At that moment, the man leaned back in his seat, hands folded calmly over his chest, his expression unreadable as he stared directly at Abigail. "So," he said in a flat tone, "what is your conclusion? Are you agreeing to this bidding, or are you already out?"
Abigail froze. Her eyes burned with quiet rage, her jaw locked so tightly she could feel the muscle twitching. Her hands, resting on the polished wooden table, clenched into fists so tight her knuckles turned white. It was like everything inside her screamed in protest. The moment she feared had come. The very thing she tried to avoid—bidding against GSK—was now staring her in the face. She was being forced into a corner, and there was no easy way out. She knew she couldn't win this way. Not against them.
Her lips parted to speak, to admit quietly that she was out—that she had lost—but just before the words could leave her mouth, Jerry's calm voice cut through the air like a sudden gust of wind.
