Page 59 of Remembering Passion

Opening the other side of the suitcase, I found multiple pairs of shoes and a cosmetic bag. Inside the bag were all the cosmetics I used and others nicer than what I used. This felt wrong. If I was supposed to meet the CEOs, I shouldn’t do it playing dress-up.

Leaving the suitcase open by the front door, I went to my phone. As the screen lit, I saw a text message. “Sure, now you communicate.”

I opened the text.

“Just in case you were considering disobeying, I chose to dress you for our trip. Wear the navy skirt and blazer and white blouse to the plane tomorrow with the Louboutin pumps. You’re stunning, Ella. The clothes are only the wrapping. Knock them all dead with your charm, intelligence, and eagerness to make this program work.”

I hit the call button, unsure exactly what I wanted to say. The call immediately went to voicemail. Biting my lip, I waited for the beep. “This is bullshit, Damien. You can’t spring a trip on me the night before. I’m not your doll to dress.”

Damien

“We could ask the board to convene for a vote,” Stephen Elliott, my father’s attorney and the head of Sinclair’s legal team, said, keeping his voice low. “There is always the loophole.”

I’d given the loophole consideration and decided to wait out my time.

Five months to go.

Looking around the drab kitchen, I noted the monotone palette lacked any appeal. The gray cabinets and dark countertop blended with the light gray walls. The fluorescent lighting did little to improve the atmosphere. The coffee pot on the counter seemed to have a never-ending supply of horrible coffee. I suspected the nurses kept it flowing though I never saw one of them making it. There weren’t any windows, but if there were, they would show us the night sky, tall lights, and palm trees.

I lifted the paper cup to my lips and made a face as the cool coffee passed over my tongue. “Five more months,” I said. “I’ve done more for this damn company in four and a half years than my father did in twenty-five.”

“Darius is the one who is sowing concerns in this last inning. The propanolamine has been a breakthrough, but Sinclair needs to increase sales if it is going to sustain us. This medication should be the first go-to for every facility and physician or psychiatrist in the world.”

“Things have changed. The free gifts, vacations, and shit Dad did in his day to encourage doctors to write scripts is no longer legal.”

“If we call for a vote, there’s a better than fifty-percent chance, the board will approve you now and the probation will be over.”

“That means there’s a less than fifty-percent chance they’ll vote to remove me.” I slammed the cup on the table. “This is bullshit. I have a plan in action. In five months, we’ll see the increase in prescriptions, resulting in increased revenue.”

That plan included Ella making a convincing impression on the CEOs of the five companies who hadn’t yet met her. Van and I were convinced. Julia had gotten everyone on board with the idea, but this meeting would set the tone for what was to come.

Stephen lowered his voice to a whisper. “If Derek doesn’t make it, the board will be forced to move on his last wishes. It would be better to get the vote out of the way and secure it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Gloria Wilmott will be a sure yes if you would change your mind on that stipulation—loophole.”

Fucking blackmail—that’s what that is.

“No,” I said with a shake of my head.

This new situation was because my seemingly healthy father suffered a heart attack early Wednesday morning. He woke with shortness of breath and pain in his shoulder. Because he was an obstinate ass, he chose to not tell my mom. Instead, he took their dog for a walk. About a half mile from their home, he collapsed.

The diagnosis was blockage of the left anterior descending artery. They called that blockage the widow-maker for a reason. Thankfully, my mother wasn’t a widow. Dad survived thanks to a neighbor who saw him fall and heard his dog barking hysterically. Dad underwent a five-hour surgery and was now in critical but stable condition.

“Dad isn’t going to die,” I said matter-of-factly. “He’s too stubborn to die.”

“Marsha said they warned her about the possibility of cognitive damage due to the lack of blood flow.”

“Mom’s stressed. Do you blame her?”

“Hey,” a voice called from the doorway.

We turned to see my sister, a tall, slender female version of myself. Like me, she’d flown down to Florida as soon as she got the news.

Her smile was forced, and lack of sleep showed in her blue eyes. “Is this a private meeting, or can I sit in?”

Scooting to a side chair, I pulled out the seat where I had been sitting. “Have a seat. Stephen is trying to convince me to go ahead with a board vote on my status.”

“No.” Her eyes met mine. “In five months you’re set. Why call for a vote?” she asked as she sat.

Over the years, Dani’s blond hair had darkened to a light brown. While she didn’t participate in the day-to-day business side of Sinclair, Dani was the vice president in charge of research and development. With her background in chemistry and biology, she was more knowledgeable than most.

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