Two minutes later, Vanessa emerged. She looked at him. “You’re smiling.”
“I did good.” Vanessa shook her head. “You were extraordinary.”
Darius laughed. “Those numbers were extraordinary.”
“You built the numbers.” She stood beside him. “Charles returned to page three twice.”
“I noticed.” Vanessa nodded. “He never rereads things.”
Darius looked toward the ceiling. “Whatever happens, I don’t regret any of this.”
Vanessa turned. Darius continued. “Not the job.”
“Not bringing that binder to your house.” He smiled. “Not the terrible proposal.”
Vanessa’s mouth curved. “It was an objectively terrible proposal.”
“Still waiting on your formal answer.” Vanessa looked at him. “I already said okay.”
They stood quietly. Then Vanessa said, “Dinner tonight.”
Darius looked at her. “Nia has school tomorrow.”
“She texted me this morning saying she has an urgent update about Miles.” Darius closed his eyes. “Why does my daughter have your phone number?”
Vanessa smiled. “Because she is resourceful.” Darius sighed.
“She will run this company someday.” Vanessa considered it. “Probably better than we do.”
The board deliberated until the next afternoon. Evan sent Darius increasingly unstable updates. At 11:52, the message read, They have been inside for nearly three hours. I have consumed enough pretzels to become medically relevant.
Darius replied, Work. Evan answered, Breathing is my current work.
At 12:24, Vanessa called. Darius picked up immediately. Neither spoke for a second.
“They voted.” Darius waited. “Eleven to one.”
He leaned back. Vanessa continued. “The position and promotion are fully ratified.”
“Gregory?” Vanessa said, “Only dissent.” Darius nodded slowly.
“Charles voted yes.” Vanessa sounded almost amused. “Before the vote, he said your presentation was the most rigorously documented internal promotion case he had reviewed in fourteen years.”
Darius stared at his office wall. For a moment, he was twenty-three again, working nights and writing down every repair nobody else thought worth documenting. He was twenty-nine, sitting beside Camille’s hospital bed.
He was thirty-one, learning to pack Nia’s school lunch alone. He was thirty-six, walking into Buckhead with dirty boots because paperwork had to be finished. Somehow all those men existed in the same room.