Page 3 of Scrooge

“Your father didn’t think so,” she says, and I grind my teeth.

“Our suppliers are preferring to work with other businesses. You are not being invited to the president forum this year,” Laurent says, making my head whip to him.

“The one my father started?” I question harshly, and Laurent swallows before nodding.

“Why the fuck not?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“Because you are…” he says, his hand rolling in the air as he thinks of the right words.

“Hard to deal with,” Sheridan tentatively finishes for him, and I look back at her and raise my eyebrows at her tenacity.

“But we have a plan to turn it around!” Laurent says positively, giving me a smile that has me holding back a groan.

“As I said, I don’t really care what people think of me,” I tell them, waving off their concerns. So what if I am not invited to the biggest business summit in the country? Those fools wouldn’t know a good businessman if they tripped over one. Half of those assholes have been bankrupt more times than I change my socks.

“Sir. Staff morale is declining, and people are leaving to go and work at our competitors. We are no longer seen as a great place to work,” Sheridan adds, and I rub my temple, feeling a headache coming on.

“I can’t get you on any business panels or speaking engagements. All they see is some rich asshole who’s cutting staff entitlements and doesn’t even give a cent to charity to help their fellow man. Your profile as the country's biggest and best businessman is floundering because you are screwing all our suppliers down on price, have less tact with journalists, and it didn’t help when, last month, you told the editor atNew York Businessmagazine that he was, and I quote…” Laurent says, looking at his paperwork in front of him before back at me. “An ant that you will squash with your shoe…’” he says with an obvious wince, and I roll my eyes.

“He looks like an ant, does he not?” I ask them both, leaning back in my chair, steepling my fingers at my chin as I think about what they’re saying.

“You are in the gossip pages for your philandering ways, a different woman every week…” Laurent says, and my nostrils flare at that.

“Who I fuck and how often is not anyone’s business,” I grit out. So what if I like the companionship of a female regularly? We’re adults. It is consensual. It’s in the privacy of my goddamn home.

“When you parade it around town, it is. You are getting a reputation, Alexander, and not the good kind.” Laurent’s eyebrows lift as he stares me down, and I take a deep breath.

“Your father—” Sheridan starts, and I snap.

“My father is dead!” I shout, sick of everyone comparing me to a man who is incomparable. My mother died in childbirth, so it was always just Dad and me. He raised me to always be the best and strive for the best. And that was easy for him, because he was the best. His shoes are big, and the pressure I have to fill them is immense.

“And you will be, too, in the eyes of the city business elite, if we don’t make a change,” Laurent continues quietly, and I simmer down a little. The last thing I want to do is tarnish my father’s name, and while I hate having to change my initial business strategy or my lifestyle, there is some truth to what they are saying.

“We propose to reinstate the bonus system,” Sheridan says, and I run my hand through my hair. It’s a hit I can take, even though it’s substantial.

“We also want to do abigholiday party for staff and their families, clients, suppliers, and friends,” Laurent says, and I send him a glare.

“Don’t we just give them each a turkey?” I ask, because the cost of a fucking turkey for all our people and stakeholders is again another substantial outgoing that I wanted to cut from our budget, but left in, thinking that would suffice and keep people happy. Clearly, that is not the case.

“That is for Thanksgiving,” Sheridan says, almost mocking me.

“We also propose we pull together this party in Central Park, like a magical fairy tale at Christmas with rides, sideshows, food, and, of course, toys and Santa.” Laurent’s face lights up with what can only be his deep desire to organize an event and make it all look fabulous.

“Oh, maybe we can get that Santa from Tucker Toys! He is great.” Now it’s Sheridan’s face brightening. I remember that Santa. My father used to take me every year when I was a kid. I thought he was the real deal until I was about twelve. I was devastated when I learned otherwise and never wanted to go back.

“This all sounds like it will cost a fortune. Maybe we can just do some light refreshments in the staff kitchen?” I tell them, trying to get them back on track.

“It will. But it will get us the front pages of every business magazine and newspaper in the country. We will get on TV and our competitors will be extremely envious that they didn’t pull off something this big for themselves,” Laurent says, his smile wide.

“Staff will love it. Especially since they can treat their kids and families. People will want to work for us, we will get an influx of resumes, which will help with our recruitment drives well into next year, and in turn, lower our overall recruitment costs,” Sheridan adds, and I consider her words more this time. I do need staff. My expansion plans are ambitious.

“I’m not much of a party guy…” I murmur. I hate the idea, but I hire good people like them to tell me how to manage things, so I am not going to dismiss this insanity entirely.

“No kidding,” Laurent quips, getting sassy with me.

“You catch more bees with honey, Alexander…” Sheridan adds, and I huff, ignoring her silly statement. “Your severe hand at fiscal management needs to lighten, and you have to learn how to actually talk to your people, network without bullying the media.”

“You also need to find someone,” Laurent starts in an uneasy tone.

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