Chapter 6 Power Plays
Sloane
I caught Caleb's eye across the table. His expression was carefully controlled, but I could read the concern there.
"The Brooklyn Heights properties may have zoning issues," Caleb interjected smoothly, "but the Bennett portfolio includes several prime Midtown parcels with clear titles and excellent development potential."
Graham's mouth curved into a cold smile. "Mr. Winslow, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but having personally reviewed those assets just last quarter, I can assure you their development restrictions make them far less valuable than they appear on paper."
Under the table, I impulsively placed my hand on Graham's knee, applying gentle pressure. His words halted mid-sentence as his eyes flickered briefly to mine, a flash of surprise crossing his features.
"Actually," I spoke up, seizing the moment, "we've been exploring an innovative mixed-use concept for the Bryant Park adjacent property. The zoning allows for a medical technology incubator paired with luxury residences."
The investors leaned forward with interest. Graham remained silent, his leg tense beneath my hand.
"A medical technology focus?" asked the silver-haired man at the head of the table. "That's an interesting pivot for Bennett."
"It builds on existing strengths," I continued, my voice growing more confident. "With New York Presbyterian's expansion and Cornell Tech's success, there's significant demand for specialized medical innovation space. Our analysis shows potential returns of seventeen percent in the first five years."
I removed my hand from Graham's knee, having made my point. The senior partner from Blackstone turned toward Graham.
"Harrington, what's your assessment of Dr. Bennett's proposal? Would Harrington Technologies have interest in such a project?"
I held my breath, waiting for Graham to dismiss my idea entirely. The seconds stretched painfully as he swirled the Bordeaux in his glass.
"It's actually quite viable," Graham finally said, his voice measured. "The medical technology sector is underserved in Manhattan, and Bennett's Bryant Park property has the necessary infrastructure access." He set down his glass deliberately. "I'd be willing to have my team review a formal proposal."
I fought to keep my expression neutral while my mind raced. What game is he playing?
The remainder of dinner proceeded with renewed energy. Several investors expressed preliminary interest in the medical technology concept, requesting detailed prospectuses.
Caleb remained attentive throughout, skillfully deflecting when someone offered me wine.
"Dr. Bennett rarely drinks," he explained smoothly when a third glass was proposed. "Medical professionals, you understand."
"Then you should have her share," joked one of the investors, refilling Caleb's glass. By the third round, Caleb's British accent had thickened noticeably, his normally impeccable posture relaxing.
"You two seem quite close," a younger investor asked curiously. "Childhood friends, was it?"
Caleb's smile was loose, his eyes slightly unfocused. "Sloane and I go back further than anyone here." He reached for my hand across the table. "We understand each other perfectly, don't we, darling?"
I gently extracted my fingers from his grasp. "Caleb's family and mine have been connected for generations," I explained diplomatically.
"Connected is one word for it," Caleb continued, ignoring my warning glance. "Did you know we were practically betrothed as children? Our parents always hoped..."
A cold laugh from Graham cut through the conversation. He rose abruptly, straightening his impeccable suit jacket.
"Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me. An urgent call I must take." His eyes briefly met mine, ice-cold. "Don't wait up, Dr. Bennett. This might take all night."
After Graham's departure, the dinner concluded quickly. Caleb was visibly unsteady as we exited the restaurant.
"Let me get you an Uber to the Four Seasons," I insisted, supporting his weight as he swayed on the sidewalk.
"Such a good doctor," he slurred, leaning heavily against me. "Always taking care of everyone."
I didn't notice the black Bentley parked across the street as I helped Caleb into the waiting car and slid in beside him.
At the Four Seasons, disaster struck. Just as we reached the lobby, Caleb's face turned an alarming shade of green.
"Caleb, are you—"
I didn't finish my sentence before he doubled over, vomiting spectacularly across the marble floor and my pantsuit. The smell hit me instantly, triggering my heightened pregnancy nausea.
The hotel staff responded with practiced efficiency. A concierge immediately assisted Caleb while another approached me.
"Madam, we can offer you our boutique services if you need a change of clothes," she suggested discreetly.
Twenty minutes later, freshly showered in the hotel's guest facilities and dressed in simple linen pants and a cashmere sweater from the hotel shop, I headed home.
The Park Avenue apartment was dimly lit when I entered. I kicked off my shoes, padding silently toward the bedroom when a lamp clicked on.
Graham sat in the leather armchair by the floor-to-ceiling windows, still in his dinner suit, a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand.
"The Four Seasons boutique has nice taste," he observed, eyes flicking over my new outfit. "Though not your usual style."
I froze, suddenly understanding how this looked. "Caleb was sick. He vomited on my clothes."
"How inconvenient," Graham replied, his voice dangerously soft. He set down his glass and stood. "Tell me, was this entire dinner your idea, or Winslow's?"
"It was a business dinner, Graham. I was trying to save my family's company—something you've made clear you won't help with."
"And yet, I just publicly endorsed your medical technology concept." He moved closer. "Curious timing that your childhood sweetheart reappears exactly when Bennett Investment needs capital."
"Don't be ridiculous. Caleb is an old friend. Unlike Tessa, who you parade around at every Lambert Group event without considering how it affects me."
Graham closed the distance between us, his fingers circling my wrist. "Don't forget you're still Mrs. Harrington."
"Funny how you only remember that when it's convenient," I retorted, pulling against his grip. "The rest of the time I'm just another business arrangement."
His eyes darkened. "Is that what you think?"
Before I could respond, his mouth crashed down on mine. The kiss was demanding, almost punishing, yet with an undercurrent of restraint. I pushed against his chest, but he only pulled me closer, one hand sliding to my waist.
His fingers found the buttons of my new sweater, deftly unfastening them. I should have fought harder, but a sudden thought of the baby inside me made me hesitate. Any physical struggle could be risky...
I stopped resisting, but tears slid silently down my cheeks. When Graham pulled back and saw them, he froze. Something flickered in his eyes—regret? confusion?—and he abruptly released me.
"You won't need to attend any more investment dinners," he said, his voice rough as he stepped back. "I'll help Bennett through this crisis. In exchange, you'll personally handle Tessa's procedure at Presbyterian."
The transactional nature of his offer was like a slap. Even this moment of intimacy had been negotiated.
"Fine," I whispered.
Graham straightened his tie, turned, and left the bedroom without another word.
Alone, I sank onto the bed, the day's accumulated hurts finally overwhelming me. I cried silently, careful not to make sounds that might carry through the apartment's expensive walls.
When the tears subsided, my stomach growled insistently. I need to eat something for the baby, I reminded myself.
In the kitchen, I found Briar, our evening housekeeper, arranging flowers.
"Mrs. Harrington, would you like dinner served?" she asked.
"I can manage, thank you. What do we have?"
"Mr. Harrington instructed the chef to prepare your favorites before he left—Mediterranean salad and the grilled salmon protein plate. They're in the warming drawer."
I stared at the perfectly prepared meals, exactly what I'd been craving lately. Had Graham noticed my changing appetite? The thought brought a complex mixture of warmth and bitterness.
Taking the salad to the breakfast nook, I ate alone, watching the city lights below, wondering how someone could be so thoughtful and so cruel in the same evening.