Page 58 of Claimed By The Other Brother

"Thank you." I glance at the files on my desk.

"Anything else?"

"These need your signature." She sets a stack of documents on my desk.

"Legal reviewed the non-compete clauses. Everything's in order."

I flip through the pages, scanning the relevant sections, and sign where indicated. Emma collects them and heads for the door.

"Have a good evening, Mr. Blackwell."

"You too, Emma."

The door closes, and I'm alone again.

I work steadily for the next few hours. Emails, contract reviews, a conference call with our CFO about Q4 projections. The afternoon bleeds into early evening before I realize how much time has passed.

I check my watch. Six fifteen.

I send off a few final emails, then stand and retrieve my suit jacket from the closet in the corner of my office. The mirror inside the closet door reflects back a man who looks exactly like he should—tailored charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, dark tie perfectly knotted. I adjust the tie, run a hand through my hair, and grab my phone and wallet.

The elevator takes me down to the lobby. My driver is waiting at the curb, the car idling.

"Good evening, Mr. Blackwell."

"Evening, Thomas."

The drive downtown takes twenty minutes in traffic. I answer a few more emails on my phone, half paying attention to the city sliding past the window. We pull up in front of the lounge at six fifty-five. I step out, straightening my jacket.

The lounge is upscale and trendy, the kind of place that's perpetually crowded with Manhattan's youngprofessionals and executives. Music pulses from inside, not quite loud enough to drown out conversation but enough to create energy.

I step through the entrance and scan the space. It takes a moment to spot them—Greg Barrett and Linda Huang, executives from a digital media company we're in talks to acquire. They're seated at a table in a quieter section toward the back, away from the bar and dance floor.

Greg stands when he sees me approaching.

"Dax. Good to see you."

We shake hands. Linda rises as well, her smile professional.

"Thank you for meeting," I say, settling into the chair across from them.

"I know your schedules are tight."

"Always," Greg agrees.

"But this deal is worth making time for."

A server appears, and I order a whiskey neat. Greg and Linda already have drinks—something clear with lime for her, bourbon for him.

"So," Linda begins once the server leaves.

"Let's talk integration strategy."

The conversation flows easily enough. Greg and Linda are smart, experienced executives who understand the value of what we're offering. We discuss timelines, staffing, revenue projections. The kind of details that normally hold my complete attention.

Tonight, though, my mind keeps wandering.

I nod at the right moments. Respond to theirquestions with the information they need. Take measured sips of my whiskey.