Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
I gave him a blank stare.
“Now landing at Teterboro Airport, Mr. Cross and guests.” My pilot’s voice came over the speakers as the plane began its descent.
“Surely you want your biographer to have something nice to say about you when you’re dead and gone,” Aaron prodded. “Please…”
“Okay, fine.” I tapped my fingers against the woodgrain. “You can tell my lawyers that I’ll happily settle with Miss Taylor.”
“Good.” He smiled. “For the full one hundred thousand?”
“For a cup of iced coffee and a ten-dollar gift card to reality.”
“Forgive me for trying.”
“You’re forgiven.” I smiled, ignoring his glare until we made it to the hangar.
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I grabbed my files and moved to the front of the plane. Then I waited for the pilot to step out of the cockpit and open the door.
Below, a red carpet and a line of black luxury cars awaited my arrival.
I stepped off with Aaron and slid into the first car while my remaining core staff slid into the others.
“To your new Manhattan residence or your future headquarters here, sir?” the driver looked at me through the rearview mirror.
“Depends,” I said, glancing at my watch. “Which one is closer?”
“Your residence, sir.”
“Okay, that’s first.”
He nodded, and before I could look through more lawsuits, my personal cell phone sounded.
Confused, I waited for the name to appear onscreen.
Edward Lewis. The man who was selling Sweet Seasons to me.
“Yes, Mr. Lewis?” I answered.
“Hello, Mr. Cross.” He coughed. “Have you, um, landed in New York yet?”
“Yes, seconds ago. Are we still on track for our signing session this evening?”
“No, uh, that’s why I’m calling. There’s a huge issue on my end.”
“Then I suggest you fix it before I arrive at headquarters,” I said. “The signing is just a formality, remember?”
“I’m not backing out of our deal,” he said. “I’m just asking for some time to break the news to my employees.”
“Come again?”
“My employees.” He stuttered. “I need to tell them that Sweet Seasons will have a brand-new owner starting tomorrow.”
“You’re just now telling them?”
“I couldn’t find it in my heart to do it any sooner.”
Red flag number one.
“The script is very simple, Mr. Lewis.” I paused. “Hello. I sold my company to someone else. The end.”
“Yeah, but… These people are like family to me, remember? We have deep, long-lasting relationships. I’ve been at some of their weddings and baby showers.”
Red flag number two.
“This deal has been in the works for damn near a year, Mr. Lewis.” I couldn’t believe this shit. “I kept it private on my end from the media and everyone else like you asked, but you’ve had plenty of time to drop breadcrumbs or slowly let your people get a clue about what’s coming.”
“I know, but please…” He begged. “I just need a little bit more time before you take over. Even if I don’t break it to everyone, there’s one person that I have to tell—my special secret weapon that I’ve always mentioned to you.”
My blood simmered as I looked out the window.
I’d lost count of how many hours I’d had to listen to him brag about his “number one employee” and “secret weapon” on the phone. This person practically pissed sunshine and rainbows with how highly he regarded them, but he never, ever slipped to give me a name.
Part of me thought it was all in his mind and he’d made this person up.
“She deserves to be told about this personally, Mr. Cross,” he was still talking.
“It’s a she?”
“Yes,” he said, “and I can assure you that she’ll be a super asset to you as well after you take charge.”
I’ll be firing her (and everyone else) weeks from now…
“Okay, go ahead, Mr. Lewis,” I said, slightly giving in. “Take all the time you need to break the news to your secret weapon.”
“Really? You mean that?”
“No.” I set an alarm on my phone. “You have until tomorrow morning.”
TWO
ANDREA
Mr. Lewis
I know you’re off today, but I have some good news to share with you. Can you come in?
If you’d told my eighteen-year-old self that by twenty-five I’d be living in my little sister’s apartment and still chasing an unfinished master’s degree, I would’ve laughed in your face.
Then again, back when I was high on optimism and a little delusion, I probably would’ve said, “How is that even possible? I worked my way through college at Sweet Seasons and graduated two years early. Make it make sense.”
Knowing what I know now, some equations just don’t add up—no matter how many times you run them.
“Everly!” I called for my sister. “Have you seen my light gray suit?”
“Huh?” She stumbled out of the bathroom. “What’s gray?”
“My lucky suit.”
“Lucky?” She leaned against the doorframe. “You planning to get laid in a business suit?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes. “Mr. Lewis just called me in for a private meeting. He says he has big news, and I think it means—”