“I’m CEO,” I snap.
“InterimCEO,” he bites back. “Does Philip even know about this? Because our parents have had business agreements in place—both verbal and formal—since long before you bought your first push-up bra.”
My anger spikes. Detonates.
I open my mouth to rail on him. Then quickly close it.
I won’t lose my cool.
I refuse.
I drag in a breath. Raise my chin. Slide my chair under the table. “Your attempt to belittle me won’t get you what you want. My decision is final. But thank you for making it easier to sleep at night.”
I take a final look at him—the man who previously massaged a groan from my throat and an ache into my chest. The one I once hoped would be more than a so-called friend.
Now he glares as if my power is pitiful.
“You can’t do this,” he warns. “There’s a valued history between our companies that you obviously know nothing about.”
I anticipated the underlying alarm. CrossPoint isn’t just another strategic partner. It’s the backbone of the Cavallo Group’s credibility. Without us, their acquisitions are shadowed with risk. Questions will follow. Investor confidence will plummet.
“It’s already done. My staff will be instructed to cut communication as soon as I return to the office.” I tilt my chin, offering a barely there farewell to mimic the one he gave on my arrival. “I wish you all the best.”
He pushes to his feet. “You’re going to regret this.”
A promise.
A threat.
And maybe he’s right. But I’d rather live with Raffael’s wrath than watch my grandfather’s legacy rot under a chokehold of inherited loyalty.
“No, Mr. Cavallo. The only thing I regret is not pushing my father to do this sooner.” I turn, walk for the door, then pause as I yank open the heavy glass. “I suggest you take a beat to get over this tantrum. Breathe. Meditate. Maybe try some sound therapy. Because if you threaten me again, subtle or otherwise, I won’t hesitate in going public. Then we both know every one of your investors will kiss your ass goodbye.”
Chapter
Three
ISLA
I graba champagne flute from the tray of a passing waitress and drag in a deep inhale before downing half the contents in a large gulp.
It’s been a week.
A temperamental one, full of difficult decisions and dissolved contracts that, judging by the voodoo pins in my aura, have not been appreciated by those in the firing line.
I’ve earned the wrath of powerful men and shouldered sexist insults more times than I care to remember, but dismantling my father’s gentleman’s agreements and under-the-table loyalties to rebuild CrossPoint on a stronger foundation is necessary.
I face the ballroom and smooth a crease in my forest-green dress, a tailored sheath that balances beauty with professionalism, declaring to everyone in attendance that I’m no longer going to shy away from my femininity.
The place is alight with golden ambiance, the fifty-five or so modest gathering all here to celebrate my father’s sixtieth birthday, despite how the man of the moment should still be at home in bed.
He stands tall tonight, though, dressed in one of his sharpest gray suits, the kind of tailored ensemble he insists on orderingfrom Milan each season. His smile is polished. His posture proud. I see past the performance, though, right down to the shallow breaths he takes when no one’s watching, to the faint darkness bordering his eyes even his tan can’t mask. There’s a tightness in him. One he hides well… just not well enough for me to ignore.
I need him to announce his retirement. Not only for the sake of his health, but to cement my position in stone so nobody can threaten to dismantle the hard work I’ve done.
It’s no secret I’ve pushed the limits of theinterimpart of my CEO title.
Disgruntled staff and clients will come after me. But I’ve studied under the best. My father didn’t just lead—he reviewed everything. No project has made it through CrossPoint without his eyes on it first. That crazy work ethic is what made him legendary, and someone I’ve always admired.