Chapter 103

~ Clinton ~

As Franklin’s tailored back disappeared through the diner’s revolving doors, I leaned back and exhaled a sharp breath of frustration.

The man was a wall of stubbornness. He’d rather drown in his own pride than take a life raft from someone who actually knew the terrain.

"Fine," I muttered into my cooling tea. "If you won’t walk with me, I’ll find the truth on my own."

The next morning, the corporate world demanded my attention, regardless of my personal turmoil. I was halfway through a complex proposal for a logistics firm when my assistant knocked and poked his head into my office.

"JeffTech is on the line, sir. They’re requesting your presence for an urgent day trip."

"A day trip?" I frowned, the pen stilled in my hand. "To where?"

"They said it’s regarding one of their development sites in the Bronx. Something about a critical milestone in the AI infrastructure."

"Divert the call to my line," I commanded.

A few seconds later, the light on my desk phone blinked. I picked it up.

"Harrington."

"Good morning, Mr. Harrington. This is Miranda Lawson, Team Leader for AI Platform Innovation at JeffTech."

"Good morning, Miranda. I was under the impression our next check-in wasn’t until the end of the quarter."

"Normally, yes," she began, her tone professional yet hurried. "But the board informed me that Skyline Investments is the primary backer for our latest tech hub expansion in the Bronx. We’re integrating automation systems and integrated software solutions there, and before we hit the next funding phase, we need an on-site evaluation from our lead investor."

I leaned forward, my interest piqued. As a venture capitalist, my job wasn’t just to sign checks; it was to ensure the gears were turning and the profit was scalable. An on-site inspection meant JeffTech wanted reassurance, and my firm needed hard evidence of progress.

"I understand. Who from your team will be leading the walkthrough?"

"One of my lead developers, Bella Washington. She’s exceptional at what she does—meticulous and highly technical. You’re in good hands."

"When are we leaving?"

"In an hour," Miranda replied. "It’s a one-day trip. You’ll assess the site, review the technical progress, and finalize the approval for the next round of capital."

I needed a distraction—something to pull my mind away from the haunting image of Octavia in that hospital bed.

"I’ll be there," I said.

When I arrived at the JeffTech headquarters an hour later, Bella Washington was already waiting by the main entrance. She was a striking woman, dressed in a sharp blazer and tailored pants, clutching a tablet like a shield. Miranda stood beside her.

"Welcome, Mr. Harrington. Thank you for making the time on such short notice," Miranda said.

"I assume this isn’t the kind of thing that can wait for a formal board meeting," I replied.

"Unfortunately not," Miranda shook her head before gesturing to the woman beside her. "This is Bella Washington, the lead developer I mentioned. And Bella, this is Clinton Harrington, acting CEO of Skyline Investments."

"How do you do, Clinton?" Bella said, thrusting her hand forward.

I stiffened slightly as I took her hand. Clinton? It was a bold move to use my first name in a professional introduction. "I’m well, Miss Washington," I replied, intentionally using her formal title to reset the boundaries.

"So, shall we?" Bella asked with a wide, confident smile.

"Lead the way," I told her, turning to Miranda.

"I’ll ensure you get the feedback as soon as we return."

The drive to the Bronx was quieter than I expected. I kept my eyes on the road, trying to maintain a professional atmosphere, but I could feel Bella’s gaze on me from the passenger seat. She eventually pulled up several blueprints on her tablet.

"This tech hub is one of our most ambitious expansions, Clinton," she began, seemingly oblivious to my earlier correction. "We’re integrating AI monitoring into urban infrastructure—traffic flow, data security, the works."

"And the risks?" I asked, cutting to the chase.

"Scalability is the main hurdle. If the automation lags, the whole system becomes a bottleneck. Plus, there are data security concerns we need to iron out before the full rollout."

"And you believe it’s worth the secondary investment?"

She gazed at me for a long beat, a slow, knowing grin spreading across her face.

"Absolutely," she said softly.

When we arrived at the site, the scale of the project was undeniable. It was a hive of activity—engineers in hard hats, data models flickering on portable screens, and the skeletal frames of massive servers being installed. We were both handed safety helmets.

"This is phase one," Bella explained as we navigated the maze of cables and steel. "If Skyline approves the funding today, phase two moves into full automation."

Despite her overly familiar behavior, I had to admit she knew her craft. Her explanations were detailed, her grasp of the architecture was flawless, and she answered my technical questions without a hint of hesitation.

"You’ve clearly put a lot of work into this," I noted.

"You have no idea," she said, stepping a little too close to my side.

Her voice had taken on a subtle, purring quality. "We don’t plan on failing, Clinton. We like to win."

"Good. My firm doesn’t invest in failure," I said, stepping away to inspect a server rack.

As she continued the tour, I remembered Miranda’s mention of her team. They were the same innovation group Octavia worked with.

"Miss Washington, a question out of context — I assume you work closely with Octavia Herman?"

Bella’s expression flickered. For a split second, her smile vanished, replaced by something sharp and cold, before she smoothed it over. "Oh, I know Octavia. A good woman...at heart," she said, though the compliment felt brittle.

"Then you know about the accident," I pushed.

"I do. Tragic, really," she said over the roar of a nearby generator. She adjusted her helmet, her eyes shifting to mine. "You know, there are rumors at the office. Some say she didn’t just ’stumble’ down those stairs. They think someone gave her a little help."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "A rumor? Who would think that?"

"People talk, especially when a ’perfect’ woman falls so far," Bella shrugged. "What do you think, Clinton? Do you believe in accidents?"

"I think the truth usually comes out eventually," I replied, watching her closely.

"Well, everyone has an opinion," she said, reaching out and trailing her fingers along my arm. "But let’s get back to the system architecture. I’d much rather focus on our partnership."

By the end of the day, the technical data was sound. "You’ll have your funding," I said as we walked back to the car.

"I had a feeling you’d see the value," she purred.

"However, I’m going to insist on tighter security protocols for the data hub," I added.

As we drove back toward Manhattan, Bella continued to push the boundaries, her hand occasionally brushing my arm as she "gestured" toward her tablet. When we finally pulled up to the JeffTech entrance, she turned to me.

"I’ll give the feedback to Miranda. She’ll be thrilled."

"Do that," I nodded.

She leaned in, her manicured nails grazing my wrist. "It was a pleasure working with you today, Clinton. I hope we can do this again...perhaps over dinner?"

I had reached my limit.

"Miss Washington?"

"Yes, Clinton?" she asked, playing the part of the confused innocent.

"I would appreciate it if you kept our interactions strictly professional. No more touching my arm, and certainly no more flirting. My last name is Harrington; please use it."

She blinked, her smile faltering. "I was just trying to be friendly, considering our firms are now deeply partnered..."

"Our partnership is between our companies, not us. I’m making myself clear, right? No more seduction, no more flirting and no more first names. I’ll pretend today was just an lapse in judgment if it stops now."

Bella stiffened, her jaw tightening as she realized she’d hit a wall. "Sure. Of course, Mr. Harrington. I apologize if my gestures were misinterpreted. It won’t happen again."

"Good. My regards to Miranda," I said.

She hopped out of the car and walked toward the building without looking back. I watched her go, a strange feeling of unease settling in my gut. Something about her reaction to Octavia’s name felt wrong—too rehearsed.

That evening, I sat in my dark apartment, the silence of the room amplifying my thoughts. I missed Octavia. I missed her voice, her sharp wit, her presence. Just as the weight of the day began to crush me, my phone rang.

"Hello?" I asked, my voice tired.

"Clint? Is that you?" a bright, youthful female voice asked.

"Who is this?"

"Dang it! You’ve forgotten me already?"

The voice sounded mock-offended. "It’s Annie Reagan. Your Annie-bell. Do you remember now?"

A genuine smile finally broke across my face. "Annie-bell? Good lord, it’s been years."

"Yep! I got your number from my mom. How have you been, you big executive?"

"I’ve been...busy, Annie. A lot has happened. How is New Orleans treating you?"

"Great! I’m actually calling because I’m graduating from art school soon. I wanted you to be the first to know."

"That’s incredible news. Congratulations, Annie. You always were the most talented person I knew."

"Thank you, Clint," she said softly. She was the only person left who used that nickname, and it felt like a warm blanket. "I expect to see your face at my graduation party. No excuses."

I leaned my head back against the sofa. "Annie, I’d love to be there, I really would. But I’m in the middle of some very serious business here in New York. I don’t think I can leave right now."

There was a pause. "Is it the work? Or is it something else?"

"It’s...complicated. But I’ll send you the best graduation gift you’ve ever seen, I promise."

"I don’t want a gift, Clint. I want you there," she pushed, though her tone was gentle. "But I understand. You were always the one carrying the world on your shoulders. I just wanted to hear your voice since it’s been three years."

"I’m sorry I haven’t reached out sooner. Your mother gave me your Facebook username, but I’ve been...occupied."

"It’s okay," she laughed. "Just save my number, you idiot. I’m going to call you during the week to check up on you."

"I’ll be waiting for the call. Bye, Annie-bell."

"Bye, Clint!"

As I hung up and saved her contact, the tension in my chest loosened just a fraction.

For a few minutes, I hadn’t been thinking about hospital monitors, suspicious stairs, or ruthless fathers. I had just been Clint. And for tonight, that was enough.