Page 3 of The CEO's Sweetheart Deal
Now I know that might have been the biggest mistake of my life.
"We can get started with the official handover in here," Juan says, not seeming to notice the crackling air between Oscar and me. "I've prepared all the documentation you requested."
I force my legs to move, one foot in front of the other, all too aware of Oscar's presence behind me. I can almost feel his gaze on my back, and it takes everything I have to maintain my composure. Twelve years. Twelve years since I've seen him, spoken to him, or allowed myself to even think about him for more than a fleeting moment.
And I never, ever looked him up online. Not once. That was my rule when it came to him — no reopening old wounds. Let the past be the past; don’t dig it up.
Now I regret that decision. If I'd known he was the mysterious billionaire acquiring Rooted Pantry, I could have prepared myself. Instead, I'm blindsided, struggling to process that the man I once knew — the ambitious but kind college student with big dreams — is now the powerhouse buying my company.
We file into the conference room, and I deliberately choose a seat at the table as far as possible from Oscar. I need distance, perspective. His team — a collection of polished legal men and women with expressions ranging from bored to predatory — arrange themselves around him like a protective detail.
I sneak a glance at him as he sets his phone on the table. He's changed so much, yet somehow he’s exactly the same. His black hair is shorter now, expertly styled with just enough product to look effortlessly perfect. His hazel eyes — the ones that used to light up when we laughed at our weekly movies at the cheap theater just off campus — are sharper now, more calculating.
And God, when did he get so handsome? His features have matured, the softness of youth replaced by defined angles and quiet confidence.
The suit he wears probably costs more than my entire wardrobe. And that Rolex on his wrist… the Italian leather shoes. He's become everything he always wanted to be — successful, powerful, wealthy.
The thought makes my chest burn with anger. All it took to achieve all that was pulling the rug out from under me, pushing people under the bus–
"Alice?" Sydney's voice pulls me back to reality.
“Hm?” I blink at my marketing director and closest friend.
"Are you okay?" she says softly.
"Fine," I whisper back, arranging my face into what I hope is neutral professionalism. "Just surprised."
Sydney raises an eyebrow but doesn't push further. She'll demand all the details later, I'm sure.
Juan begins the meeting, going through the formalities of the acquisition, but I barely hear him. My focus keeps drifting to Oscar, who appears completely at ease, as if running into his former best friend is just another Tuesday for him.
Did I mean that little? Has he forgotten everything we were to each other?
As if sensing my thoughts, his eyes meet mine, and for a split second, I see something flicker in their depths — something raw and unguarded that makes my breath catch. Then it's gone, replaced by cool professionalism.
"Now I'll hand things over to Oscar, who wants to share his vision for Rooted Pantry moving forward," Juan says, bringing me back to the present again.
Oscar stands, commanding everyone’s attention like moths to a flame. "Thank you, Juan. First, I want to assure everyone that this transition will be smooth. I'll be stepping in as temporary CEO while we search for the right long-term leader for Rooted Pantry."
His voice has deepened over the years, acquired a rich timbre. It's a voice accustomed to being listened to, and I have to fight the urge to fold my arms and stare petulantly at him.
"Rooted Pantry will join my family of companies in the health food sector but maintain its unique identity and mission. I Intend to only fix what is broken."
I can't help myself.
"And how do you determine what's broken?" The words escape before I can stop them, sharper than I meant for them to be.
Oscar turns those hazel eyes on me, and a small smile plays at the corner of his mouth. My fingers itch, wanting to smack it right off his smug face.
"Excellent question, Alice. I evaluate based on three metrics: financial health, market position, and growth potential."
"Not mission? Not impact?" I challenge, feeling Sydney tense beside me.
I know I should be more diplomatic, but seeing him here — so confident, so in control of the company I've poured my heart into — sparks something defiant in me. He might have bought Rooted Pantry with cold, hard cash, but it feels like he’s stealing my baby.
"Mission and impact are valuable when they translate to high output," he counters smoothly. "Which, I believe Rooted Pantryhas achieved under your leadership. Your commitment to organic sourcing and eco-friendly packaging has created a loyal customer base willing to pay premium prices."
He's complimenting me, but somehow it feels like he's reducing everything I care about to dollar signs. The dream I had – still have – for Rooted Pantry is for organic, healthy food to be as accessible and as affordable as possible. Yes, it costs more than non-organic, but out goal has never been to milk people for the “premium” amount. We charge what we need to, and don’t sit on piles of gold because of it.
