Page 78 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

CONTROL VARIABLES

CONNOR

The board meeting is a special kind of torture. Not because of the projections or my father's pointed comments about "focus" and "priorities." Not even because the CFO keeps showing everyone pictures of his new yacht—which he definitely bought just to compete with mine.

No, it's torture because Ariana's sitting exactly three chairs away, looking perfectly professional in borrowed yoga clothes and an oversized blazer, taking notes like she didn't just spend the night making me question everything I thought I knew about control.

"The cloud optimization numbers," Dad drones on, "show concerning variability..."

I pretend to study the spreadsheet in front of me, but all I can think about is how she felt in my arms. How she looked in morning light. How for one perfect moment, I'd let myself imagine a future where my boundaries weren’t everything.

Then she'd run.

Just like my mother had run. Just like Amanda. Just like everyone eventually runs when shit gets too real.

Could I really blame her, though?

For the last twenty-some-odd years, I’d been the poster boy for emotional unavailability. It was a personality trait that served me well.

Until recently.

"Connor?" Dad’s voice cuts through my spiral. "The Q2 projections?"

"Right here." I pull up the data, CEO mask firmly in place. "As you can see..."

The meeting drags on, numbers blurring together as Seattle's April rain patters against the windows. Ariana takes notes in that precise handwriting of hers, somehow making even borrowed workout clothes look boardroom-appropriate.

She doesn't look at me once.

"Moving on to PR considerations," Dad says, and finally, finally she has to engage.

"Social sentiment remains strong going into Clearwater’s IPO,” she reports, all cool professionalism. "Though we should discuss the reality show situation..."

My coffee cup slips, nearly spilling across the projections.

"The what now?" Dad’s eyes narrow.

"A marketing stunt," Ariana says smoothly. "Several tech CEOs were approached about a reality show concept. We declined, of course."

"Of course," I echo, but something in my chest tightens.

Because she's doing it again. Taking control. Handling everything. Making my mess disappear like it never happened.

Like we never happened.

The meeting finally ends, board members filing out while discussing lunch reservations and yacht accessories. I start to follow, but my dad catches my arm.

"A word?"

Ariana pauses in the doorway, then keeps walking. Professional distance indeed.

"The PR executive," Dad says once we're alone. "She's becoming a distraction."

"She's doing her job."

"Is she?" He studies me too carefully. "Because the Connor I know doesn't miss projections. Doesn't come to meetings looking like he spent the night..."

"Careful. Whatever you're implying?—"

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