Page 4 of Ms. Fortune

Am I being tough on Eve? You’re damned right I am. Anyone who puts my company in jeopardy will feel the full force of my wrath. I’ve worked too damned hard and given up way too much for shit like this to screw everything up. Besides, I have more employees than I can count, relying on me to keep us afloat, productive, and profitable, so they can have food on the table, a roof over their heads, and a stable home life. That is a lot of people I am responsible for in their happiness and well-being. I don’t take that lightly. No, I take it personally.

So, when someone tries to game the system or exploit a loophole, or as in this case, take unfair advantage of my company’s transactions, I will not sit idly by. I will do whatever it takes to find the perpetrator and ensure they are punished while ensuring the status quo finds itself painlessly for those affected.

I’m not a saint. I didn’t become a billionaire by being Mr. Nice Guy. But I didn’t do it by cheating, either. I didn’t hurt anyone along the way, and I like to think I still have my soul intact. Whether or not that’s true is yet to be seen, but I’m going with that until proven otherwise.

“Mr. Carmichael? I have Normandy Blake of Mischief Motors on the line for you,” Diane’s annoyed voice interrupts my thoughts. “With our discussion the other day, I thought you’d want to take this call.”

Normandy Blake? The newly discovered most beautiful woman on the planet is calling me? For a second, I’m speechless. I’ve had dinner with Presidents and Prime Ministers, but the name Normandy Blake somehow has the power to throw my nerves into a bee's nest.

“Mr. Carmichael?” Diane repeats, now sounding annoyed with me.

“Yes. Put her through,” I finally say, shaking my head and gathering myself. I swear my palms are starting to sweat, and I haven’t even spoken to the woman yet. I let the phone ring twice, taking a deep breath before answering. “Ms. Blake, how good of you to call. This is Brandon Carmichael.”

It’s too formal. I can hear how stilted my voice sounds. I don’t know why this woman is getting to me like this. We haven’t even met yet.

“Mr. Carmichael, thank you for taking my call.” She’s all business. I guess she’s picking up on my tone, but I sense a bit of nervousness in her voice. “I wanted to thank you for your charitable donation to the Heart Association in my father’s name. It meant a lot.”

“Of course. My condolences to you on your family’s loss. Your father was a good man and a friend. I was deeply saddened to learn of his sudden passing.”

“You were friends with my father?” She sounds surprised. I suppose it’s not the likeliest of scenarios.

“We were friends, yes.”

“That’s so strange. My dad never mentioned that he knew you.”

“Well, to be fair, he never talked about you either.” I cringe inwardly as the words come out. That sounded way too harsh. “I mean… I knew he had daughters, but he didn’t like talking about his personal life.” I hope I recover quickly enough. The last thing I want to do is offend her during our first conversation.

She laughs softly, and I can almost picture it in my mind. Her dark eyes crinkling with her smile. I pull up her photo on my computer, admiring her beauty again.

“Touché. He didn’t like talking about himself. He was always more interested in whoever he was with.” I can tell the smile leaves her voice, and a touch of sadness creeps in. I have the feeling emotions aren’t something she shares willingly.

“I’ll actually be there tomorrow for the funeral service, so I’ll be able to offer my condolences to you in person.” I don’t know why I’m hoping this cheers her up. Though the circumstances are horrible, I know I’m excited to meet her. I have no idea why anyone would be excited to meet me, but it’s something to say.

“Oh? I wasn’t aware you arranged a car….” She’s back to her business voice and now sounds irked.

“Yeah, my assistant told me it would be better to use another service this trip since you’re dealing with the funeral and everything.” I get the sense this might have been a wrong move. At least as far as Normandy is concerned.

“Oh.” She’s quiet for a moment. “That was…thoughtful.”

Now I’m sure it was a wrong move. She definitely isn’t happy with my decision, but changing now wouldn’t help at this point, either. I can’t think of how to salvage this conversation.

“Would you care to have dinner with me while I’m in town?” And as soon as I say the words, again, I want to take them back. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. It’s like I have foot-in-mouth disease or something, and I can’t stop saying stupid shit. “Tomorrow after the service or the next day? If you’re free?” Jesus Christ, I sound pathetic.

She doesn’t answer for a long moment, and I can’t tell what’s happening. Did I cross a line, maybe? I probably did. You don’t ask someone to go to dinner after their father’s damned funeral. What the hell was I thinking?

“Um…I think I’ll pass this time. But thank you.”

Yup. I’ve fucked this up every which way. You’d think I would know the proper etiquette for asking a woman out and not doing it right after their father dies.

“I apologize.” I don’t know how to dig myself out of this one. “That was callous of me to ask now. I just thought…never mind. Forgive me.”

“Yeah… okay.” The trepidation in her voice makes me think she now considers me a creep or something. “Well, thanks again for the donation. I should get going….”

“Right. Of course. I’m sure you’re busy with arrangements and everything. I look forward to meeting you in person tomorrow.” And after this entire discussion, saying that last bit really makes me sound like a perv. I can’t win.

“Sure. You too. Goodbye, Mr. Carmichael.”

“Bran-” the call disconnects. “-don.” I look down at the phone in my hand, shocked. “Call me Brandon.” Wow. She just hung up on me. I don’t think I’ve been hung up on in over ten years.

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