Chapter 9
Kellan leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he processed Maxton's words. The tension between them was thick, an unspoken challenge lingering in the air.
Maxton, ever the confident and enigmatic figure, was the only person who could manage to put Kellan at ease in moments like this, yet even he could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on both of them.
Kellan's skepticism was evident in the sharpness of his tone as he finally responded, "No, you haven't," he admitted, though his voice was laced with reluctance.
Maxton, ever quick to read the room, answered his own question with a smirk. "Exactly. So trust me when I tell you that lady knows a lot more about stocks than anyone you could have ever employed," he stated, his voice steady and filled with certainty.
Kellan sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Fine, let me believe you for a moment. So why isn't she here with you?" His tone was clipped, his patience running thin.
Maxton's demeanor shifted slightly, his playful edge softening as he leaned in, lowering his voice to almost a whisper.
"Well, we have a small, tiny, weeny, minny problem," he drawled out, his tone intentionally light but with an underlying seriousness that Kellan couldn't ignore.
Kellan's brow arched, his curiosity piqued despite himself. "And that is?" he pressed, though a sense of foreboding started to settle in.
"She doesn't like working for companies. She only comes to help out, gets paid, and that's it," Maxton confessed, watching Kellan's reaction carefully.
Kellan's expression darkened, the frustration he had been holding back now boiling to the surface.
"No, I need someone who is going to be constantly helping me, watching it at all times," he snapped. "Well then, find someone else."
But Maxton wasn't about to let Kellan dismiss the idea so easily. "It seems you don't understand," he began, his tone becoming more serious.
"This lady started learning stocks at a very tender age. She is considered the best of the best here in California, but she doesn't like being in the spotlight. I guess it's for personal reasons."
Kellan let out a long, exasperated sigh, his fingers tapping impatiently on the desk. "So what do we do, Maxton?" he asked, his voice cold and laced with irritation.
"We're out of options as it stands. We need to fix this, or our company stock will keep plummeting, and that is very bad for the company and its image."
Maxton leaned back in his chair, considering the situation with a calm demeanor that only seemed to aggravate Kellan further.
"We have to invite her over first," Maxton suggested, his voice steady, "and then we can try and negotiate a good deal with her."
Kellan's frown deepened, the lines on his face growing more pronounced as he considered the proposition.
The stakes were high, and the thought of putting the company's fate in the hands of someone who wasn't fully committed made his skin crawl. Yet, the desperation in the situation left him with little choice.
Maxton, sensing Kellan's internal struggle, stood up and gave him a playful pat on the shoulder.
"Come on, sour face," he teased, using the nickname he often employed to lighten the mood, "we'll figure it out. We always do."
Kellan shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the seriousness of the situation. "You're impossible, you know that?" he muttered.
Maxton only grinned wider. "That's why you keep me around," he quipped, his tone filled with the familiar confidence that had carried them both through countless challenges.
As Maxton made his way to the door, Kellan called after him. "Set up the meeting, but if this doesn't work…" His voice trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging in the air.
Maxton paused, looking back at Kellan with a reassuring smile. "It'll work," he said with a certainty that left no room for doubt. "Trust me."
And with that, he was gone, leaving Kellan alone with his thoughts once more. But this time, there was a glimmer of hope amidst the frustration, a sense that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of this mess.
Diara sat in her office, her brow furrowed in concentration as she stared at the sketch in front of her.
The room was quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the occasional rustle of paper.
Her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and a few stray strands of hair fell into her face, which she absentmindedly brushed away.
The design she had been working on for hours was spread out on the desk before her. It was good—by any standard, it was a work of art—but it wasn't what she wanted.
Something was missing, something she couldn't quite put her finger on, and it frustrated her to no end. With a sigh, she picked up the paper, scrutinizing every line, every detail, hoping for inspiration to strike.
But when nothing came, she crumpled the paper in her hand and tossed it aside with a huff of frustration.
Leaning back in her chair, Diara reached for the cup of milk that had been sitting on her desk, the cold liquid a small comfort in her moment of irritation
. She took a long sip, letting the coolness refresh her, before placing the empty cup back down. The milk always seemed to help clear her mind, and for a brief moment, she felt the tension in her shoulders ease.
Taking a deep breath, she picked up her pen again, determined to start over, but just as she was about to put pen to paper, the sound of her phone buzzing broke the silence.
Diara's hand hovered above the sketchpad, her focus shattered. With a sigh, she dropped the pen and reached for her phone.
A message from an unknown number lit up the screen: *"I would like to meet you and discuss the stock business with you."*
Diara frowned, her irritation returning. She didn't have time for this. Her mind was already buzzing with ideas for the new design, and she couldn't afford to be distracted.
*"I'm busy,"* she typed back curtly, and without another thought, she set her phone to mute and pushed it aside.
Hours passed as she immersed herself in her work, the world outside her office fading into the background.
The frustration that had plagued her earlier slowly dissipated as the new design took shape, each stroke of the pen bringing her closer to the vision she had in mind.
By the time she finished, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow through the window.
Diara stretched in her chair, feeling the strain in her muscles from sitting for so long. She reached for the remnants of the milk, downing it in one gulp, before picking up her phone again.
As the screen lit up, she was greeted with a barrage of notifications—messages she had ignored while she worked.
Scrolling through them, one message stood out: *"I am from the Crownstar company."*
Her eyes widened as she read the words. *Crownstar.* The name sent a jolt through her, and she immediately thought of the stranger she had encountered not long ago.
Could it be possible that this was connected to him? The idea of seeing him again stirred something inside her—a mix of curiosity and anticipation.
Without hesitation, she typed back, *"Okay, send time and address."*
Across the city, Maxton was sitting in his office, nervously tapping his fingers on the desk. When the reply finally came through, he nearly jumped out of his chair in excitement.
His sudden movement startled those outside his office, and he could hear their whispers of concern, wondering if something was wrong.
But Maxton didn't care; his plan was finally falling into place. With a grin, he quickly sent the details to Diara, his mind racing with the possibilities of what was to come.