Page 90 of Miss Matched

Zac

ThesmuglooksI get when I walk into the conference room confirm what I thought: this isn’t a board meeting, it’s an inquisition. But instead of shying away and sitting at the empty side of the table so they’re all facing me, I go all the way to the front of the room and take my chair at the head of the table.

They might think they have the upper hand, but it’s my name on this building—my hard work that put them in their seats—and I refuse to go down without a fight.

I’ve lost sleep over this. Time, money. Kennedy. I made her believe a line of bullshit when I told her I had to let her go to save my company. And as much as I wanted to throw in the towel and drink myself to sleep with her gone, her voice echoes in the far reaches of my head, telling me not to let them win.

“Gentlemen.” I lean back in my chair, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee.

“Mr. Vincent, right on time,” Virgil says, not looking up from his phone.

“Let’s get started,” Smith, the newest, youngest board member says. He must be their sacrificial lamb, chosen to break the news. “We’ve been made aware of recent events that reflect poorly on the company.”

His words come out in a nervous stutter, letting me know I haven’t completely lost the upper hand.

“It’s in the best interest of all parties if we evaluate how to proceed from here in civil conversation.”

“If you’re hoping for a resignation letter, you’re going to be disappointed,” I snap, steepling my fingers under my chin. “I’m not a vacation kind of guy, so I think I’ll stick around for this.”

“We feel a peaceful parting of ways is best for Vincent Development,” Smith starts to stammer.

“I’m sure you do,” I say, watching him.

Smith’s nervous fingers flip through papers while the older board members ignore us. They’re too wrapped up with emails or their Facebook feeds to even pay attention. Smith fumbles for a page at the back of his file.

“Magnus Industries pulled their funding on the Waterfront Project, correct?” Smith says, looking up at me.

I nod. “Yes, but that funding has been replaced.”

“For now.” It’s clipped, and it makes me wonder if there’s a shark swimming inside Smith after all.

My eyes dart to the clock, knowing I can only stall for so long.

“Somewhere you need to be?”

“No.”

Holding Smith’s stare, I realize that he’s much younger than me, right out of college. And what I originally read as nerves might actually be excitement. He’s hungry for the chance to prove himself in front of his peers, whether they’re paying attention or not.

I won’t let him get the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

The conference room door opens, breaking my standoff with Smith, and Tiffany slips in with a smile on her face.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“This is a closed-door meeting, miss,” Virgil says.

“She’s not staying,” I say, shooting her a wink as she hands me a stack of folders.

“Way to make me sweat,” I say to her under my breath.

“Maybe now you’ll take me seriously when I say I’m desperate for a new printer.”

“Point taken.”

She nudges my arm. “You’ve got this,” she says before walking away.

I look down at the folder and notice there’s a Post-it stuck to the top file that says, “Get ’em, Boss,”and I can’t help but smile at her as she dips out the door.

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