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"Get me on the line with him now," I tell Treasury.
There's only one 'him'. My CFO, Carter Blake.
"What's the holdup?" I ask him the moment he comes on the line.
There's a silence on the other side. I'm about to lay into the fucker when he speaks.
"The banks aren't releasing the funds," he says simply. But I can tell there's frustration on the other side. He's not saying this easily. He must've been on the phone with them yelling and threatening them already. He knows that's what I'd expect him to fucking do.
"Where's the holdup?" I ask Carter.
"They won't say," he sighs. "But all they will tell me is that they no longer believe this deal is viable."
Wait.
Fuck.
Viability? Drake is supposed to be working on that. He's supposed to be assuring the banks that if anything, and I mean anything happens to Dirty Lil' Angels and Natalie, that Castleton Capital will swoop the fuck in and buy up the entire company to honor the debts.
Without Drake's assurances, no bank on Wall Street will invest in a sex toy company.
"Get Drake on the line," I say through gritted teeth. I don't like the way this smells.
"That's the thing, Boss," Carter says and sighs again. "I tried. Drake's office isn't taking any calls. And they won't comment when I ask them if they're willing to go on record to assure the viability of this investment. They've gone into hiding."
I grip the phone.
This deal is falling apart.
Without the assurances, the banks won't guarantee any loan. They won't guarantee our deposits.
Without those guarantees, my shareholders will never let me fucking invest in Natalie's company.
Without my investment, or Drake buying her out, Natalie's company won't fulfill it's order and will probably get fucking sued for taking partial payment in bad faith.
Most likely go out of fucking business.
Fuck.
I need to go see Drake Carlton.
I knew what we had was too good to be true.
If Drake did screw us, then I'm going to fucking kill him.
Drake
I'm drinking my morning coffee when I hear a loud voice.
"It was you, wasn't it?" The door to my office flies open with one quick thrust, and the gust of wind from its sudden movement causes the paperwork on my desk to flutter. A few sheets slide to the ground.
Sloane marches over to my desk, pointing at me. He's livid, his nostrils flaring like a bull in a ring. His tie is crooked and he looks as if he's rushed over here.
Sloppy, I think to myself, and impulsive, per usual. But there's something animalistic and raw that makes my cock pulse. Not now … why is my mind going there?
"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply, keeping my cool.
"The fuck you don't!"
