Page 5 of His Daughter

Nolan shrugged. "We got the deal. That's all that matters." He stopped. "I have to cut out. Some non-Vanguard business I need to sort out." He nodded at me. "I'll see you back at the company." He turned and disappeared.

"What do you think he's up to?" Julian asked.

"No idea. I'm not counting on him to tell us." I glanced at Julian. "Ready to head out?"

"I'll meet you up ahead at the office." He grinned. He clapped my shoulder and split toward the east exit.

I pushed through the revolving door.

Graham was already beside me. The car was three steps away. I reached for the door handle when I heard heels on concrete behind me. Quick. Determined.

I turned.

The woman from the conference room appeared, slightly out of breath, her legal pad tucked under one arm, cheeks flushed from cold or effort. Up close, she had a spray of freckles across her nose that her makeup almost covered. Her silk blouse pressed flat against her collarbone in the wind.

I gave Graham a look.

"Mr. Hale." She stopped in front of me and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "What you did there, that was impressive. I like how you handled the syndication objection."

"Thank you."

"I'm Rachel Whitmore. I'm on Sloane's capital markets team."

"I know."

That caught her. She recovered quickly. "I was wondering if you might want to get dinner sometime. There's a new place in Tribeca that — "

I took her hand, lifted it, and pressed my lips to her knuckles. "Sweetheart, I don't mix business with pleasure."

I let go. She stood there with her lips parted and the wind in her hair. I turned to the car. Graham already had the door open. I slid in and pulled it shut.

We made it half a block before the flash hit the windshield. Cameras — five, six of them — pressed against the glass, lenses swinging toward the back seat.

A reporter knocked on the window, her recorder thrust forward. "Mr. Hale! Can you confirm the Lassiter acquisition? Sources say the deal is worth two billion — "

Graham's hand hovered over the window control. I shook my head and lowered the glass myself. Three inches. Just enough. "I don't kiss and tell. You'll find out when everyone else does."

The window went back up. The car merged into traffic, and the cameras shrank in the side mirror until they were just dark shapes on a sidewalk I'd already forgotten.

Graham didn't comment. That was why I paid him what I paid him.

Back at the Vanguard, the floor moved as it always did when I stepped off the elevator. Elise stood from the reception desk. An associate appeared with a briefing folder. A junior analyst materialized with a term sheet that needed a signature. Graham intercepted a call, redirected a meeting, and handled a catering issue for tomorrow's board lunch — all before I reached my office door.

I liked the rush of it. The choreography appealed to me. It ran without prompting, and everyone on the floor knew the tempo. My job was simply to walk through it.

Julian was behind my desk. Feet up. Eating an apple.

"Get out of my chair, Cross."

He didn't move. "The woman from Ashton Lark. Rachel something."

"Whitmore." I set my briefcase on the credenza and shrugged off my jacket.

"She's pretty."

"She works for our underwriter."

"So?"