The Merger

The Morrison Tech building is everything I expected and nothing I'm prepared for.

Standing on the sidewalk outside 1201 Third Avenue, I tilt my head back to take in all forty-two floors of gleaming glass and steel. It's the kind of building that screams dominance-modern, imposing, the type of place where empires are built and smaller companies get devoured before lunch.

I chose my outfit like armor this morning: my best black power suit with the jacket that Elena says makes me look like I could end careers with a single glance. My hair is pulled back in a severe chignon that took three attempts to perfect, and I'm wearing the red lipstick that Maya bought me because she said it made me look "like a woman who doesn't negotiate-she dictates terms."

I need every weapon in my arsenal today.

The lobby is all marble and chrome, with a reception desk that probably costs more than most people's cars. The blonde receptionist looks like she stepped off a magazine cover, all practiced perfection and calculated charm.

"I'm here to see Jake Morrison," I tell her, proud that my voice carries just the right note of cool authority. "I have a 2 PM appointment."

"Of course, Ms. Williams. Please take a seat, and someone will escort you up shortly."

I perch on the edge of a leather chair that's more sculpture than furniture, watching impeccably dressed people stride through the lobby with the kind of confidence that comes from never having to worry about survival. Everyone here looks successful, polished, like they belong in a world where acquisition meetings are just another Tuesday afternoon power play.

"Ms. Williams?"

I turn to see a young man in a crisp button-down approaching with an eager smile. He's maybe twenty-five, with the kind of nervous energy that screams "assistant desperately trying to impress the boss."

"I'm David Parker, Mr. Morrison's assistant. He's ready to see you now."

We ride the elevator to the fifteenth floor in charged silence, and I use the time to center myself. This is just business. Jake Morrison is just another CEO trying to buy my company. The fact that he once shattered my trust and nearly destroyed my confidence is irrelevant.

The fact that my pulse is racing at the thought of seeing him again is absolutely irrelevant.

The elevator opens onto a reception area that makes our converted warehouse look like amateur hour. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of Elliott Bay, and the furniture looks like it belongs in a museum of modern wealth. Everything is clean lines and expensive materials, the kind of understated luxury that whispers rather than shouts.

But it shouts money. It shouts power. It shouts that Jake Morrison has built himself an empire.

"Mr. Morrison's office is just down the hall," David says, leading me past a series of glass-walled conference rooms where people in expensive suits conduct what look like very important negotiations.

And then we stop in front of a door, and David is knocking, and I hear a voice I haven't heard in eight years say, "Come in."

The first thing I notice is the view. Jake's office takes up a corner of the building, with windows on two sides that frame the Seattle skyline like a living masterpiece. The Space Needle looks diminutive from up here, dwarfed by the mountains in the distance and the waters of Puget Sound sparkling in the afternoon sun.

The second thing I notice is the man standing with his back to me, looking out at that view like he owns it.

He's taller than I remembered, broader through the shoulders. The expensive suit from his Forbes photo fits him like it was designed specifically for his body, tailored to showcase a frame that suggests he uses his wealth for more than just acquisitions. His dark hair is shorter, more sophisticated, but I can still see the boy who used to run his hands through it when he was thinking through complex problems.