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“Nothing.” She takes a step toward me. “When tomorrow comes, don’t buy, don’t sell; do absolutely nothing.”
She stares me down as if she’s waiting for me to acknowledge her words. And since everything I say today is wrong, I simply nod.
A moment later her eyes soften. A reckless hope rises in my chest that she’s about to give me a sign that, deep down at least, we’re still okay. But she doesn’t take a step closer to me. She takes one back instead. “Good, I’m going.”
She turns her back on me, shoulders stiff.
“Blake, wait.” I rush for the door, but she’s already sprinting down the hallway. I run after her as she reaches the elevator and fights with the unresponsive call button.
“Mila needs to unlock it for you to go,” I explain.
Blake stares back at my assistant with the terrified expression of a trapped animal.
Mila looks at me interrogatively and I nod; if Blake wants to go, I’m not keeping her here by force. Learned some of my lessons.
Looking almost as awkward as I feel, Mila scoots hurriedly between us to unlock the elevator. Then she disappears back to her desk just as quickly.
“Can I ride down with you?” I ask.
“No.”
“When can I see you again?”
Blake shakes her head. “I can’t deal with this, too, now.”
The elevator doors open, and Blake steps in. She turns to face me with teary eyes, but says nothing, she just pushes the lobby button, and the doors close.
48
BLAKE
When I get out of the Mercer Enterprises headquarters, I don’t even have time to wipe my tears. I need to get back to work and figure out a way to save my company.
Evan has set up a sort of war room in my office where a whiteboard with a pie chart dominates the space.
“Hello,” I say as I walk in. “Thank you all for being here so late.”
Legal, accounting, PR, everyone has sobered up and joined the fight.
“Where are we at?” I ask.
“Not much progress unless you could gather how much stock Gabriel has.”
“Seven per cent.” I take off my jacket and sit on my Pilates ball as Evan amends the chart.
There’s my 30 per cent.
Gabriel’s 7.
Cheney’s 21.
Justin’s 28–30 per cent.
And the last 12 to 14 per cent is widespread among smaller investors.
Heat creeps up my neck as I imagine Justin strolling through the door, sneering at me, “Gotcha.” He’d own me, again. My worst nightmare. But I still have time to turn the tables. I must find a way.
Even if I count Gabriel’s shares on my side, it doesn’t give me the majority. There’s not enough left on the market to gain the majority, neither for me nor Justin.
