Page 74 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
"At the end of twelve months, we'll reconvene and select one of the two—or even a third person, if required—to assume the role of permanent CEO going forward, based on their performance and, of course, the overall performance of the Group during the year."
I remain seated, my face wooden and expressionless, but George gets up, flashes a brief smile at the rest of the people in the room, and sits again.
"As the new joint acting CEO with my brother, Grayson, I don't expect this development to come with any major changes," he says. "Things will continue to run as smoothly as they always have, and I want you to see the two of us as a pair—two interchangeable pieces that support and enhance each other. I'm convinced we can work together to make sure there's no confusion or contradiction in leadership. Right, Grayson?"
He looks my way with that triumphant little smile, knowing he's hit exactly the right note of professionalism and reasonableness to make himself sound good. I vaguely wonderwho helped him with his little speech—Pops, maybe? Or no, actually, I'd bet money it was Marina.
My dad shoots us both warning looks, but I'm not in the mood for a public argument, and I know full well that if I start one, I'll only look weak. Instead, I just arch an eyebrow at George, as if to say, You think so, huh?
In any case, I've already told him what I intend to do, which is basically to carry on exactly as usual. If George doesn't like it, then tough shit. I'll tell him what decisions I'm planning to make and explain why. I'll even discuss them with him—help him understand better, if that's possible. But I'm not interested in "joint decision-making." He can either agree with me or not, but what I say goes—or I walk. Simple.
I might work with George, but that doesn't mean I'm going to like it. Nor am I going to babysit him. Here's the thing: George just doesn't have a clue how to run the Group. The vast majority of his ideas are going to be complete BS. It's not his fault, and I'm not trying to be cruel; it's just the truth. That's what my father can't seem to see.
But even if he doesn't, I do, and I won't agree to anything that's not in the Group's best interest. I'll have no qualms about shooting George down when he's wrong.
Most of the senior team is loyal to me. They trust me and they follow my directives. They're already looking my way, gauging how I'm taking the news and tuning their reactions accordingly. I sit upright, impassive, and give them the briefest nod to reassure them that I'm still in control and I haven't been usurped. Not yet, anyway.
We've worked together for decades, and I've spent all that time building their trust in me and in my leadership. That doesn't just vanish because Pops says so. Whatever he claims, it's me they're loyal to, and it's my orders they'll follow—and their teams will follow suit.
I don't know how George is going to cope with that, but he'll have to figure out how to win them over on his own. I won't actively go against him, but I'm not going to go out of my way to help him either.
As the meeting continues—first with George introducing himself to the executive team, then each of those execs introducing themselves to him, explaining their roles and main responsibilities, and giving him a high-level overview of whatever they're currently working on—my phone buzzes.
It's Jenna, texting me a link to a silk and cashmere scarf from Prada along with the message:Do you think your sister would like this?
I raise my eyebrows. That's unexpected. I text back,Why are you buying my sister a scarf?
A moment later, my phone beeps again.She bought me a bracelet the last time we met, and I want to return the favor.
Interesting. I wonder what my sister's up to.I didn't know the two of you hit it off so well.A few seconds later, her reply pings in.
It's a surprise to me too. Also, I want to buy something for your mother—to make her like me—and it seemed too obvious to only get something for her and not your sister.
I chuckle as I respond.Ah, now I get it. You think my mother's bribable?
I don't have to wait long.Every man has his price. That's Robert Walpole, in case you've forgotten. Goes for women too, LOL. It's just a matter of finding what she wants. Anyway, will Steph like this scarf, or is she more of a jewelry person?
I laugh under my breath.Steph's easy to please. She likes everything. She has zero filters when it comes to stuff. As for Mother—good luck with that. She's picky, and she's got expensive taste. Out of your league.
Ha. See how she likes that.
Her reply lands fast.Oh, that's okay. Some dumbass gave me his black Amex yesterday and told me to go crazy. Or have you forgotten already?
Touché. It's true—I did give her the card yesterday, right after I'd gone ahead and bought her that Yves Saint Laurent purse I'd pretended was for her cousin. I had it delivered to her office, and she sent me eye-roll emojis before arranging a huge bouquet of red and white roses to be delivered to me. In the middle of the white roses, the red ones were arranged to spell out one word: LIAR.
That, of course, had led to an argument when we got home—followed by explosively fantastic makeup sex. It was right after that I'd promised her I'd stop buying her things myself, as long as she used my Amex from now on. I'm not even sure why that was so important to me—just that it seemed right for my fiancée to have my card.
But I hadn't thought she'd go and use it to bribe my mother.
I gave you the Amex to buy stuff for yourself, not my mother.
No, you said—and I quote—"Buy whatever you want." This is what I want to buy.
I sigh, not sure whether to be angry or amused. In the end, it's both. But her sheer audacity wins out.
Fine. You win. Again. Just don't expect any help from me. From now on, find someone else to help you guys gang up on me.
Okay then. Thanks, will do.
