Page 1 of Ms. Fortune

Chapter 1

IS EVERYBODY GOING CRAZY?

BRANDON

“We’ve got a problem, Mr. Carmichael.” My assistant Diane’s voice over the intercom in my office sounds more peeved than usual, which is a feat. While I don’t know what’s got her all riled up, I could sure do without more problems today.

I lean back in my chair with a long sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose, irrationally thinking it might fend off an oncoming headache. I am not happy. Our stock is taking a nosedive ahead of our annual meeting, and outside of the rumors of possible insider trading, which I hope to God are false, nobody can tell me why the markets are so jumpy. What else could go wrong today?

“What is it, Diane?” I try to keep my own irritation at bay, but damn, it’s hard.

“Apparently, Victor Blake of Mischief Motors passed away.” She sounds like this is highly inconvenient for her, but I’m stunned. Victor wasn’t just a business colleague; he was a friend. “So, with his business now up in the air, we’re scrambling for car service for all the board members for the upcoming meeting. Since our meeting always coincides with the Consumer Electronics Show in Vegas, finding a substitute is proving…difficult.”

I’m shocked. Victor and I were unlikely friends, but besides my using his car service exclusively, we would have lunch together a couple times a year when I was in town, mostly to discuss cars. Especially classic cars. His knowledge of almost any vehicle from any era was astounding, and his stories of various cars he’d owned over the years were always colorful.

“Why are we substituting Mischief Motors? Are they completely out of business now? Did they cancel our reservations?” Victor never talked about his family, other than saying he had daughters, but they were never around the business that I saw. I don’t know what he planned, if anything, for his company once he left this mortal coil. I can’t imagine he didn’t have any plan. Victor was too forward-thinking for that.

Diane hesitates, “No, they didn’t cancel. I just thought….”

“Well, don’t. As far as I’m concerned, it’s business as usual until we hear otherwise.” Shit. That was harsh. I’m taking my emotions out on the wrong people. “Sorry, Diane. That was rude of me. Can you come to my office, please?” This intercom conversation bullshit always gets on my nerves. I prefer face-to-face conversations where I can read people’s body language. She’s only five fucking feet from the door anyway. Geez. News of Victor’s death is hitting me harder than I thought.

Diane knocks once and then comes in, her pencil skirt making walking a trial of how fast a person can move six inches at a time. It’s almost comical to watch, but I’m not in the mood now. She is such a forced persona, trying extremely hard to pull off the sexy librarian look, with her red hair up in a bun and oversized glasses on her nose. Sure, she’s got the costume down, but it’s so obviously forced, it’s a complete turn-off. Not that I would ever consider an employee that way, but as a man… it’s just not there for me. Authenticity wins for me every time.

She sits across the desk from me, notebook and pen poised at the ready. This is why she’s my assistant. She’s excellent at what she does. Not because she’s pretty.

“What do you know about Victor Blake’s death? Anything? Cause?” As many Vegas folks do, he lived hard, but he was still relatively young and seemed fit.

“Massive heart attack.”

Well, alrighty then. That would definitely do it.

“And his daughters? Have you heard anything about them?”

She shakes her head, “No, but I can find out for you.” She glances at me over the glasses I don’t think she even needs. “Did you want to send flowers or a card? Perhaps a donation in his name somewhere?”

She makes it sound so fucking impersonal. As if it’s another transaction that needs to be completed. A box to mark on a checklist. It rubs me the wrong way. Victor was a person, and a good one at that. And a friend. She should know this. He deserves more than some flowers and words.

“Sure, all of the above. But find out the funeral arrangements and get me there. And yes, if you can obtain any information on Victor’s daughters, that would be appreciated as well. I’d like to extend my condolences to them personally.”

“Anything…else?” She asks, biting on the end of her pen suggestively. It’s so overt and, at this point, silly, how hard she tries to get into my pants. She’s been trying for the entire three years she’s worked for me. That’s commitment, at least. I admire the tenacity.

“No. Thanks, Diane. That’s all for now.” I turn to the wall of TVs behind my desk with all the financial news channels on. Despite the upsetting news about Victor, I have a corporation to run. And today, that’s a particularly tough job, just made even harder.

The crawler on each screen predicts doom and gloom for my company, LC Consolidated, the largest microchip manufacturer in the world. And not a single one is correct. The business has never been stronger. Someone important must have sold off a chunk of stock, throwing everyone into pandemonium, and I need to find out who and why, because the government is about to be up my ass with a microscope. Which, in turn, will have my shareholders raging with moral panic even more than they are.

A few minutes later, Diane is back on the intercom, “Mr. Carmichael, I sent the information you requested regarding the Blake daughters to your email.”

Damn. That was quick.

“Thanks, Diane.”

“Also, the business is still running, so our reservations are still being honored for the upcoming meeting.”

“Who’s in charge now?” I’m curious who would take the helm of the Mischief Motors empire. “Do you know?”

“It’s all in the email I sent. His daughters, Normandy and Chelsie Blake, have inherited equal controlling interests in the company.”

Interesting. I wonder if these women or girls, hell if I know how old they are, know the first thing about running a business. I guess I’ll soon find out.

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