Page 40 of Price of Victory
I forced myself to read the same sentence for the fourth time when I heard footsteps approaching my table. Probably another student looking for a quiet place to study, or maybe library security doing their evening rounds. I didn’t look up, determined to finally make some progress on this assignment.
“Burning the midnight oil, Morrison?”
My heart stopped, then started again at double speed. I knew that voice—I had been hearing it in my dreams for weeks. When I looked up, Aiden was standing next to my table with his laptop bag slung over his shoulder and that familiar smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
“It’s not even ten,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the way my pulse was racing. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as you. Studying.” He gestured to the business textbook spread open in front of me. “Williams’ assignment on stakeholder capitalism?”
“Yeah. You haven’t started it yet?”
“Started and finished. But I thought I might review my notes, make sure I didn’t miss anything important.” He pulled out the chair across from me without waiting for an invitation. “Mind if I join you? This place is dead tonight.”
I should have said yes, I did mind. Should have told him I needed to concentrate, that his presence was exactly the kindof distraction I’d been trying to avoid. Instead, I found myself nodding, already making space on the table for his materials.
“Sure. Just try to keep the commentary to a minimum. Some of us actually have to work for our grades.”
“Ouch.” He settled into the chair, immediately making the space feel smaller and more charged. “You know, just because I have resources doesn’t mean I don’t work hard. I happen to take my education very seriously.”
“Right. That’s why you were bragging about finishing the assignment already.”
“That’s not bragging, that’s efficiency. There’s a difference.”
We fell into our usual pattern of competitive banter, but underneath, it was a current of tension that had nothing to do with academics. I was hyperaware of his every movement, the way his fingers drummed against the table when he was thinking, the way he unconsciously leaned forward when he was making a point. Every time he shifted in his chair, every time he looked up from his laptop to meet my eyes, I felt that familiar jolt of electricity that made my skin feel too tight.
“So what did you think of the Friedman versus Freeman debate?” he asked after we’d been working in relative silence for fifteen minutes.
“I think Friedman’s position is outdated. Focusing solely on shareholder value ignores the broader impact corporations have on society.”
“Spoken like someone who’s never had to make actual business decisions. It’s easy to be idealistic when you’re not responsible for keeping a company profitable.”
The comment stung, partly because there was truth in it. “And it’s easy to be cynical when you’ve grown up watching profit matter more than people.”
Something flickered across his expression, too quick for me to identify. “Careful, Rhett. You’re starting to sound like you have opinions about how certain businesses operate.”
“I have opinions about how all businesses should operate. There’s a difference between being profitable and being predatory.”
“Is there? Because from where I’m sitting, successful business is about identifying opportunities and capitalizing on them. Sometimes that means making moves other people find uncomfortable.”
“Like hostile takeovers of family companies?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and immediately, I wanted to take them back. This was exactly the kind of territory we’d been carefully avoiding, the painful history that made everything between us infinitely more complicated.
Aiden’s expression went carefully neutral, that practiced mask of indifference sliding into place. “That was business. Nothing personal.”
“Tell that to the families who almost lost everything.”
“Tell that to the shareholders who deserved better returns on their investments.”
We stared at each other across the table, the easy atmosphere of moments before evaporating into something tense and hostile. This was the problem with whatever was happening between us. No matter how good things were, no matter how right it felt when we were together, we couldn’t escape the history that connected our families.
“Maybe this was a mistake,” I said quietly, already reaching for my books.
“What was? This conversation or all of it?”
“I don’t know. Both?”
But even as I said it, even as I started to pack up my materials, I couldn’t bring myself to actually leave. Becausedespite the argument, despite the reminder of everything that stood between us, I still wanted to be here. Still wanted to be near him, even when it hurt.
“You don’t mean that,” Aiden said, his voice softer now.
