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I already know Wyatt is going to try to talk me out of it. That’s what I would do, if he texted me out of nowhere that he wanted to propose to a woman he just met last month.
A woman who’s gotten into his head and clouded everything.
But isn’t that what love is?
I don’t have a moment to send it. Wyatt and my father message me at once.
Wyatt’s message asks if he can see me.
He adds:It’s important. As soon as you can, I need to see you.
An anxiousness comes with my father’s message:You didn’t sign that contract, did you?
My gut drops and Wyatt messages:Where are you? I’ll come to you now. I fucked up. It’s all fucked up.
There’s a prick at the back of my neck, a numbness that flows through my veins.
I respond to them both immediately. To my father:I signed it.
To Wyatt:At the office.
My father:Fuck. Call me now.
Wyatt texts back at the same time that my father calls. Clearing my throat, I glance at the closed office door and then turn my back to it, facing the office windows.
“Adrian.” My father greets me and before I can do the same he says, “Tell me you didn’t sign it.
“I already told you I did.”
The tone in his voice is unsettling, enough so that my entire body tenses. There’s desperation I can’t help but to feel pulling at me through the line.
“Whatever he’s gotten himself into, I’ll help him out.”
“It’s not just him,” my father grits out between his teeth. “Did your lawyers not change the fucking clause? You’re on the hook for his investment in the building.”
“What?” My pulse races and I’m quick to open up the drawer, pulling out an unsigned copy, a previous version Wyatt had given me. Andrea has the signed copy. Signed, sealed, delivered.
“He made the purchase this weekend for the real estate not two days before the city announced the fucking highway would be built across the street.”
Wyatt’s deal, his big idea, was high-end residential builds. It’s what his father made his name doing. They’re builders and damn good. “A highway?” I can’t fucking believe it. “How did he not know?”
“The more important question is, how the fuck does he sell it now and how the hell do you get out of this contract? If not, you’re going to have to sell as much as you can. It’s to the tune of twenty million.”
“Twenty million,” I repeat, bracing myself on the desk. The numbers run in my mind, all of the companies, all of the holdings and deals I could maneuver just to cover a short like that.
“Twenty fucking million.” Every way I look at it, one company stands out above the rest. Worth eight million for a single client list.
I could fucking throw up.
“You’ll sell if you have to, hold on to the best investments only. I’ll help where I can, but I don’t see a way out. You’re going to have to shift money and hold out for the right timing.”
“I need at least a hundred grand a month for a different investment.” All the numbers for payroll and transitions tally in my mind. The company will earn it back, but not in the first quarter. Probably not for the first year. It has to float.
“For what?” My father’s tone is exasperated. “You’ll be lucky if you have enough for your personal expenses.”
“I’ll leave those numbers to my financial manager,” I bite out, irritated but also fucking terrified. I saw what happened to my family years ago when my father lost it all.
As if reading my mind he states clearly, “You might be fucked, but you’ll survive this. You’re going to have to sacrifice a number of things, but I’m calling the lawyers, I’m calling everyone. I will do everything I can, but I’m not sure there’s much we can do but sell. Take the hit. Reinvest when there’s time. At least it’s only twenty million lost.”
