Sarah placed the third email from Katherine Blaire in front of me with an expression that suggested she found all of this amusing. "She is persistent, I'd give her that."
I read the message – professional, polite, and totally disregarding that she'd stormed out of my club three days before, informing me what she thought about my offer. The email might have been drafted by any corporate banker offering their services, except that the letter contained one small detail that made me grin.
She'd even cc'd my personal email address that wasn't listed publicly.
"She did her research," I muttered, impressed despite myself.
"Beyond that." Sarah settled in the chair across from my desk, pulling up something on her tablet. "I had security run a background check like you asked. Katherine Marie Blaire, twenty-eight, graduated top of her class from NYU's Stern School of Business. Six years at Premier Financial, promoted twice, stellar performance reviews."
"And?"
"And she supports a younger brother with autism. Elliot, nineteen, studying engineering at Columbia. Their parents died in a car accident seven years ago. She became his legal guardian at twenty-one."
Something tightened in my chest. I assumed Katherine wanted the account for personal gain, to fund a luxury life, or to climb the corporate ladder. I hadn't considered that she would actually need it.
"Go on."
"She rents a modest one-bedroom in Brooklyn, drives a 10-year-old Honda, and according to her limited social media account, she spends most of her time with her little brother or hangs out with her best friend Susan. No romantic relationships in the last three years. Volunteers at a literacy program on weekends."
I sat back in my chair, taking this in. Katherine Blaire wasn't a social climber seeking a shortcut to wealth. She was a woman who'd built her life on responsibility and sacrifice.
And I'd offered to buy her as if she were merchandise.
"Boss?" Sarah broke me out of my thoughts. "What do you want me to do about the emails?"
I should disregard them. Katherine made her position clear. I had significant issues to focus on than a stubborn banker who'd bruised my ego. The Torrino situation was escalating, my father was breathing down my neck about Victoria Sterling, and Marco was making moves that required my attention.
But instead, I found myself stating, "Schedule a lunch meeting. Tomorrow at Le Bernardin."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "You're actually going to see her?"
"She wants a professional conversation; I'll give her a professional conversation."
"That's all this is. Professional curiosity?"
I gave her a glare that would have made most of our workers scurry out of the room, but Sarah had worked for our family for fifteen years. She'd earned the right to question me on my calls even if I didn't really like it.
"She passed up fifty million dollars on principle," I stated, standing to fill a glass of scotch from the crystal decanter in front of the window. "When was the last time someone did that?"
"Not in my experience."
"Exactly." I took a sip, letting the burn ground me. "She's either stupid or brave. Haven't made up my mind yet."
"Or maybe she is honest," Sarah continued. "You know some actually mean what they say."
The words hit harder than they ought to. Everyone in my universe wanted something. Everyone came with an angle, a price tag, a breaking point. You could purchase trust, a currency stronger than money, and I'd learned young never to spend it carelessly.
But Katherine had looked me in the eye and turned down something most would die for. That much integrity was either real or the best performance I'd ever seen.
I needed to know which.
"Inform her that I look forward to continuing our conversation," I told her. "Make it sound...friendly."
"Friendly." Sarah's smile was knowing as she made notes. "Should I also mention that you found her bluntness refreshing?"
"Why not? It's true."
After Sarah left, I pulled up Katherine's LinkedIn profile on my computer. Her portrait depicted a woman in a navy business suit, her hair pulled back, with a confident and approachable expression. But it was those eyes that stood out – warm, brilliant, and hinting at depths that a professional photograph could not reveal.
I recalled those same flashing angry eyes when I'd made my proposition. The steadiness in her tone even as her hands quivered a little. The graceful dignity with which she'd walked away from everything she supposedly needed.
My phone vibrated, showing a text from my dad: Dinner tonight, Victoria is coming. Don't embarrass me.
I slammed the phone onto my desk more forcibly than was necessary. Thomas Marvin's vision of my future was crystal clear – marry the Sterling girl, have children to carry on the family business without the entanglements of genuine emotion.
Love is weakness, he'd said. And for thirty years, that's what I believed.
But seeing Katherine Blaire refuse to compromise herself made me wonder if the real weakness was never risking anything that mattered.
I texted my father back: Will have to skip dinner. Business meeting.
His answer: What business is more important than family?
I stared at the message for a long time, then gazed back at Katherine's picture on my screen. Something about her made me want to be a better man than the guy who had offered to buy a night with her. Better than the son, who measured every decision against family expectations.
The type that could actually make a difference, I wrote and then deleted.
Instead, I replied: Prospective client. Could be important.
It wasn't exactly a lie. Katherine Blaire was something potential, though I was becoming increasingly uncertain what that something was.
My office door opened without warning, and Marco entered with that casual arrogance that clamped down tight on my jaw. "Heard you're having lunch at *Le Bernardin* tomorrow. Hot date?"
"Business meeting."
"Right. Business." He was all teeth with no warmth in his smile. "Bit of advice, cousin – do not let a pretty face distract you from what is important. Torrino's business needs handling, and your father is questioning where your head is these days."
"My head is right where it should be."
"Is it?" Marco settled in Sarah's chair, making himself comfortable in a way that felt deliberately invasive. "Because from what I can see, you're spending an awful lot of energy on some banker who is probably not worth your time."
The casual dismissal of Katherine sparked a surge of anger in my chest. "How I spend my time is none of your business."
"Family business is always my concern." He stood, straightening his suit. "Just remember – women like that, they don't understand our world. They think principles and morals matter than power. That kind of thinking gets people hurt."
After he left, I clutched my glass of scotch tight enough to break it. Marco was right about something – Katherine did not know my world. She lived in a world where hard work meant something, where integrity mattered, and where you could create a life from nothing through willpower and sacrifice.
Everything in my world wasn't.
The question was: did I want to bring her into my darkness or would I want to try to step into her light? And why the hell did this answer seem to carry so much importance than any business transaction I'd ever negotiated?