***
I wasn’t alone in the Preston boardroom, thankfully, but I couldn’t keep my feet from tapping the floor vigorously. My toes clenched and unclenched inside my black suede heels. My business partner, Peter Sullivan, and I were sitting beside each other on one side of the unimaginably large oak table. Someone had brought in a tray of coffee and breakfast Danishes and placed them in front of us, but neither of us had much of an appetite.
“So, this is it eh?” Peter said, without looking at me. I had my hands clasped together on my lap as my feet continued to shake. Peter was more relaxed, more resigned to our fate, but he had that deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. The only sign of nervousness he gave off was that he kept taking his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping his balding head.
The board room was foreboding, intimidating, and it was also a symbol of how our company was now going to belong to someone else.
“Tell me you have a great last-minute idea,” I said, looking at him sideways. He only smiled nervously and shook his head. For the past two months, we had racked our brains, gone through our accounts over and over again. We were just not making enough money to pay our employees, to keep afloat and also pay back the loans. Acknowledging that we had been a failure was the hardest thing either of us had done.
I tried to sympathize with Peter more. At least I was single. Peter was a new dad, with a six-month-old baby at home. He would have no other choice but to look for employment now. Whereas I could possibly hold back from that for a little longer if I wanted to.
I had a sudden urge of solidarity and reached for Peter’s clammy hand. The money from the sale of the company to Preston and Son would provide us with some much-needed relief. Especially Peter and his family. I couldn’t imagine being in his position.
“We gave it our best shot, Peter. We had a good four years, can’t fault that,” I said, smiling weakly at him.
He only nodded his head and then hung it from shame. Was he blaming me? Did he regret his decision to give up a high-paying coding job and take the plunge on a business venture because I had convinced him to? I gulped as I sat back in my chair. I didn’t want to think about how the failure of my company might have affected his life. It was done now. No point dwelling on it.
We had been sitting in the boardroom by ourselves for close to twenty minutes now, with no sign of Nash Preston or any of his board members. Definitely a power play, and I rolled my eyes in silence. So typical.
The door behind us flew open just then, and both Peter and I jumped in our seats. When I turned, Nash was walking through, followed by five other people. They made their way deliberately to the other side of the table.
I could feel my nostrils flaring the moment I looked at him. I wanted to be angry at him, but he looked so devastatingly handsome. He was in a tailored black suit, a crisp white shirt and the most expensive-looking navy and aquamarine tie I had ever set my eyes on. This guy really knew how to put on a show. He was a picture of success and wealth. A brilliant way of frightening the small-time players into submission. For instance, six people on his side versus our measly two.
I cleared my throat and stuck out my chin at him, as he took a plush-looking chair right across from me. Our eyes met. His gaze was gray, steely and clear. His dark hair wasn’t shaggy anymore but neatly styled to the side. His stubble was still there, but somehow it looked polished, neater. This was his daytime corporate look, and I looked away from him. He was smiling at me like I had made some sort of joke.
“Nice to see you again, Miss Calhoun.” Nash broke the silence, and I swung my gaze to look at him again. This was ridiculous. I couldn’t stop staring at him, even while he was going to deal me the hardest blow. Every time I looked at him, a part of me seemed to forget what we were all here for.
“Good morning, Mr. Preston,” I said, squaring my shoulders and trying to create the illusion of stoic professionalism. But I feared that he could see right through me. That he knew exactly what I was thinking. That in all the years I had known him, I had never once touched those chiseled abs that I drooled over when he played basketball shirtless on campus. I took in a deep breath, hoping some oxygen would drive out the strange thoughts filling my mind.
“And you must be Mr. Sullivan,” Nash said, stretching out his hand to Peter and the men shook hands across the table.
“We are delighted that you are interested in our offer. We believe you will be happy with the final figure,” Nash continued, picking up a pen, which he began to swivel in his fingers. Even the pen looked expensive, something that belonged in a museum rather than in a boardroom.
I shifted in my seat uncomfortably and shot Peter a nervous look. He wasn’t looking at me, but he had sort of sunk into himself in his chair. It looked like he was ready to give up, sign anything, just so he could see some money. I didn’t blame him; I was desperate, too.
“Before that, we were curious about what your plans for the company were. Once they merge, what do you want to do with it?” I asked, glaring directly at Nash. I was aware that all six sets of eyes on his side of the table had turned to me again, but I kept my attention focused on him. I wanted him to look me in the eye and tell me what he was going to do.
Nash’s face broke into a smile, and his gaze fell to my lips and back to my eyes again.
“I understand your concern, Miss Calhoun. But we are not legally obliged to disclose our plans to you, before or after you have signed it over to us,” Nash said, still swiveling the pen around his fingers. Where had he learned to do that? I stopped to think for a moment about how long his fingers were, how thick and sturdy they looked. He must have caught me looking, because he stopped swiveling and our eyes locked again. I had lost my train of thought.
“But I can assure you, Miss Calhoun, given that we have the privilege of being old friends, that we will take care of your employees and look after the growth of the company as our own,” he said in his calm deep voice that made me feel for a second like I was floating in it. It made him sound older than he looked, and I was dazed again. This guy was good. And when I turned to look at Peter, I realized that he was falling for the charm.
“So, you’re not going to tell us what you want to do with it, and we’re just supposed to hand it over to you?” I asked, my voice a little raised now. I realized that a soft murmur had erupted in the room now after my reaction. The five others were talking amongst themselves, while Nash was still looking at me.
“Not just hand it over to us, Bonnie. We’re buying it from you.” His voice had changed slightly. The smile had disappeared from his face. Had I managed to shake his confidence a little? I nearly smiled at that. He should have known that I wasn’t about to go down this easy.
“Isn’t it good business practice to give us a plan before we sell it to you? Even though it isn’t a legal requirement?” I continued. I suddenly felt a little brave. Those brilliant gray eyes weren’t going to slow me down. Those big broad shoulders weren’t going to scare me into submission. How long had I wanted to feel his mouth on mine? How many nights had I woken up to wet dreams of this man? Not anymore. I was going to break the Nash Preston cycle. I was determined to make myself hate him so much that I wouldn’t be able to think of him again without feeling disgust.
But Nash was still calm. He looked like he was unfazed. “This is happening way too fast. It’s only been a week since we decided to make you an offer. We haven’t had time for a plan,” Nash answered, quietly, sitting back in his chair but keeping his eyes trained on me.
“Well, then maybe we should go somewhere else. To some other buyer who is willing to give us a future plan,” I snapped, my neck burning up with rage.
He was so close to me, close enough to touch, to feel, to smell. I gulped as we stared each other down. Nash wasn’t pleased; he wasn’t smiling, and it made me feel victorious.
“Just back off, Bonnie, will you?” Peter said, interrupting the deathly silence between the two of us. I whipped my head around to look at him. I had never seen Peter lose his temper. In the four years I had known him, he was the rock and voice of reason in the company. And yet he had spoken up with some annoyance just then. My mouth hung slightly open as I looked at him.
“Just make us an offer, Mr. Preston, so we can decide,” Peter said, and I stared at him in shock. Was he really going to make it this simple for Nash?
“Of course,” Nash said, and I also detected a lightness in his voice. He was glad for Peter’s presence, because he was losing his temper at me. One of the five people sitting around him slid a file toward us. Peter grabbed it before I had a chance and flipped it open.
We both stared at the number. At all the zeros that followed the massive figure on the bottom line. Nash Preston had already signed it. Peter slowly raised his eyes to look at me. I gulped, staring back at him. My mind was racing. We would be rich. I could see the same thought running through Peter’s brain. Richer than we had ever planned to be. But at what cost?
My brows furrowed. I felt like I was selling my soul. I was giving up the only thing I had ever achieved… for what? Some money?
“Nobody else will give us this much,” Peter whispered, leaning in toward me.
I licked my lips nervously and looked at him, silently begging him for some time to think it over. I knew it was in vain, Peter needed the money. I needed the money. But I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. I wasn’t ready to lose to Nash Preston just yet.
I turned to look Nash, who sat with his fingers steepled, his elbows folded on the oak table. His gray gaze pierced me. His face was blank. Handsome but expressionless. What was he thinking?