Chapter 15 Sep 17, 2025 Strategy Lab thrummed with the energy of intellectual combat, chairs dragged into a loose circle that made the seminar room feel more like an arena than a classroom. The whiteboard was already dense with competing theories, arrows and counterarguments creating a map of strategic warfare. I took a seat at the edge, content to watch the show unfold. Emma commanded the center, her argument about regulatory capture in hostile takeovers precise as a scalpel. She was magnificent-clear, incisive, devastatingly calm even as three grad students tried to dismantle her position. "The precedent you're citing is fundamentally flawed," some smug second-year interrupted, his voice dripping condescension. "Delaware law clearly states-" "Delaware law states exactly what Ms. Rodriguez indicated," Aiden cut in smoothly, moving into the discussion with that cocky, easygoing charm that made opposition feel foolish rather than threatened. "Though perhaps if you'd read the full appellate decision rather than the summary, you'd understand the distinction she's drawing between regulatory oversight and regulatory capture." He tilted the entire argument on its axis with a wry smile and a sharper definition, creating space for Emma to deliver the killing blow while he simply framed it so the room could follow her logic. The smug second-year retreated, properly educated. "The critical factor isn't the regulation itself," Emma continued, building on Aiden's framework, "but who controls the interpretation. That's where capture becomes weaponized." I felt a bright, grateful heat watching him work-protecting Emma's intellectual territory without a trace of condescension, defending both rigor and the woman delivering it in the same breath. It was rare to see a professor who understood that supporting students meant amplifying their voices, not replacing them. Tonight I was more witness than participant, my usual sharp questions dormant. The discussion raged around hostile defenses, poison pills, and crown jewel strategies while I sat in unusual silence, observing rather than engaging. Maybe Aiden noticed the quiet because when the debate reached fever pitch-someone actually stood up to diagram their argument on the whiteboard-he drifted to my corner with the casual precision of someone who never did anything accidentally. "Not like you to spectate," he said, settling into the chair beside me. The Lab's volume had crescendoed to the point where our conversation swam in its own private channel, hidden beneath the academic warfare. "Usually you're in there drawing blood with the best of them." "I'm tired," I said, stretching slightly to emphasize the point. "That swim this morning was my first real workout in ages. My muscles are pleasantly wrecked." He tilted his head, eyes dancing with amusement. "Wrecked from training? Or from wanting?" The directness of it made my breath catch, but I didn't dodge. "Wanting. Though lately, seeing you almost naked ranks higher on my priority list than most things." His grin reached his eyes, transforming his face from professionally amused to genuinely delighted. "Is that something you'd like me to arrange? Or would you prefer to keep resisting a little longer, see how much tension we can build before something breaks?" "I'm handing you the lead," I said, meeting his gaze steadily. "All this talking is starting to bore me. I prefer action to theory." He leaned in just enough for the lamplight to catch the gold flecks in his green eyes, close enough that I could smell him. "You're too smart for your own good and too beautiful by half," he said, his voice dropping to that register that made my skin feel electric. "Even I'm surprised by my patience with this situation. It's not usually my strong suit." The compliment landed like a physical touch, heat spreading from where his words hit. I glanced around quickly-everyone was absorbed in the debate, Emma now demolishing someone's poorly constructed argument about shareholder rights-before turning back to him. "Then don't hold back anymore," I said, the words escaping before caution could catch them. "Stop being patient. Stop being careful. I don't want theoretical discussions about what might happen. I want-" "I know what you want." His eyes had gone dark, predatory focus replacing casual amusement. "The question is whether you're prepared for what happens when you get it." "Try me." He studied me for a long moment, and I watched him make a decision-saw the moment careful transformed into determined. He nodded once, decisively, like signing a document that couldn't be unsigned. "The pool. Eleven tonight." His voice was casual enough that anyone overhearing would think we were discussing training schedules. "The building's technically closed, but the maintenance door by the south entrance has a broken sensor. Push, don't pull." "Should I bring anything specific?" I kept my tone equally casual, though my pulse had started racing. "Swimwear is optional." The words landed low in my body, heat pooling instantly. "Though you might want it for plausible deniability if anyone asks. Your call." "Eleven," I repeated, confirming the terms of whatever we'd just agreed to. "Don't be late." He stood, moving back toward the main discussion with perfect timing as Emma concluded her argument to scattered applause. "Ms. Rodriguez, excellent analysis. You've given everyone something to think about." I sat through the rest of Strategy Lab with my pulse counting down the hours. Every minute felt elastic, stretching longer than should be physically possible. The discussion moved to defensive strategies in family-owned firms, but the words washed over me without landing. Emma nudged me during a particularly heated exchange about dual-class share structures. "You okay? You've been quiet tonight." "Just thinking through some things," I said, which wasn't technically a lie. "About the material? Or about why Professor Green spent ten minutes having a private conference with you?" "We were discussing swimming techniques," I said, maintaining eye contact with practiced innocence. "He noticed I was tired from this morning's workout." "Swimming techniques," Emma repeated flatly. "Is that what we're calling it?" "Would you prefer aquatic strategy?" "I'd prefer you be careful," she said, but her attention shifted as someone made a spectacularly wrong statement about fiduciary duty that demanded immediate correction. The session finally wound down at nine-thirty, students filtering out in small groups still arguing various points. Aiden was surrounded by three grad students pressing him about some technical aspect of the Williams Act, his attention completely absorbed in their questions. He didn't look my way once, maintaining perfect professional distance. But I felt the weight of our agreement like a physical thing, the promise of eleven o'clock burning bright in my chest.