Page 11 of The SEAL's Duchess
“Accommodations,” Ivy repeated with enough edge to slice. “Yes, I’m familiar with the concept. What I’m less familiar withis why those accommodations always seem to crush the people who can least afford them.”
Damn.Ryder made appreciative eye contact with Wyatt as subtle tension flowed through the group of executives.
She wasn’t backing down. If anything, she was leaningin.
“Shall we head inside?” Sinclair suggested with a wave of a fat-fingered hand. “I think you’ll find our presentation quite comprehensive.”
The meeting room was all glass and steel, designed to showcase the industrial power visible through every window. Ryder took position near the back wall, far enough away to avoid interfering. This was her show.
Ivy claimed a seat at the front of the conference table, pulled a tablet from her bag, and waited with the patience of someone who knew exactly how valuable her attention was.
The presentation began with flowcharts and profit projections, sanitized numbers that made environmental destruction look like progress. Sinclair and his team focused on George, tossing Ivy the occasional glance—like they were checking if she was still keeping up.
She was doing more than that.
“Your projected timeline shows first oil in six months,” Ivy interrupted, cutting into the discussion about infrastructure costs. “But your environmental compliance documentation suggests a twelve-month minimum for impact mitigation. How do you reconcile that gap?”
Silence rippled through the room—the wind buffeting the windows where words should have been.
Sinclair paused, his laser pointer frozen mid-gesture. “I’m sorry?”
“The discrepancy,” Ivy gestured to the numbers illuminated on the wall screen. “Either your environmental timeline isinaccurate, or your production timeline is optimistic. Both represent a significant fiscal risk for any potential investors.”
One of the younger executives leaned forward. “Ma’am, these projections have been reviewed by our legal team?—”
“I’m sure they have,” Ivy smiled with no apology. “But legal compliance and operational reality aren’t always the same thing. I’ve seen enough projects fail because someone prioritized ambition over logistics.”
Ryder folded his arms and leaned back against the wall.Well.
So much for the frost. Under pressure, she’d brought fire.
He’d have gone straight for the throat, called them on their bullshit. Instead, she was dismantling their entire argument piece by piece, making them prove themselves to her.
Wyatt let out a low chuckle beside him. “Wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
Even the hum of the machinery seemed to wait for Sinclair’s answer.
Finally, Sinclair looked up from the notes he’d been taking. “You seem well informed. May I ask about your background in offshore operations?”
“Structural engineering,” Ivy replied without missing a beat. “Cambridge, then Oxford for my graduate work. I assure you, gentlemen, I’m not here for optics. I’m here to ensure this investment serves all parties—including the seventy-five tenant families who depend on us to keep the Lambourne estate solvent.” Her voice didn’t waver, but her fingers curled around the edge of her tablet. “The land my family owns has been in our name for five hundred years. I intend to keep it—not by hoarding wealth, but by making sure it still looks after the people who live there and care for it.”
Families.The word hit like a rogue wave. Not yacht maintenance. Not polo ponies. People. Real ones. Just like Ellie depended on him. Tingles covered his back. She'd justproven she wasn't here to rubber-stamp the investment. The community she'd mentioned—those seventy-five families—she actually meant it.
The meeting continued for another half hour, but the dynamic had altered. The executives were asking her opinion, deferring to her expertise, treating her like exactly what she was—someone whose approval they needed. George beamed with obvious pride, but stayed mostly quiet, letting his sister handle the technicalities.
When they finally stood to begin the rig tour, Sinclair took the lead. “Ivy, George, if you’ll follow me, I think you’ll find our drilling operations quite impressive.”
“I’m sure I will,” she replied, pulling her hard hat back on.
Ryder made eye contact with her, and for a moment something passed between them. She was still wearing his jacket. Oversized and out of place next to business suits and hard hats, but she hadn’t taken it off. Hadn’t even suggested giving it back.
She caught him looking and tilted her chin.
Not cold. Not coy. A quiet challenge.
Like she dared him to take the jacket back.
His mouth twitched—the ghost of a smile, gone before it could betray him.
