Page 24 of Enticing the Fixer

Why is it easy to focus on nonsense when I’m preparing for a meeting? Because they’re going to rake me over the coals in…. I glare at the enormous black and gold clock perched above the conference room buffet table. Three minutes.

“Thank you.” I lick my lips. Where is a glass of water? I scan the room until I locate the pitcher of water. Why is it on the other side of the room? Did someone move it from the buffet?

“You were always such a beautiful girl. Your dad was so proud of you,” she gushes. The next words she utters are lost as Mr. Rossi bursts into the room. His belly is round and matches his cheeks. There’s nothing flabby about him. He’s solid and over-the-top.

“Marge.” He nods, acknowledging the woman at my side, yet manages to ignore me. The man has made no bones about it. He doesn’t think I’m qualified to lead my father’s business.

“Ethan.” Marge frowns at him. “It’s good manners to acknowledge our host.”

“She’s not our host.” His jaw ticks like he’s grinding his teeth. “She’s here because she must be here. For now.” His gaze lands on me as he issues the not-so-veiled threat.

“Good morning, Mr. Rossi.”

“Ms. Monroe.” He nods and turns as two other board members step into the room.

Samantha Darby, who was the first to arrive according to Roseland, waves, and sashays into the room. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Late? She should have beaten everyone else to the conference room. Where has she been? The thin woman with curly auburn hair pats at a wayward strand. “I’ve had the craziest morning.”

Curtis Bryant nods in my direction and slumps into his seat. He yawns and lays his briefcase on the conference table.

Please stop shaking. My hands listen about as well as an untrained puppy who’s treed a cat.

I clear my throat. “Why don’t we all have a seat? The rest of the board should be here any second, and we’ll get started.”

Valeria Winters, my assistant breezes into the room as if on cue. Her long black hair is pleated in a braid down her back and shines in the light. The dress she’s wearing is flattering with puckers in the front, allowing the skirt to swirl around her legs.

The woman makes me feel fat, dumpy, and out of place. It’s my office. How can she make me feel like an interloper?

“Good morning, all.” She beams as she carries an oversized tray of breakfast items. “Is anyone hungry? If you are, grab something.” She sets down the platters on the buffet, and the members scurry around her like they’re a bunch of seniors at a singles event at a strip club.

“Thank you, Valeria.” Marge gushes over her and digs into the tray of breakfast sandwiches. The scent of bacon swirls in the air.

The remaining members breeze through the door–Preston Quinn, Dean Armstrong, and Ian Lightfoot. “Sorry, we’re late,” Preston’s face is tinged in red as if he’s climbed ten flights of stairs versus taking the elevator to the top floor.

Valeria moves to my side. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything is fine.” Why does she set me off wrong? It makes no sense. She’s helpful, efficient, organized, and thoughtful. There’s no reason to distrust her. She worked for my father before he died.

What, the only reason I don’t like her is that she’s pretty? God, what is wrong with me? When did I turn into a needy bitch?

I clear my throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s get started.” Everyone grabs their seats. “Samantha has agreed to record the minutes, so you can continue eating.”

Valeria disappears the same way she came in, shutting the door behind her. In a typical meeting, she’d be present, but during the stakeholder meetings, it is only the principal players.

“When your father was in charge, we were allowed to eat before the meeting started,” Dean mutters as he takes his plate of eggs and bacon and settles into his seat.

“I think we should be efficient with our time.”I think we should. Does that sound passive and unsure?“Time is money. We’ll get started.”

“That’s perfect, Dear. It’s fine to make changes over time.” Marge pats my arm and moves to her seat as the other board members fill in around them. Marge is my biggest supporter. And my biggest pain in the ass.

Each line item elicits the same response. Someone, usually Dean, or Curtis, or…. hell, any of them, announces that my father didn’t do it this way while Marge smiles and says I have the right to make changes; implying I need her support to feel confident in making said changes. She makes me feel like a four-year-old who’s being patted on the head for eating a green bean.

Twenty minutes into the meeting, my head feels like someone has spun a vice into it and is slowly tightening screws, turn by turn. Eventually, my brain will go splat on the table, throwing out grey and red chunks.

Ethan clutches his hands together on the table and pins me with a stare. “It’s time to sell. Acuity contacted me and said they’d up their price by 5%.”

Five percent?My mouth dries. His first offer was lucrative. This is even better. But I’m not interested. Acuity won’t grow the business like I will. They’ve likely already got buyers for different business sections and plans to diversify the company. “I’m not interested in selling.”

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