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“Let me guess, with my father gone and me unwed, you fall into the leadership role. Am I correct?”
He let out a nervous chuckle as Mr. Knots answered. “Not exactly. If at the time of your father’s death you are unwed, you will be the acting chairman and CEO, but only for four months. At the end of that time period you will need to be legally married in the state of Texas in order to remain in that position. If you are not married, then the position falls to Mr. Ricker.”
I scoffed. “Wedded to a man who holds a business degree, let’s not forget. This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, gentlemen. This isn’t the 1950s. I’m very capable of running this company without being married.”
A few other board members nodded their heads in agreement. Laughing, I shook my head. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation in the twenty-first century.”
“As it stands, it was the founder of this company who wished for it to be this way,” Mr. Ricker snapped back.
I pulled in a deep breath. “Well, it is no surprise to me that my grandfather thought so little of me. After all, I didn’t have the right equipment to play in his sandbox, or so he thought.”
Marge groaned and a few chuckles echoed in the room. “I’ll fight. Take it to court and have it thrown out.”
“That could take years to work out in the court system, Ms. Monroe,” Knots reminded me.
“Mr. Knots, are you certain this is legally binding? I’m not a lawyer, but this doesn’t even sound right. It was never voted in. It seems to me we can all place a vote and dismiss this issue right now.” A voice from across the table interjected.
I smiled at Melanie Prescott. I had always liked her. I also liked the fact that she was the only one with balls to speak up, besides Mitchel Landing, and that was because he was my father’s best friend.
Clearing his throat, Knots replied, “I wish it was that easy, but unfortunately the legal process with the untimely death of Mr. Monroe,” everyone looked at me and gave me a sad smile, “will slow things down.”
Shaking my head, I glanced around the table. My grandfather actually required me to be married in order to take over the business I had worked my ass off for and earned the right to be sitting in this position. The business I had given up my entire life for. Hell, my own damn dreams. The business that was rightfully mine!
Swallowing the giant lump in my throat, I let out a chortle as I closed my eyes and shook my head.
Married.
The word itself made my skin crawl. The idea of giving up my freedom to let some asshole of a guy try and run my life was not one that ever appealed to me. I had my beloved cat, Mr. Pootie. He was all I needed. Not some damn guy who would throw his wet towel on the bed and scratch his balls and yell out, “When’s dinner ready, baby?”
I shivered at the thought.
No. Thank you.
“So, when does this four-month time period begin?”
Mr. Ricker leaned forward and flashed me a smile that made my skin crawl. “The day your father passed. You’re now down to three months and three weeks.”
Every ounce of good sense immediately left my body … with anger quickly replacing it.
For the rest of my life, I will never forget the look on poor Marge’s face when I stood and uttered my next sentence.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
MY KEYS MADE a loud crash when I dropped them onto the table. Mr. Pootie, my orange cat and the only man in my life, came running up to me. He didn’t rub around my legs like a normal loving cat would. Oh no. He had his priorities. First came food, then came loving on me. He jumped up at me, begging for food as he let out a meow that sounded more like a dying calf.
“Well, look at you, my sweet baby boy! You got your hair cut today.”
Mr. Pootie responded with a drawn-out meow. “Don’t act like you don’t like it. We both know you sat in the mirror and looked at yourself all day.”
It was true. I’d caught my cat on more than one occasion staring at himself in the mirror. He was worse than me. The first time I ever got him shaved, Lily threatened to commit me. I thought it was adorable and have had it done ever since. If anything, he was a topic of conversation when I threw dinner parties.
Mindlessly, I walked to the pantry and grabbed a can of cat food. Mr. Pootie ran in and out of my legs, attempting to trip me, because apparently I wasn’t moving at the speed he preferred.
Bastard.
Once I opened the can, I dumped the food onto the plate and sighed. “Happy?”
He didn’t even say thank you. He simply dug into his food like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, when in reality, it was eight hours ago.
