Page 49 of Heart of The Night

As the two men settled into their chairs, we returned to the comfort of ours. The matter at hand was the careful navigation of the merger between Clifford Paints and Craft Interior.

‘Thanks for setting this up,’ Gerard said. ‘Our schedules have been mad lately, so this sort of thing helps us kill two birds with one stone.’

‘No bother at all,’ Andy replied, offering the man a grin that had charmed hundreds of clients. ‘Will and I never miss a chance to escape the office for a good meal.’

Gerard chuckled. ‘I’d stake a fair amount you practically live in that building.’

‘You’re not far off.’ Andy smirked. ‘Will’s been toying with the idea of kitting his office out with a bed.’

The older Clifford’s gaze fell upon me, amusement twinkling in his brown, round eyes. ‘Really?’

Adjusting my tie, I mustered a half-smile. ‘I’ve held back solely for fear of never seeing the outside world again.’

Gerard let out a hearty laugh. ‘In that case, I should suggest these lunches more often.’

‘Indeed, they’re a much-needed respite.’

Tom’s dark eyes flitted between Andy and me, not finding the humour. I had always sensed a certain disdain he held for our profession. His persistent questioning and scepticism hinted at a worldview that painted us as sharks in designer suits, prioritising our profit margins over our clients. His assessment wasn’t entirely off the mark, but what he failed to appreciate was the sweat and sacrifice that underpinned our legal victories – the endless hours of study, the crushing workload, and the fierce commitment to our craft.

‘I’d just like to say that, overall’ – Gerard gestured to his son – ‘we’re quite pleased with how things are unfolding. The signing of the NDA with Craft Interior? Quite the positive stride, and a reassurance of their serious interest in this merger.’

My thoughts turned to Cara as he spoke. She had demonstrated a remarkable level of skill in crafting that document, even though she had used my templates as a starting point. Her unique talent shone through, surpassing my expectations for someone who had recently graduated from university.

‘Happy to hear that,’ I said, giving him a slow, respectful nod.

‘And what’s the current status of the due diligence process?’ Gerard followed up. ‘Have you encountered any notable findings or challenges?’

Andy shifted in his seat, cocking his head from side to side. ‘Well, we’re still in the early stages, reviewing the financials, contracts, and intellectual property portfolios of both companies. The preliminary findings indicate a strong fit between Clifford Paints and Craft Interior. No red flags so far, which is always a good start. That said, there are a few areas where we’d like to dig deeper and get more clarity.’

Tom, stern-faced as ever, asked, ‘And which areas would those be?’

I met his gaze, grateful for the opportunity to give him some extra attention. I hoped it would convey a sense of respect, signalling to him that Andy and I held him in high regard and didn’t care solely about his father’s opinions.

‘One is the potential overlap in international patents and trademarks. Craft Interior has a strong presence in certain overseas markets, and we want to ensure there are no conflicts or risks associated with intellectual property rights. We’ll be working closely with their legal team to address this concern.’

Gerard and Tom both nodded, the former stating, ‘That makes sense.’

Andy pitched in, ‘Additionally, we’re giving special attention to Craft Interior’s employment contracts and their compliance with employment laws. Given the different nature of your businesses, there could be disparities in how employment contracts are structured. We’re working closely with their HR and legal teams to ensure these are in line with best practices and legal standards, and that the integration process post-merger will be smooth.’

As Andy finished his point, the wait staff discreetly approached our table, carrying trays of delicious dishes. The conversation paused for a moment as the plates were placed in front of us with practised ease, and the mouth-watering aroma filled the air. The clink of cutlery against porcelain signalled the commencement of our meal and, in tandem, the resumption of our discourse, the conversation flowing naturally as we delved into the complexities of the merger. It was in this interplay of corporate strategy and culinary delight that I found my attention beginning to stray.

In the midst of Gerard detailing his vision for the combined entity, my gaze wandered toward the window. Outside, on the pavement, an entirely different scene was playing out – a young family was taking a stroll, their joyful chatter muffled by the glass separating us. The father manoeuvred a pushchair with gentle care, while the mother, her face radiating contentment, walked alongside, her hand securely held by a little girl’s eager grip. The idyllic scene, so starkly different from the high-stakes corporate world I was submerged in, drew me in completely. The sounds of the meeting became a distant hum, words intermingling into an indistinguishable buzz as the family’s world took precedence.

I was vaguely aware of Gerard and Tom’s agreement with Andy, their voices mere ripples on the surface of my thoughts. An odd feeling had begun to stir in my gut, a sensation I could only liken to nausea. It was as if a sudden wave had washed over me, leaving me unanchored and adrift in an unfamiliar sea of emotion.

The sight of the happy family – so ordinary, yet so utterly compelling in its simplicity – was a harsh reminder of the life that might forever elude me. The reality I yearned for, encapsulated within the window frame.

Breathing unevenly, I dragged my attention back to the table, attempting to realign with the discussion at hand. But the image of the family lingered in my mind, making it difficult to slip back into the professional persona I usually wore like a second skin. I could feel my brows knitting together, my mind churning with thoughts that didn’t belong in this setting.

Would Cara abandon me? This fear loomed over me like a storm cloud. The mere thought of it sent my heart racing, filled with a dread that felt like a tear in my chest. Our relationship had just begun to bloom, and the possibility that my past actions might have already tarnished it – that I may have driven away the one woman I had ever truly loved – it was a reality I could not yet confront.

‘You all right, Will?’ Gerard’s question sliced through my internal disarray, his brow creasing with worry. ‘You’ve gone rather pale.’

‘Have I? I feel fine,’ I lied, plastering a smile on my face, hoping it appeared more genuine than it felt.

And then it came – a divine answer, cloaked in its signature sadistic humour. A baby’s cry pierced the restaurant’s ambient hum, its shrill voice echoing my inner tumult. My gaze swept across the room, landing on a woman with long, brown hair, her back turned toward us. She pushed her chair back, leaning over to lift a small bundle from a pram. From my vantage point, her form, her outfit – it all seemed a cruel mirror image of Cara. My heart plunged into a cold abyss as I scrutinised the man across from her, who rose from his seat, caring and protective, his features bathed in the warm glow of fatherhood.

The scene was chillingly prophetic. It was as if I were privy to a future that hadn’t yet come to pass – Cara, immersed in family life with another man, nurturing another man’s child. This vision felt like an evil cosmic jest, served to me solely to torture me. My gut lurched, revolting against the emotional upheaval and sudden onslaught of despair. Even as I recognised the physical manifestation of my dread, the nausea persisted, a bitter undercurrent to my spiralling thoughts.

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