Page 13 of Bearly Out Loud

His phone buzzed. Reo.

Vuzen left looking like he swallowed a lemon. Good meeting?

Dojin typed:He took the revenue report.

Progress. He’ll read it in three days after a scotch.

He’ll read it tonight. I made sure of it.

How?

I told him to.

Three dots. Then:Noted. Adjusting my Vuzen compliance predictions accordingly.

SEVEN

DOJIN

His mother called at eleven. Colette Keiser operated on a schedule that appeared spontaneous and was, in fact, choreographed with the precision of the opera career she’d retired from. Tuesday calls at eleven. Thursday tea with her network. Sunday dinners she described as intimate and staffed like state functions.

He picked up on the third ring. A deliberate count. First ring was eager. Second was reasonable. Third communicated that a man running a billion-dollar company had other priorities but loved his mother enough to answer before voicemail.

Colette had never once acknowledged this strategy.

“Dojin,mon chéri.” Her voice poured through with the warmth and projection of a mezzo-soprano who’d filled La Scala without a microphone. “I have the most wonderful news.”

Wonderful news from his mother required full attention and an empty desk, because wonderful news always involved plans she’d executed, agreements she’d sealed, and food she’d started preparing—all before informing anyone else of their participation.

“What news?”

“Do you know Suki Saito?”

The name hit like a physical knock. The Saito Wixx Family. Four hours since the demo reel and he was already tracking anything connected to her—logging the name before his mind had fully consented to it.

“Of her.” He kept his voice even. “Hideo Saito’s widow.”

“We met at a gathering last week. Extraordinary woman. Tiny. Devastating. She makes tea that could end wars.” Colette’s voice rose with the cadence that meant she was building toward a point and relishing the construction. “She has a granddaughter.”

She has a granddaughter whose voice made your bear try to come through your hands at six in the morning, and your mother is about to connect those facts with the surgical precision of a woman who has been engineering your personal life since you were twelve.

“Maman.” A warning.

“A voice actress. Very accomplished. Suki tells me she’s?—”

“I know who Nari Wixx is. We’re casting her for Voidborn.”

The operatic kind—a rest between movements.

“Quelle coïncidence!”

“It’s not a coincidence. It’s you.”

“It is a beautiful, organic alignment of?—”

“Maman. Stop.” The command in his voice worked in boardrooms and bear councils and occasionally on his mother, when he timed it right. “What have you done?”

“I’ve donenothing.I had a conversation with a charming woman whose granddaughter is talented in a field relevant to your business. The universe provides.” A breath. “We should have them to dinner.”