Page 15 of Dial F for Finance

“It’s stupid.”

“Stupid?”

“Not the move. The number. They don’t expect twelve. They want to see how panicked we are.” She turns the page, already working. The shift is immediate and, God help me, beautiful. Jenna in motion is a dangerous thing. She can hate me all she likes, but put a problem in front of her and every defense sharpens into purpose. “Do they know about the South Korea exposure?”

“Not fully. Enough to smell blood.”

“Then we don’t bleed.” She taps the valuation schedule with the end of her pen. “You don’t counter at six.”

“Bennett authorized six.”

“Bennett just got married. His judgment is impaired by romantic optimism and endless sex.”

“That is a sentence I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to forget.”

“Good. Forget six while you’re at it.”

I lean back, watching her, willing my dick not to react. “What’s your number?”

“Four.”

“They’ll laugh.”

“They can laugh in a different currency. Four is the first counter. Five if they give us timeline certainty inside forty-eight hours. Six only if they agree to the secondary supply audit, lock the distribution calendar, and leave governance untouched.”

I stare at her for a moment.

“What?”

“You’re gloriously terrifying.”

“I know.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“I know that too.”

The edge of her mouth softens faintly. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a smile, but close enough to make my whole body feel like I just won a point in this ridiculous will-they/won’t-they game we can’t seem to get out of.

I pick up the folder and look at the page she’s marked, mostly so I have something to do besides stare at her. “You’re hiding three concessions inside the price.”

“Yes.”

“That’s vicious.”

“That’s contracts.”

I slide the folder back to her. “You think that’s what I’m doing?”

Her pen stills. “What?”

“Waiting you out. Wearing you down until you concede.”

“We’re talking about Nakamura.”

“I’m not.”

“Dominic.”