Page 84 of Red Flagged
—M. M.
From:Beckett Lachlan
To:Callum Fraser
CC:Maverick Mercer
Subject:Schedule + Strategic Discussion
Date:8:42 AM CET
Fraser,
Mercer looped me in. We’re aligned on this. There’s a path forward here, but it’ll take strategy, discretion, and the right people in the room. You’d have skin in the game, not just a title. Not just for show.
I know this is personal. I know Morel made it personal. But that doesn’t mean we can’t flip the script. If you’re ready to talk, I’ll be in Geneva Tuesday and Wednesday. Mercer’s schedule is flexible. We’ll find a room with no press and see if this makes sense.
Cheers,
Beckett
I swallowed.This was the part we’d only half-discussed. The maybe. The theoretical future. The we’ll-figure-it-out-together. After everything Reinhardt told us, this was one of the few paths forward that didn’t immediately lead to collapse for one—or both—of us.
“Do you think you’ll go?”
He gave a small shrug, taking his phone back and dropping it on his chest. “Yeah, I think I should hear them out.”
I nodded, slow and steady. “Okay. What happens after that?”
He looked at me then, soft and unreadable. “I don’t know.”
And for once, that didn’t sound like a warning. It just sounded honest. I loved it.
“Alright.” I rolled over and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, doing my best to ignore the protest of my body.
“Alright?” He sounded surprised. “That’s it?”
I just giggled. “Yes, Cal. I’m not asking for you to have it all figured out. I’m asking to be included in the conversation. Iwantto be part of this decision with you. Even if it’s just letting you talk it out.”
He stared at me like I’d just opened the sky with my bare hands. “What did I do to deserve you?”
My heart flipped. I scrunched my nose and murmured, “Tu m’as trouvée dans la tempête… et tu n’as jamais lâché ma main.”You found me in the storm… and you never let go.“You stayed.”
His throat bobbed. Then, without missing a beat, he huffed a crooked grin. “Christ, you’re such a romantic, baby.” He made a mock-swoon sound and clutched his chest.“How am I supposed to be a brooding sex symbol when my French revolutionary girlfriend keeps saying shit like that? I have a brand to uphold.”
I laughed, warm and wrecked and whole all at once. He grinned, his dimple popping and stealing my breath.
Then the quiet came again. It wasn’t heavy this time, justfull. Full of love and tenderness andus.
“I’ll handle this meeting,” he said. “You go to Paris, get the movers sorted. We’ll go from there.”
I nodded, still smiling at him.
“Then,” he growled, “I’ll come find you. Since yourefuseto give me the address.”
“I wasn’t refusing, but you know what?”
He rolled his eyes. “What?”
