Page 86 of Fractured (Not Quite a Billionaire)
I didn’t have to, though. The value of my shares only mattered when I sold them, and that wasn’t going to be happening.
“The personal attacks are just a smokescreen, of course,” Jeannine Robinson, my Vice President of Finance, was saying now. “But they could still be damaging if they affect public confidence.”
“PR firm,” I said. “We’re on it.”
“A statement in every employee’s inbox wouldn’t come amiss right now, either,” she said, “to address the personnel issue.”
“Aw, BS,” Blake Orbison said. “Let ‘em talk.” An ex-NFL player who now owned a string of sports-themed bars and restaurants and licensed franchises to over a hundred more, Blake was always the wild card among the outside directors, but he brought a freewheeling entrepreneurial mindset I appreciated. “What did his ex say? That he’s a stud. Not going to hurt him with menorwomen. Look at the guy. And what didhesay? That he had every reason to think he was divorced, and that she was banging anything in pants herself. And even if he cheated—so what? He’s not running for office.” He told me, “Do an interview and a shirtless photo shoot showing off the tat, and you’re all good. Arms folded. Black background. You’re wounded but strong. Might as well be printing money. Best favor she ever did you.”
“There’s that matter of sexual harassment,” my COO, Franklin Curry, said dryly.
“Sexual harassment my ass,” Blake said. “He’s marrying the girl, isn’t he? Photo shoot, man,” he told me. “With the girl. Even better. You’ve got your arm across her chest from behind, staring hard into the camera. You’re protective, and she’s in love. She’s little, right? Man, you’re golden. Every man wants to be you, every woman wants to do you, and all of a sudden, you’rebetteroff.”
“Not the definition of sexual harassment,” Jeannine said, looking like she wanted to climb across the table and slap him. “Whether you marry her. And for your information, not every woman carries her brain betw—” She cut herself off. “And last I checked, a female who’s reached twenty-five is a woman.”
“Whatever,” Blake said.
I stepped in before the wordNeanderthalcould be uttered. “Moving on.”
That was when Hope walked into the room. Little, yes. In love, maybe not so much.
“Excuse me,” she said, but that wasn’t how she sounded. She was in a tailored black suit and graceful black heels, her hair up in a twist, not looking one bit like the soft, sweet little thing I loved to watch underneath me, her breath coming hard in the candlelight, or the laughing girl who sat on a stool in my kitchen and twisted my heart into a knot.
“Could you wait until we’re done, please?” I asked, projecting every bit of calm I had. What the hell had Josh been doing, letting her walk in like this?
“No,” she said, then told the others, “Excuse me. It’s an emergency, I’m afraid. Could you give us a minute?”
They looked at me, not at her, and I could tell that was infuriating her more. “Ten minutes, please,” I said, then picked up my phone and rang Josh. “We’re taking a ten-minute break,” I told him. He’d take care of them. The way hehadn’ttaken care of Hope.
They filed out, Blake sauntering out last, all blue jeans and half-smile, pulling the door shut behind him after one last amused look at me. Bastard.
“Sit down,” I told Hope when they were gone. “It’s not really on to interrupt a board meeting, you know. Some of them have traveled to get here, and this is a bit important itself.”
I could have asked what was wrong, but it was clear to me that she wasn’t unhappy, or panicked, either. She was angry, and I didn’t really have to guess why.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not making the first move to sit down. “Maybe you should have thought of that and told me ahead of time that you’d be in thepaperthis morning, and so would I. Maybe you could have told me, while you were at it, that you were facing a crisis, so I could have known, and so I could have helped you. The way people normally communicate with theirpartners.”
“You were asleep.” Not my sharpest comeback ever. My mind was racing, but it was coming up short.
She stared at me with the contempt that excuse deserved. “Couldn’t wake me up? And was I asleep yesterday, or whenever you found out about this? No. I wasdownstairs.I was hoping you hadn’t told me about Anika over the past weeks because there was nothing to tell, but now, who knows? Maybe it was because you think I’m a child, somebody who can’t handle the truth, somebody to stick on a…a shelf like a doll until you want to play with her.”
What the hell? Who’d said she was my doll? She was still standing, too. “Sit,” I told her.
“No. I’m not your dog, either.”
I did not need this agro. Everything was crashing down on me. Couldn’t she see that? “If you don’t want me to treat you like a child,” I said, “maybe you shouldn’t act like one.”
I knew pretty quickly that it had been a mistake. She drew herself up to her full, if unremarkable, height, and there were spots of color burning in her pale cheeks now. But her voice was low and controlled when she asked me, “So expecting you to share information with me that affects our future, that hurtsyou,is childish?”
Maybe I wasn’t totally controlled myself, because I said, “No. Throwing a wobbly in the middle of my meeting with my bloody board of directors is childish, if you want me to solve this. What do you imagine I’m doing here? I’m fixing it. I’m coping. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t have a plan yet, and I don’t share information until I know what I’m doing with it. How was I to know you’d see the article?”
“How…were…you…” She was circling an arm in the air. “I’m lost for words. What do you imagine I do all day, watch cartoons? I’m not going to notice that you’re front-page news, and, oh, yeah, that my name’s in there, too?”
“Nowhere close to the front page,” I said. “Gossip, that’s all. I told you. I’m handling it. I need you to be…” I searched for a New Age word. “Supportive. So I can.”
She shook her head as if she were shaking my words loose, then stuck her hand up there and tugged at her hair, seeming to forget she’d put it up. I saw some pins fly, and a few pale curls came loose as she heaved in a couple deep breaths. “And that isn’t all,” she said. “That isn’t even the worst thing. If it were just this, I could see it. I could even understand. I couldbesupportive, if you’d let me.” She lost some of the fury, was onto sadness now, and how was I meant to hold onto my own anger if we were back to the big blue-green eyes that were her most unfair advantage? She went on, “I could see that you’re used to operating this way, and that you didn’t stop to think that this situation might be different, because this time, you’re in it with me. I’d see that you were under pressure, and you went to your default mode. I’d be upset, I’d probably yell at you a little, I’d make you see, and we’d be done.”
“How do you know you’d make me see?” I asked, trying my best. “You think all you have to do is get mad, and I’ll do it your way?”
