“I never wanted to be.”
And I don’t want her to be right this time either.
“But no one would listen.”
Not sure that I want to now, either.
Eighteen months, maybe two years of work down the drain. This is some bullshit.
“Walk me through every single assumption in your model,” I say. “We’ll reforecast, reprice the deal, renegotiate terms if we have to. And if Lockhart tries to screw me?—”
“I’ll walk you through it. Maybe I missed something that you’ll catch.” She shrugs. “After all, you’ve been looking at this for a lot longer than I have.”
I scrub my hand down my face. “Let’s dig in.”
“If I’m right…”
Her unfinished words hang in the air.
With the bullshit financials, Lockhart has already tried to screw me. And she can’t recommend we close the deal.
Then there’s the other part. Marchand scoops in and pays a fraction of what I was offering.
Damn it to fucking hell.
By ten p.m., I see the same thing she does.
“I’m sorry, Xavier. I hate this for you.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I exhale. I have no other choice than to make a call I don’t want to make.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Xavier
Coffee scalds my tongue, its bitterness a faint echo of the fight waiting tonight. The board meeting’s going to be a pressure cooker. At least half the suits at Blackwell Enterprises are salivating to seal the Lockhart deal. And they want it done now. We’ve already fucked around with it too long.
My office’s glass walls frame Houston’s skyline, morning light slicing across the mahogany desk where Seraphina sits, her navy blouse clinging to her curves, gaze locked on her laptop.
Her meticulous report is a landmine. Lockhart’s financials are a mirage, with inflated assets and cash flow hemorrhaging through vendor deferrals.
After going through it one more time on Sunday, she sent me a copy for review. When I signed off on it, I asked her to send a copy to Walt before our meeting at the Braes. As a courtesy, I asked her to send it to Reynolds as well. The last thing I need is the analyst getting blindsided at the meeting.
She’s efficient and unshakable, my anchor. I need her on my side, advocating for truth, even if it’s against the board’s greed.
When I met with Walt yesterday, I learned how big of a battle I have in front of me.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I catch movement, and I look up to see Seraphina walking my way, carrying two mugs of coffee.
At least we’ve backed off the extra-large cups we’d plowed through on Saturday, trying to stay sharp and alert.
She’s a fucking angel. And I’d burn down the world to protect her.
“Thanks.” I accept the steaming offering as she slides into the chair across the desk from me.
“How’d it go with your uncle yesterday?” Her scent wraps around me—vanilla and salvation. It’s warm and maddening at the same time, drawing me back to the last time I’d taken her to bed, her soft fingers tracing my muscles, hand finding my cock ready for her.
My grip tightens, the ceramic hot against my palm. Grounding.