There is no heartbeat in an offshore account. She reached out. For a second, Caleb thought she was going to touch his face. Instead, she picked up a piece of rough, unsanded scrap wood from the table. "You take something rough and you make it into something strong, something that lasts," she said quietly, looking at the wood before looking up into his eyes.
I just want one evening where I don't have to be the CEO. I just want to sit across from a man who isn't intimidated by me and have dinner. Caleb looked at her, really looked at her. The harsh morning light exposed the fine lines around her eyes, the slight tension in her jaw. She was terrifyingly powerful, yes, but she was also asking, not demanding, asking.
He let out a long breath, blowing a stray piece of sawdust off the workbench. Maya has soccer practice until 6:00 on Tuesdays," Caleb said, his voice low, resigned, but something warm fluttering in his chest. I have to pick her up, drop her with Mrs. Gable in shower. I can't be anywhere until 7:30. A genuine brilliant smile broke across Caroline's face.
It completely transformed her, shedding 10 years and 100 layers of corporate ice. 7:30 is perfect, Caroline said. Wear the charcoal suit, but lose the tie. It looked like it was choking you. She turned and walked back toward the waiting car.
Caleb watched her go, the heavy thud of the Maybach door echoing in the quiet yard. He looked down at his sawdust-covered hands, then at the coffee cup. He took another sip. Tuesday was going to be complicated. Caleb stood in front of the warped mirror in his bathroom, aggressively wrestling with the collar of his shirt.
He had ditched the tie just as she'd ordered. It felt like a concession, a small surrender of his own rigid rules. "Dad, your hair looks weird." Maya was standing in the doorway clutching a plastic Brontosaurus. She was wearing mismatched socks and a soccer jersey that swallowed her small frame.
Weird how? Caleb asked, running a wet hand through his hair, trying to force it to lay flat. Like, you tried too hard. Just leave it. Caleb paused, looking at his daughter's reflection in the glass. seven years old and she already doled out brutal unvarnished truths.
He grabbed a towel, ruffled his hair back into its natural, slightly chaotic state, and turned around. "Better?" Maya nodded approvingly. "Mrs. Gable says you have a date with a rich lady. Are you going to marry her and buy us a pool?"
Caleb laughed, a sharp, sudden sound that scraped against the quiet anxiety building in his chest. "No, Maya, I'm having dinner. That's it. We don't need a pool. We have the sprinkler.
"The sprinkler is broken," she pointed out logically. I'll fix it this weekend. Promise. The doorbell rang. The sharp buzz signaled Mrs. Gable's arrival, and with it the ticking clock of Caleb's evening.
He kissed the top of Maya's head, grabbed his jacket, and walked out into the humid evening air. He didn't take the truck. The alternator was screaming louder today, a high-pitched metallic wine that felt like a bad omen. He took the subway instead, transferring twice to get to the address Caroline had texted him. It wasn't a restaurant exactly.
It was a brownstone in a quiet, muted neighborhood where the street lamps glowed like old gas lights and the sidewalks were impeccably clean. A discreet brass plaque next to a heavy oak door read the cellar. Caleb pushed the door open. No M D, no crowded waiting area, just a dimly lit room with exposed brick, leather wingback chairs, and maybe six tables in total. The air smelled of wood smoke, roasted garlic, and old paper.