Chapter 5

Jonathan’s POV

I stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. It was my fourth in two hours. The ember glowed orange for a moment before dying,

The thing was, I’d spent fifty-four years in a world where everyone wanted something from me. It’s either the want of money or connections. I learnt to read people from an early age in order to always be one step ahead.

But Elena Rivers was different. She was a puzzle I actually wanted to solve.

I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight.

What was she planning? That was the real question. Did she think seducing me would somehow get her closer to Daniel? That she could use me as leverage, twist the knife in my son’s back? Or did she want to destroy everything I've built?

For some reason the thought made me smile. She really underestimated me. But I’ll have to actually admit she was really smart. And she added a form of entertainment to my very boring life. I could watch her play her little games.

Because watching Elena move through my company, watching her move through every interaction like she was playing chess, the challenge energized me in a way I hadn’t felt in years. Maybe decades.

I picked up another cigarette from the pack on my desk, and tapped it against the table surface.

But being a bystander in someone else’s game had never interested me. Even as a child, I’d been the type to flip the board over if I wasn’t winning. My ex-wife used to say I had a pathological need for control.

I finally lit the cigarette and inhaled slowly, letting the smoke fill my lungs. No. I wasn’t going to be a bystander in this particular story.

I was going to play. “Let’s play this game, my beautiful Elena. May the best gamer win.”

I didn’t waste any time when I called Patricia into my office.

She appeared within minutes, with a black coffee in her hand, with no sugar just the way I liked it. And this was the very reason she was still my top employee.

I’d employed her for seven years, and in that time, I’d learned she could anticipate my needs before I even talk about it, which was the kind of competence I paid handsomely for.

“I need you to look into candidates from the last interview for a new Senior Financial Analyst position,” I said without preamble.

She blinked. Her coffee cup paused halfway to her lips.

“Sir,” she began carefully, “Elena is currently..:”

“I’m aware of Elena’s current position.” I didn’t look up from the document in front of me, though I wasn’t actually reading it. “I’m asking you to find candidates to supplement the team. That’s all.”

“Of course. Do you have any specific requirements?”

“Just find the best. I’ll review the candidates myself.”

“ Consider it done sir.” She left, locking the door behind her.

———

I stood in front of the small mirror in my office adjusting my suit.

“Mr Jonathan, Mr Fred is waiting for you.”

“Thank you Patricia I’ll be down in a moment.”

Today I had an important meeting with Fred Lincoln, one of the few billionaires whose money I actually wanted. Except the man was notoriously difficult. Not because he was incompetent or indecisive; quite the opposite. He was brilliant, well-read, and utterly unimpressed by the usual methods of persuasion that worked on most people.

He’d approached Hart Global six weeks ago with interest in a partnership. Then he’d spent the intervening time finding reasons to say no.

I was reviewing my final talking points when Elena appeared in my office doorway, and I was once more struck by how she managed to look both utterly composed and subtly nervous at the same time.

“Mr. Hart, are you meeting with Fred Lincoln?” She asked.

I set down my pen. “Yes.”

“I’d like to come with you.”

It wasn’t a request, despite the polite way she said it. And under normal circumstances, I would have refused. Fred Lincoln was the type of client I took very seriously, and I didn’t need distractions. But for some reason saying no to Elena was totally out of the option. I couldn’t refuse her request. Plus I was very interested to know why she wanted to be a part of this meeting.

“Fine,” I said. “Don’t make me regret this.”

I saw the flash of surprise cross her face before she quickly went back into the annoying practiced smile she showed everyone. After five minutes we walked into the room together with her a step behind me.

The conference room felt smaller with Fred Lincoln in it. He was tall, silver-haired like myself, with the posture of a man who’d never had to prove anything to anyone. We shook hands. The grip was firm.

I launched into the pitch. I’d done this dozens of times before, and I was good at it. I presented the numbers, the projections, and the strategic advantages of a partnership with Hart Global.

Fred listened. He asked questions. He was testing me, waiting to see if I would crack under pressure.

I didn’t.

But he also didn’t commit. We went back and forth. Each time, Fred found something to object to, some detail that didn’t quite satisfy him. It was obvious his reservations weren’t really about the numbers. That’s why he was so difficult.

I was reaching the end of my pitch when Fred leaned back in his chair.

“So why do you want this?” he asked. “What’s the real play?”

I was about to answer when Elena spoke.

“Because you don’t make investments,” she said calmly. “You make partnerships. And not everyone qualifies.”

The room shifted. He adjusted his glasses with interest. He turned to look at her with more interest than he has ever shown me.

“Go on,” he said.

Elena leaned forward slightly, and I realized she was actually nervous. It showed in the smallest ways..:the way her fingers pressed into the table, the slight catch in her breath. But her voice remained steady.

“Hart Global doesn’t need just any investor,” she continued. “But that’s not what either of you actually want. You want someone who understands that the real value isn’t on a spreadsheet. It’s in knowing which opportunities are going to open next.”

Fred was silent for a moment. Then he asked: “What’s your name?”

“Elena Rivers.”

He nodded slowly. “How long have you been with Hart Global?”

“Three months.”

“And you think I should invest?”

“I think you’ve been trying to figure out if Mr. Hart is the type of man who’ll betray you the moment a better opportunity comes along. And the answer is yes..:he would, if it made sense. But the real question is whether he’s the type of man who understands that you’re worth more to him as a partner than as a payday.”

Fred laughed. Elena answered his next questions with the same clarity, and with each response, his skepticism transformed into genuine interest. She talked about market cycles and patient capital, about how the best investments were the ones made before everyone else understood they were valuable.

I watched her work, and I felt genuine admiration. Maybe replacing her was a terrible mistake. She could be a very important asset for my company. And it would be a shame If someone else snatched her from me. But she challenges me first so losing wasn’t even an option.

The meeting lasted another hour. By the end of it, Fred had agreed to the partnership. He signed the preliminary documents, saying he wanted to work with “the whole team, particularly Miss Rivers.”

Back in my office, I watched Elena organize the documents from the meeting. The afternoon light was turning golden.

“Well done today,” I said quietly.

She looked up from the folders. “Thank you.”

“We should celebrate. Come and have lunch with me, Elena.” I leaned towards her waiting for her reply.

She was about to respond when my office door opened without a knock.

Patricia walked in with a woman beside her I’d never seen before.

“Mr. Hart,” Patricia said formally. “This is Emily Gray. She’ll be joining us as our new Senior Financial Analyst, effective immediately.”