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“It was Josh calling me back; they were able to identify the other buyer.”
“Who?”
I guess the name with agonizing certainty a moment before Evans says it. “It was Gabriel.”
47
GABRIEL
At the end of the craziest day, my intercom buzzes. “Blake is in the elevator headed up to see you.”
Mila’s tone is completely neutral. A sign she’s still displeased with me. It’s her version of the silent treatment. Usually, she’d offer a heads-up of what I should expect, but now she’s making me ask.
“Any read on her mood?”
“Looks like you’re getting exactly what you’ve asked for.”
With that cryptic statement, she buzzes off the line.
I don’t know what to do. I stand up, then sit down again. Then stand and circle the desk, leaning on it from the other side.
From outside the door, Mila’s voice filters in. “He’s expecting you.”
Then my door bursts open and Blake walks in, looking like an avenging angel from a goth novel.
She’s dressed in all black: black leggings, black shoes, and black fleece. Her hair is a messy cascade over her shoulders, and her eyes are blue fire scorching my soul.
Blake closes the door behind her and doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t come to kiss me or hug me hello either. She just paces around the office keeping a safe distance from me.
I’d go to her. But I’m a wise man; I can recognize when a woman doesn’t want to be touched.
I get it. Her company is undergoing a hostile takeover, and everything she’s worked for is at risk. She doesn’t need cuddling right now.
“You want to talk about it or are you just here to pace?”
She looks at me and scoffs. “I’m just trying to decide if I’m calm enough not to scream.”
“I know what Justin did, but—”
She stops and turns all her fury on me. “Justin? Justin? What about what you did?” She points a finger at me.
Oh, so she knows about that, too. I’d planned to keep the stock and then controllably release it back on the market when things calmed down without her ever knowing she had only me to thank for not losing her company. But I guess that train has left the station.
“He was buying all your shares, you weren’t picking up the phone, so I took off the market whatever shares I could.”
“How much exactly did you buy?”
“Seven per cent.”
She closes her eyes as if taking a minute to digest the information. “And you couldn’t have trusted I could handle my business on my own; no, you had to sweep in on your white horse and save the day.” She claps her hands, sarcastically so, I suspect. “Bravo.”
Well, not that I was expecting a medal, but a thank you would have been nice.
I ignore her sarcasm. “Why are you so mad?”
“Because… thanks to your meddling, I now risk losing my company.”
“I don’t see how my taking away stocks from Justin would facilitate that.”
