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I poured myself another scotch and downed half the glass immediately.
There was no way I could live with myself if I allowed Amy to get tied up with Winterbourne to save my Springbok deal. Sure, it would keep her company afloat for now, but Winterbourne would take over in the end, and their dreams would be shattered. That was the way he did business. Why hadn’t I warned her more clearly? There needed to be a better word in the dictionary thanruthlessto describe a man like him.
I should try to reason with her, explain to her who Damien Winterbourne was, how he operated, and how things would end up for her. That tack made the most sense, although tonight was certainly not the time to talk to her about it.
As she'd left, she'd made her feelings about it——and about me——clear enough. My gut tightened. I’d brought this on myself by not discussing him with her in more detail, by not warning her how ruthless he was. I’d thought she and Samantha would be able to see The Winterbourne Group for what they were. I’d been wrong. I slammed my hand down on the granite in frustration.
I really fucked this up.
Her bitterness was the hardest thing to bear. It was the first time in a long time I'd cared about anybody else's opinion of me. In this business I needed to have a thick skin and be immune to other’s reactions to me. Somehow Amy had pierced my shield. Her opinion shouldn't matter——her company was merely another investment——but it did. The hurt was real, and the scotch wasn't making it go away. I took another swig, emptying the glass.
Still, surely I could fix this. Amy was a smart girl and there had to be a way for me to get her to understand the truth about Winterbourne.
After another glass, the room looked hazier, but my options just as bad. I found myself fingering dad's coin. I flipped open my laptop and composed an email to the bank.
The bottle of scotch drew me, and I poured another glass.
Chapter 20
Amy
I’d criedmyself to sleep last night. My apartment had seemed so foreign when I got back to Somerville, and I’d gulped down most of a bottle of wine before I knew it. It was all I had available to quell the hurt. Liam hadn’t ever cared about me; he only wanted to control me, control our company. I should have known better.
I’d double checked our paperwork on Liam’s investment. He’d been right——the clause requiring his permission for any other investors in the next six months was on the second page. It wasn’t unusual, and I hadn’t thought it significant at the time. The wording was straightforward, and we didn’t have any way around it.
This morning I was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and sandwiched between two guys on the Red Line headed to work. All my work clothes were at Liam’s. I’d have to make time later to retrieve them.
I knew I needed to call my sister, but how to explain what had happened eluded me. Vivienne thought Liam was damned James Bond incarnate. She wouldn’t understand how demeaning it had been for him to tell me I couldn’t do what was right for our company, what was right for our team and their families.
I wished I’d never met him that night at the bar. He had seemed so nice, but last night he’d showed his true colors. He had put the clause in the contract that gave him veto power over other investors, and he’d intentionally given us only half the money we needed, so we’d be at his mercy when it ran out. He’d been two steps ahead of me the whole time.
I’d been gullible, swayed by those eyes, that smile, and his smooth talk. I was such an idiot.
I reached the office a little later than normal and headed straight for Samantha’s office.
Lucy at the front desk wasn’t the only one to give me a sideways glance. I never wore jeans to work, not even on Fridays. Getting my clothes out of Liam’s place was moving up my priority list.
“We have to talk,” I told Samantha as I closed the door.
“Not until we get some coffee in you,” she said, giggling. “You look like shit, and this isn’t Saturday,” She eyed my sloppy attire.
I could always count on Samantha to be brutally honest, but I didn’t need it today.
I sat down. “We have a problem.”
Samantha leaned forward, waiting for me to continue. “I fucked up, and we can't take the Winterbourne money.”
Shock wrote itself across her face. “I don't understand. Yesterday you told me it was a go.”
“That was yesterday,” I said. I wasn't sure how to explain how stupid I'd been. “I missed that we had to run any future investors by Quigley. I checked——it was on the papers we signed, it just didn’t sink in at the time.”
“And?” Samantha asked. “This is a problem because?”
I slumped down in my seat. “It's my fault. He won't approve Winterbourne, not ever.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t realize how bad things are between them. It’s like a blood feud, a Hatfield and McCoy thing. I can’t get him to agree.”
