Page 25 of Mr. Big Shot

I shake my head, and his eyes narrow. I roll my eyes, and before I know it, he’s reached out his leg to hook the side of a chair positioned behind me. With his foot, he drags it closer until it bumps the back of my legs. He points, and I sit. Then he waves for me to take a slice. I go for the pepperoni, and he takes the supreme.

“Did you already meet with Nicholson?” he asks the person on the phone.

God.

His voice.

It’s…toe-curling. That’s what it is. My damn toes are trying to curl in my pumps, and I should be focusing on this pizza and minding my own business. I’d stand and leave if not for the fact that I’m curious about the crisis situation and the person he’s on the phone with. Is it TJ? Did the FTC get back to us? The DOJ? Is that why everyone’s in a tizzy tonight?

I peer over at Hudson from beneath my lashes and find his attention has strayed to my legs—specifically the stretch of thigh exposed by my skirt riding up a little.

I go rigid and he looks away, but truthfully, it might have been a coincidence. His expression was sort of far-off, like maybe he didn’t even realize where he was looking. He didn’t flinch or show any other outward signs of guilt, so I write it off and listen as their phone call concludes and Hudson hangs up.

“The pizza’s good. Are you going to eat that salad?”

“No, here. It’s yours. The Coke too.”

I give him a minute to eat before I bombard him, though apparently that was everyone else’s plan too. He’s immediately flooded with questions and demands for an update. I just sit like a deer caught in headlights, absorbing every second.

Everyone else seems to be wide-eyed and nervous, but Hudson isn’t fazed by the intensity of the situation, which actually has nothing to do with the FTC clearance process. Or it does, but not in the way I initially suspected.

The big news of the day is this: our big pharmaceutical merger is headed south and fast. KinBio and Chapman International are suddenly at odds because Chapman’s bankers claim (as of today!) that their evaluation of our client, KinBio, shows a rapidly eroding financial profile.

Hudson thinks this is “complete and utter bullshit.”

The fact is, Chapman International first approached KinBio with an unsolicited buyout offer three years ago. KinBio turned down that deal and a subsequent one that came a year later before they were finally persuaded to play ball when Chapman agreed to pay KinBio a $570 million breakup fee contingent upon the DOJ and FTC’s antitrust ruling. Meaning, if the two companies were prohibited from merging, Chapman International would owe KinBio a lot of money as a consolation prize for all that wasted time and effort.

And guess what decision is looming on the horizon!?

Dum dum DUM…

“Someone talked,” Bethany says emphatically. “An informant. Either that or Chapman is just getting spooked about the DOJ’s decision and they don’t want to have to pay that fee.”

Every head in the room swivels in Hudson’s direction, waiting for his response. He’s the least pissed person in the room. Even I feel enraged over this issue, and I’ve barely dipped my toe into this merger.

He shrugs. “Either way, it’s irrelevant. Chapman knew KinBio’s financial profile well before today, and we’ll be able to prove that. They’ve had three years to perform their due diligence. If they try to renege on the deal now, they’ll have to pay that breakup fee.”

He sounds so absolute, so sure of every word that comes out of his mouth. I realize I’m still staring at him, mouth agape, long after he’s finished talking, but it’s only because I’m slightly amazed by him. He’s horrible or whatever, but he’s also…brilliant.

I want to be just like him. I want him to teach me his ways step by step.

“You put the breakup fee in the contract.”

It’s not a question.

His brown gaze slides over to me. “I did.”

Even with us all on the same page about what’s going on, the fact remains: we have a lot of work ahead of us if KinBio has to go up against Chapman International in court.

I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Good thing Moira is already taken care of. Two months ago, on one of my late-night shopping sprees, I bought an automatic cat feeder for her. It’s just a little food dispenser I can use on days when I get home really late. She hates it, of course. She’s tried to dismantle it on multiple occasions. I can sense her fury even from a distance.

Out in the sitting area, Bethany sets me on a task, and I’m about to make myself comfortable on the floor when Hudson barks my name from his office door on his way to get more pizza.

“What are you doing?”

I look up and blink in confusion. Everyone is staring at me accusatorially, like, Good going! You pissed him off!

Have I missed something? Did he not realize I was here the whole time? The one feeding him pizza?

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