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I have other things to think about. Like Bristol. And this email I’ve been writing.
The new list of demands hovers on my screen. I’ve put them in a bulleted list under a corporate-polite note describing how the following items will need to be included in the deal. If they’re not, I’ll have to withdraw my consideration.
It’s a ridiculous list. Absurd. If they want to merge with Summit, they’ll have to give me record stock options, control over the company vision, and a superyacht. In other words, it’s designed to make them say no. The board will never agree.
They’ll call it quits, we’ll exchange some genial phone calls about how we all wish it could’ve worked out, and I’ll stay at Summit. We’ll all live happily ever after.
Except…
It’s not like me to avoid an opportunity like this. Not like me to send a list of demands purpose-built to sidestep my own goals. Not like me to fuck things up.
Here we are.
I hitsendon the email and watch it leave my outbox.
As soon as it’s gone, I feel lighter. Why the hell would that be the case? Maybe I’m looking for another fight. I just visited the warehouse at the docks a few days ago. The reckless, violent man who hides behind custom suits and strict office policies should be satisfied.
An hour ticks by.
I’m scowling at an empty inbox when my CFO raps on the doorframe. “Am I interrupting?”
Christa Hong is sharp as a tack. I like her because she doesn’t miss much.
Between the two of us, Summit hasn’t been fucked over once.
“No. Sit.” I switch off the computer screen and remind myself, once again, not to think of Bristol Anderson. Not to wonder what the report from my outside man will be.
Christa sits. She purses her lips, managing to look relaxed while she’s doing it. As if she’s considering which bottle of wine to order at dinner. It rings an alarm bell in my mind.
I’ve run a company with her for years. Something’s wrong.
“You found something in the deal.”
“The deal is perfect. Hughes wants us badly enough to give you everything, probably even your damned superyacht. I think your plan of getting them to pull out is going to backfire. They’re going to agree.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I found something strange in the accounts.”
“Which accounts?”
“That’s the thing. It was under the office accounts, which I don’t usually review with a fine-tooth comb. Your secretary handles those accounts, which means you sign off on them. But I couldn’t sleep last night. I decided to reconcile the books to distract me.”
“You could have picked up a novel. Watched a movie.”
“My first thought was that it’s for escorts. Or drugs. What else could cost that much?”
I don’t hire escorts, and I don’t do drugs. If I did, I wouldn’t pay for them out of company funds. That’s what fuck-ups do. I might be a monster walking around disguised as a civilized person, but I’m not a fuck-up. Not when it comes to my business.
“What are you talking about?”
Christa slips her phone from her pocket and taps the screen. “Emailed it to you.”
My computer chimes and a notification appears on the screen.
I click on it, and the report expands to fill the monitor.
“The hell is this?” I scroll through, only half-believing what I’m seeing. “Fifty thousand dollars worth of coffee beans?”
