Page 62 of A Duke Reformed
Solomon shook his head. "And I say that's too soft, Andrew. We propose to lease the rights for five years under our terms, with room to renegotiate. We absorb the risk. He supplies the infrastructure. That way, if he backs out, we lose nothing."
Andrew squinted his eyes. "That sounds more like a power play than a partnership."
"Because it is," Solomon shot back. "You said it yourself, Magnus is ruthless in business dealings. A man like that respects strength, not politeness. If we go in offering handshakes and hope, he'll take our ideas and leave us with nothing."
"We haven't even met the man to make such a deduction," Andrew argued. "This is a shipping venture, not a war, Solomon."
"That's what you think. We have yet to meet Magnus, so how are you certain he isn't thinking of doing the same thing?"
Andrew watched him for a moment in silence. "Is that truly how you see it?" he asked quietly.
"How else would you propose the business to him then? I don't want to get blindsided."
A decanter of brandy sat between them, barely touched, while papers, ledgers, and hand-drawn maps were strewn across the large oak table. Andrew leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, while Solomon stood by the window, arms crossed, his jaw tight.
"So, what do we do if Magnus thinks our approach is too barbaric?" Andrew questioned. "I know it would be good for us in the long term, but surely there must be a way to appear civil while still being firm. We can't afford to offend the man before negotiations even begin."
Solomon leaned forward, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table. "Then we let him believe the decision is his. Present the lease as an exclusive opportunity, one that others are already interested in. Let him feel the urgency. Men like Magnus don't like to be left out, and they certainly don't like playing second fiddle."
Andrew raised a brow. "You want to bait him."
"I want him to chase us," Solomon corrected. "Let him think we hold the cards. Once he's on the defensive, he'll come to us. Not the other way around."
"Solomon, I know you, and I know you don't play that way." Andrew rose to his feet. "You're not thinking straight."
Solomon's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
"I worry," Andrew continued, walking slowly to the fireplace. "Because you're coming at this like it's a competition. You're too angry. Too aggressive. You're usually the one who reminds me to keep a level head, and yet here you are, talking like a man who wants to prove something."
"I figured a different tactic here would do us some good," he answered, bringing his glass to his lips.
"No, you're doing what a man does when he's trying to outrun something," Andrew said gently, meeting his gaze. "This isn't about Magnus or the business. You have always been sharp, but right now, you're just being reckless."
Solomon scoffed. "You think I'm reckless?"
"I think you're wounded," Andrew replied. "And you're letting that wound fester into fury."
"Andrew, I am very capable of keeping my personal affairs apart from business," Solomon muttered.
Andrew said nothing. He merely looked at him with that knowing expression. Arms folded, brow lifted slightly, as if challenging his resolve.
Solomon exhaled harshly and dragged a hand through his hair. The tension in his shoulders hadn't left, but the sharp edge of it dulled.
"Fine," he muttered. "Perhaps I do need to calm down. Take a breath. Think of a new strategy. We need Magnus on board, not alarmed. I'll revise the proposal. We'll lead with the land benefits, then talk about shipping routes and estate profitability."
Andrew's brow lowered slightly, but he nodded. "That's more like it," he said with a small smile. "The brilliant duke I know."
Solomon smirked faintly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. As Andrew turned to fetch more documents from the desk, Solomon leaned on the wall, staring out through the tall windows at the blue sky. The wind howled softly in the distance, rustling the trees that lined the estate grounds.
His stay away from London, from everything familiar, was meant to clear his head. To give him time and distance. But so far, it had done nothing to ease the frustration that twisted in his chest like a vice. The nights were the worst. Quiet, cold, and long. He had hoped the isolation of Northern England would dull histhoughts, help him move past her. But instead, it only gave those thoughts room to echo louder.
He wanted to talk to Emma. Wanted to see her. Just to know how she was doing, if she still laughed the same way, or if she still bit her lip when she was upset. But he didn't know how to ask. Didn't know who to ask. The distance he had put between them...no, the distance she had put felt irreversible now. She had made her choice. She had made peace with it.
But he hadn't. Not really.
"Andrew..." Solomon began, his voice low, almost tentative. "Have you heard from your wife? About anything. Anything at all?"
Andrew glanced up from the stack of ledgers he was rifling through, one brow lifted. "No. Not since I sent her word of our arrival. Why?"
