Page 8 of Due Diligence

“Pardon?” Cassie asked as she tilted her head to the side and frowned. “How exactly did it start?”

“Oh,” I said, like an idiot.Oh. “I’m just talking about how we started late.”

“You’re still mad I was late?” she snapped. And when she did that, her tone shifted entirely. Her precise, melodic, corporate-approved tone was replaced by something cutting. Something sharp. Lethal.

“Not mad,” I responded. “Just…just hoping we won’t make a habit of that.”

Silence followed my comment, and for once I was uncomfortable with it. Usually, I loved silence. I was a regular Simon and Garfunkel when it came to silence. If it were possible, I would get down on one knee and propose to silence, vowing to love, honor, and respect her until my dying day. But right now, silence could go to hell.

“Look at your watch,” she ordered after a beat. Her eyes went to my wrist.

Confused, I frowned. I glanced down at my watch and then back up at her. Her expression was stony. “Sorry?”

“Look at your watch,” she repeated, her tone unrelenting. “Tell me what time it is.”

“It’s…three thirty-seven.”

“Exactly,” she confirmed, nodding at me with her brown eyes narrowed. “And what time did I get here?”

“Nine twenty-three.”

“And what time does this meeting end, according to your calendar?”

I knew a trap when I saw one and I was clearly already caught in one. Still, I humored her. “It goes until four.”

“So, that’s a lot of numbers, but luckily I’m good at keeping track of these kinds of things. And it seems like I wasted twenty-three minutes of your time, so I went out of my way to give you back twenty-three minutes. And from an accounting perspective, I believe that means we’re square. What do you think, Marcus?”

She said my name like it was an expletive. And I was stunned by the fact that after ten years, this tiny, doe-eyed blond couldstillcompletely transform like it was the night of the full moon. In fact, I was so stunned I couldn’t think of anything better to do or say other than, “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Cassie paused, arms folded and her facial expression still fixed somewhere between accusatory and smug. After a beat, like she had her own six-second reset ritual, she smiled for the millionth time today. “I’m sorry I was late. It won’t happen again.”

Inhale, exhale, clench fist, unclench.

“I’m counting on that.” My voice wavered as I spoke, which I resented, but couldn’t really help.

“Have a good evening.” She didn’t wait for an acknowledgement. Instead she turned and strode out of the fishbowl and out of the office without another word, leaving me dumfounded and alone.

It wasn’t the first time she had done that and it wasn’t the worst either.

Chapter 3: Cass

I exhaled as soon as the heavy wooden door to the Libra offices closed behind me. My hands were trembling. I had no explanation for that. It was either anger or frustration or maybe even shock. My dread and trepidation over the last few weeks had clearly been warranted—if not prudent. But the fresh air greeted me, reminding me there was a world beyond the conference room where I just spent the last few hours with Marcus Fitz. Marcus fucking Fitz.

That was what they called him in college. When Libra started attracting momentum in the media, the university newspaper—The Daily Princetonian—interviewed Alex Larson for a feature story on the university’s two latest budding tech entrepreneurs. In the article, he was quoted as saying, “Mark my words, me and Marcus f***ing Fitz are going to take over the world.”

The ridiculous nickname stuck, catapulting Marcus’s status from shy, unassuming freshman to noteworthy, soon-to-be-rich tech bro. I remembered sitting in Firestone Library one dayduring midterms week, watching as a duo of lacrosse players high-fived him and said, “You’re the man, Marcus fucking Fitz,” while Marcus grinned sheepishly, blush rising in his cheeks. Like the asshole I was back in college, I shushed them from the other side of the stacks. Knowing me, I probably threw in a cringeworthy eyeroll for good measure. But then I remembered Marcus bowing down, peering at me through the rows of books with those beautiful green eyes of his, and mouthingSorryat me. My breath had hitched at the sight. Back then, that brief interaction circled me for weeks. I couldn’t shake it: God, that guy was cute.

Ten years later, standing outside of his office, I pulled my blouse away from my chest a couple of times. Cool air surrounded me and continued to abate the full-bodied fury that he had awoken in me. That wasn’t at all how I thought that interaction would go. I assumed it would be awkward, potentially. But hostile? No. That wasn’t Marcus—at least not ten years ago.

Clearly things had changed.

After I left the Libra offices, I headed over to the Davenport-Ridgeway Tower to check in with my manager, Mahendra, who took me at face value when I told him that the meeting was just fantastic, nothing to report, andcertainlyno near bouts of rage with the seller. After that, I sent a summary email to Corinne Tyler, one of the presidents on the mergers and acquisitions team, who was leading the deal with Libra.

Corinne answered immediately, which was my biggest pet peeve in a person. I knew that was irrational. It was probably a phenomenal quality in an employee, but I just wanted to get the hell out of the office as fast as humanly possible. Instead, I found myself engaging with her over email for the next half hour.

It did occur to me that I could have just responded to her tomorrow. After all, that was what I usually did—even when Ihad plenty of time to email.Work to live, not the other way around, that was the motto. But I actually liked Corinne Tyler. Despite her youth, she was one of the few women in leadership in M&A at the company, and she was a bona fide bad ass. To be honest, she kind of had to be one. Her fiancé was our CEO’s heir apparent, and one misstep by Corinne would undoubtedly add fuel to the rumor that her hire was based on nepotism. Anyone who worked with her knew nepotism had nothing to do with it, but office politics were an impossible, untamable beast.

I appreciate your diligence on this (no pun intended, because puns are the lowest form of humor), Corinne wrote.Have a great evening, Cassandra.

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