He was rambling. He knew he was rambling. He couldn't stop.
"The WitchBournes have survived for centuries. Through wars. Through revolutions. Through the rise and fall of empires. But survival isn't enough anymore. It isn't enough. To merely survive is to slowly die. To thrive—to grow—that requires alliances. Partnerships. Connections that only blood can truly secure."
His hand was still extended. Waiting.
"This union will make the WitchBournes a hospitality powerhouse not just in Britain but across the world. Your family's reach combined with our expertise—our reputation—our heritage—"
He stopped. Swallowed. Tried to compose himself.
"Forgive me. I'm being sentimental. It's a flaw my wife always criticised."
He smiled. Self-deprecating. Charming.
"Do we have an accord, Ms. Price?" He extended him hand.
Abigail Price looked at the extended hand.
Then at the man behind it.
