OLIVIA
My pink manicurednails clicked against the sleek glass desk as I stared back at seven men old enough to be my father. They all looked the same in their expensive yet plain navy suits. Some even went as far as to coordinate their ties. How cute.
Meanwhile, I was the breath of fresh air this industry so desperately needed, dressed in my favorite red velvet Alice and Olivia powersuit. It said I came to shake hands, not kiss asses. They might not have wanted me, but they needed me.
Being a woman in a male-dominated field wasn’t easy. I was frequently dismissed from the moment I walked into a room. More often than not, most men thought I was an overdressed secretary or personal assistant rather than the CEO of Hartstrings, one of the country’s biggest record labels.
While it was annoying as hell to be immediately discounted before I opened my mouth, it was, admittedly, very satisfying to see their smug faces turn pale the moment I took a seat at the head of the table.
While Hartstrings was well known in the music industry, it was often underestimated simply because we didn’t have officesoutside the United States. It didn’t have the global reach of others. However, our board of directors was looking to change that. They pushed for new acquisitions that would not only put us ahead of the biggest names out there, but would also grow our brand to a level we’d never seen before.
It was why I’d been away from my family, trapped in stuffy offices with smaller labels, independent artists, and lawyers for the past three weeks. Every few days, a board member would request a meeting where I’d have to present what very limited information I had. Most of the time, it was a quick one-liner saying I had nothing new to report.
I glanced out the window of the high-rise, staring out at the city below. Los Angeles was beautiful and vibrant, always bustling with excitement over the next big thing. But after three weeks here, with very little to show for it, I was ready to go home to my family. I wanted to hug my daughter and friends. I wanted to wear worn-in jeans and a T-shirt, rather than an expensive suit.
I wanted some goddamn peace and quiet so that maybe, just maybe, I could get rid of the excruciating headache that’d plagued me from the second my plane touched down. These work trips were starting to kick my ass. I was away from home more days than not, forced to hear about my daughter’s day via FaceTime than at the dinner table.
I may have chosen and fought for this career, but it was certainly starting to lose its appeal.
“Ms. Hart, I really must insist we wait until our lawyers can fully examine this new contract. Your legal team has made so many alterations,” the man on my left said. His eyes slid down my body in an obvious perusal, a slimy smile stretching his thin lips.
“The alterations you suggested, Mr. Cavender,” I countered, straightening in my seat. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticedsomeone waving through the frosted glass wall, but I couldn’t look away from the man in front of me.
“Be that as it may, I’m sure you understand our wanting to double-check we aren’t losing any rights we don’t want to give away.”
There was only one person in this room I was grateful for, and that was the man sitting on my right. Carl Johnson had been with Hartstrings since my uncle, John Hart, took over the company after my father’s sudden passing. He was passionate about two things: this company and his salary, in that order. I never had to worry about being taken for a fool when he was at my side.
Carl pinched the bridge of his nose as I spoke. He wanted to go home just as badly as I did. “Mr. Cavender, this negotiation period has gone on long enough. Your lawyers have already worked with our team to prepare this document and have reviewed the amendments together. Otherwise, we would not be sitting here today, waiting for your signature.” I slid my pen toward him with a smile. “Now, if you want this deal to go through for your company, I suggest you take this pen right here and sign on that dotted line.”
His partner, a portly man with a bald head and graying goatee, snorted as he addressed my lawyer. “This is why women shouldn’t be in charge of a million-dollar company. They’re too emotional. Your board should rethink sending their CEO to handle deals during their time of the month.”
“Billion. Hartstrings is abillion-dollar company. That’s why we’re proposing to buy you out.” The man sank back in his chair, clearly pissed at my correction. “And we have no problem walking out of here today. Your misogyny is nothing I haven’t heard before, but I will not be insulted by the likes of you when it ismycompany that is attempting to cutyoua deal so you can pay off your second mortgage and outstanding child support.”
“How dare you?—”
“Have I struck a nerve? Hurt your feelings, perhaps?” I clicked my tongue. “Aww, is it that time of the month?”
His mouth snapped shut just as Darcy, my assistant, stepped into the room. Her face was pale as she glanced around, an apology already preparing to slip free. I held up a hand to stop her. She wouldn’t have interrupted if it wasn’t an emergency. “What is it?”
Darcy shifted on her feet. “Mr. Hart on the phone. He said he’s been trying to get ahold of you all afternoon.”
Goddammit, Lukas. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was pulling this shit just to be an ass. He knew my phone was on silent during meetings. “Can you take a message?—”
“Unfortunately, Ms. Hart… I think you’re going to want to take this call.” She held up her phone.
Standing from my chair, I buttoned my blazer and gave the men a tight-lipped smile. “Excuse me,” I said, rounding the table and stepping out into the hall. The door closed behind me.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, offering her phone to me. Unease settled in my gut at her pained expression, eyes glinting with unshed tears.
I took her phone and brought it to my ear as I heard my brother’s voice. “That you, Livvy?”
“What’s wrong, Luke?” I didn’t feel like bullshit pleasantries when my heart was racing out of control. What if something was wrong with Charlie or her dad? What if they’d gotten hurt, or worse?
My brother hesitated for a moment before he uttered the four words that nearly sent me to my knees. “It’s John. He’s sick.”
“I’ll call you right back,” I said, ending the call before he could argue. Turning toward Darcy, I instructed her to call the pilot and have the plane ready as soon as possible.
I was going home.