! Thank God you're still in the house!"
Harrison Vance, senior partner at Vance & Sterling Capital, burst into the kitchen with two junior executives trailing frantically behind him. Harrison looked like a man who had run a marathon in a three-piece Brioni suit. Sweat plastered his thinning gray hair to his forehead, and his leather portfolio was clutched in white knuckles.
Harrison stopped dead in his tracks as he crossed the threshold.
His eyes swept past Nathan, past the heavy oak table, and landed squarely on Evie, who was calmly pouring herself a cup of coffee while leaning against the counter.
"Who is this?" Harrison hissed, lowering his voice as if addressing a domestic disturbance. "Nathan, we have a crisis. The Board of Global Logistics just pulled out of the consortium. If you don't sign the restructuring agreement by noon, we lose seventy million dollars in equity."
Nathan didn't move. The spell of the kitchen had been broken, replaced instantly by the cold, heavy armor of the billionaire industrialist. He slowly picked up his coffee cup, took a sip, and looked at Harrison with dead eyes.
"Seventy million?" Nathan asked flatly.
"At least!" Harrison cried, waving his hands. "The board is in a panic. They're ready to dissolve the partnership. Look at the papers, Nathan. Just sign on the dotted line."
Harrison rushed forward, slamming the leather portfolio onto the pristine butcher-block counter, right over Evie’s flour canister. Papers scattered across the surface.
Evie stared down at the documents, then up at Harrison. Slowly, deliberately, she picked up her coffee mug, stepped around the frantic executive, and walked over to the stove.
"Excuse me," Harrison snapped, glaring at her over his glasses. "This is a private, multi-million-dollar discussion. Get out."
Evie turned around, leaning her hips against the stove. She took a slow sip of coffee, her hazel eyes scanning Harrison from head to toe.
"You look like a man who spends twelve hours a day indoors and hasn't seen grass since kindergarten," Evie observed calmly.
Harrison’s face flushed a deep, mottled purple. "What did you say to me? Nathan, fire this woman immediately! Where is Ruth? Why is a—a domestic in here talking back?"
Nathan remained seated at the table. A strange, unfamiliar sensation was brewing in his chest. For seven years, everyone in his orbit had treated him like a fragile monarch or a terrifying tyrant. No one had ever spoken to one of his high-powered associates like a pesky housefly.
"She’s not fired," Nathan said quietly.
"What?" Harrison gasped. "Nathan, are you losing your mind? The acquisition—"
"Can wait five minutes," Nathan interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. "You burst into my kitchen, Harrison. You didn't knock. You threw papers over my cook's workspace. And you look like a fool."
Harrison blinked, entirely off-balance. "A fool? I'm saving your portfolio!"
"You're panicking," Nathan said, standing up. At six-foot-two, with his silver-streaked hair and cold, tailored presence, he towered over the consultant. "And when you panic, you make stupid mistakes."
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Evie, watching from across the room, let out a low, appreciative whistle.
Harrison whipped around to glare at her again, but before he could speak, Evie reached up, grabbed a stainless-steel mixing bowl from the top shelf, and slammed it right down onto her own head.
