Page 118 of Ugly Truths
Iexcuse myself from the boardroom on the far end of the executive floor, the remnants of too much small talk and too many handshakes clinging to me like a second skin. I waited until a few others left before making a polite exit.
The silence of the hallway is almost deafening. My footsteps are muted by the carpet, a stark contrast to the chaos in my head.
Silas Wells, CEO of Wells Corporation.
The echo of the vote lingers in my ears, even in the quiet leading back to my office. It was the final move in a series of calculated days.
Technically, I had enough support going into the emergency meeting to force the vote. Natalie, Everett, Amy, Miriam, and Elias all confirmed their support early. Thirty-six percent was three higher than what was necessary, but barely scraping by would’ve reeked of desperation. I needed more confidence. So, I spent the past week peeling off one board member at a time from my father’s camp.
Mark came around quickly. Stability speaks louder than sentiment when you're holding other people's money. Venessa took more work. As a pharmaceutical executive, she’s pragmatic but cautious, not fond of being rushed. I made it clear she wasn’t taking a gamble, and she finally accepted that it was me stepping into the future a few months early.
Randall and Jeremy held the line, of course. Loyalists to the end. I expected as much, but forty-one percent stood with me, and that’s enough to quiet any whispered doubts.
The formalities moved quickly after that. Once the vote was in and I was called back into the boardroom to announce the decision, the legal team entered, and we proceeded to the paperwork and signatures. It had already been drafted back in January when the original succession plan was signed. All they had to do was move up the timeline.
There had been a brief discussion about a future celebration, and I deflected, suggesting that maybe we could consider something in the new year. They assumed it was out of respect for my father, and I’ll let them think that.
Right now, there’s too much to be done to fix all of his mistakes, and I can’t be bogged down with something so trivial.
As I approach Leslie's desk, I’m already talking. “Can you hold all of my calls and visitors?” I ask, knowing the flurry of reactions that the company memo will soon ignite. “Public Relations and Marketing are going to handle the media, but I don’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the day. Just tell anyone who reaches out that I’m in virtual meetings.”
Leslie snorts, her gaze slipping past me through the glass wall to where Elena stands at the windows overlooking Lake Michigan, bathed in the afternoon sun. Cillian dropped her off not long ago.
With a quick, knowing smirk, Leslie teases, “I’ll be sure to do that.”
I smile. “Thanks, Les,” I reply and turn towards the door.
“Oh yeah,” Leslie says, snapping her fingers. I look over my shoulder. “I almost forgot—congratulations.” She winks and swivels toward one of her filing cabinets.
My fingers are already moving to lock the door before I even fully step inside the room, the other hand hitting the privacy switch next to it. The glass separating my office from the rest of the executive floor immediately frosts over.
Elena is walking toward the small bar cart tucked away in the corner when I turn around. On top of it, an ice bucket cradles a bottle ofchampagne, and two of the flutes that usually hang from a glass rack on a lower shelf have been cleaned and placed neatly next to the bucket.
My lips curl up into a devious smile. “What’s the occasion?”
Elena smirks and shrugs, ignoring my question as she takes off the champagne cage. Her wavy hair sits perfectly against her shoulders, and her freshly manicured nails glisten in the light. She looks every bit the part of a CEO's significant other—not that it matters. Even if she showed up here in her shorts and rash guard, I’d take her any way she was willing to give herself to me.
With a hand towel, she twists the cork open, managing to keep thepopalmost silent before pouring the golden liquid. It fizzes softly as she fills each flute.
After setting the bottle back in the ice, Elena picks up the glasses and extends one to me. I take it just as she tilts her glass to tap the edge of mine. The sound is a soft, satisfying ring.
She takes a step closer, her free hand slipping under the edge of my suit jacket. Her palm is warm against the fabric of my shirt. “Congratulations, Mr. Wells,” she whispers with a small smile. “No one deserves this more than you.”
A lump forms in my throat, making it impossible to form words. So, instead of stumbling over them, I follow her lead and tilt the glass to my lips, eyes never leaving hers.
Unlike her cautious sip, I down the entire glass in one go, the bubbles sharp against my nose and throat. As I move around her to place the empty flute on the bar cart to free up my hands, Elena chuckles, light and knowingly.
She sidesteps out of my reach, almost as if she anticipated my next move. I watch while she creates distance between us, and can’t help but follow. My fingers move to unbutton my jacket, shrug it off, and lay it across one of the cigar chairs I pass.
Her hips sway as she walks, accentuated by the business casual dress she’s wearing. It’s forest green—the color she knows I like most on her.
Hell, it might just be my favorite color of all time.
Elena skims a fingernail down the length of my sparsely adorned desk, her expression thoughtful. “I’ve only been in here that one time you brought me to wait for Dr. Carrow,” she notes, her voice carrying a trace of disbelief. “It feels like it was another lifetime.”
I've pictured her here more times than I care to admit. To the point that it feels like she comes to work with me every day. In the shower of the adjoining bathroom, on the couch where she rested, right here on the edge of this desk, against the windows…
“I suppose you're right,” I respond, my voice a bit gruff. “Itisa bit strange, given everything.”
