Page 109 of The Billionaire Is Back

I smile at Lynch.

I’m fine with the silence of the attention.

Right now, I’m not a son or a brother or a best friend.

I am not a boyfriend.

Right now, I am the predator.

“Ladies and gentlemen. You’re probably expecting me to dispute what Mr. Lynch has said here today. And while I disagree with many of his statements, the facts that he has presented—that I am in love and that it has changed me…that’s all true.”

There are some very satisfying murmurs and shifting around in seats.

“But where I disagree with Mr. Lynch is that it’s not about me. It never was. This is about the future of your company and mine and what we can accomplish together. I am the leader you chose to bring us into the future. I am not the man I was—I am more. And now I want to show you what we can accomplish together.”

And that’s my cue to introduce my team and all the work I’ve gotten them to do over the past couple of weeks. Knockout presentation after knockout presentation. Concise, packed full of drama and data for Aston and his board to digest. If this goes right—and I know it will because I’ve put my team through relentless preparations—I won’t have to do any more talking. I’m not defending myself. I’m on offense, proving that whatever distractions I’m accused of having now aren’t affecting my work.

But that’s a lie. I look over at my head of marketing, Erickson, who’s detailing his strategy for post-acquisition. My face is relaxed in interest. But I want to check my watch so I can imagine what Claire is doing at her bakery right now. I want to text her how much I love her and how proud of her I am. The text I sent her earlier this morning isn’t enough. Outwardly, I am a titan of industry, calm and in control as his team unleashes the perfectstrategy. Inside I am a concerned boyfriend who’s hoping his girlfriend’s business is doing just as well as mine is. Wanting desperately to know how she’s feeling and what’s going on in her head. If there’s flour on her face. Wishing I could be there to wipe it away with my thumb.

The lie wasn’t that I agreed with Lynch that I’ve changed.

The lie was that I’m not worried that it will affect how I do business.

The lie was that I’m a better CEO for it.

I need to make sure that I can keep my focus, and I’m having real trouble doing that. Because everything I’ve built—my empire, the empire that also funds her business, the empire that can give her the kind of life that most of the kings and queens of antiquity could only dream of…that only continues if I’m perfect.

The presentations end, and I stand once more. “Thank you, everyone. I know we’ve discussed these things over the course of negotiations, but I hope you’re as excited as I am to see them fully fleshed out and implemented.”

I remove my armor, unbutton my suit jacket, and have to force myself not to collapse into my chair. In my mind, I was right on the edge of screwing this up. It tires me out in a way that is totally unfamiliar to me. I used to eat board meetings for breakfast. Now all I crave is scones and carrot cake muffins.

Aston looks to his left and right at his fellow board members, but there’s no question in his eyes. Or theirs. They all agree on the same answer. The one that I want. Aston gets up to shake my hand. “I know I speak foreveryone here when we say we can’t wait to see you implement that plan.”

There’s applause from everyone, except for Lynch and the most loyal members of his team.

The meeting is adjourned, and I rise to shake hands and make eye contact with everyone.

Now I can give in and check my phone. I home in on notifications from Claire. I’m about to open and read them, mentally calculating how fast I can get to the airport and what time that will put me down in Maine and then the drive to Beacon Harbor.

“Grady, my boy,” I hear behind me.

“Aston,” I reply amiably. We’re doing the father-son thing, I guess.

He gives me a pat on the back. “That was a fine presentation. Damn fine. But I have to say the way you’ve successfully parried and counterattacked some of the obstacles thrown in your way these last few weeks, that alone would have sold it for me.” He looks back conspiratorially and then moves closer to me, saying in a quiet voice, “I’m glad you’re onourside.”

“I’m glad we can finally,finallybe on the same side.”

“Speaking of that, I’d like to connect you with our head of marketing. Sheila?”

A smart-looking woman in her midforties approaches. She has an angular haircut and square-framed glasses.

“Mr. Barber, this is Sheila Masterson.”

“A pleasure, Ms. Masterson,” I say, shaking her hand.

“Likewise, Mr. Barber,” she says.

Aston places a hand on each of our arms. “You hadsome questions about that marketing campaign we abandoned a few years ago. This is the woman to ask about that. Before you can move forward with your own campaign, I think you two need to talk.”

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