Page 1 of Taming the Billionaire Cowboy
CHAPTER 1
OLIVER
Across the long boardroom table, a partner waves his hand at a scale model of a massive building. He fires questions that hit my ears like bullets. His team scribbles down answers I don’t have. When I steal a glance at the clock, it is still eleven. Or eleven again.
Or maybe my head is stuck and can’t move forward with the time.
Wait… does that even make sense?
We’re supposed to be talking numbers, timelines, and details of the building materials. But instead, I hear him asking different questions. I hear him saying we’re not ready.
The room tilts with all these people around the table, so many of them looking straight at me. Dave, my COO, sends a hopeful glance my way, and I try to send one back. Marie’s eyes dart up, back to her laptop, and then up again. I open my mouth. My throat feels tight.
“That’s a big risk,” someone — what’s his name again? — says, shaking his head. “We’re gonna need something more.”
His tie has purple stripes. I don’t know why I notice that. It’s loose round his neck, while mine feels like a noose.
“Absolutely,” Dave says. “We hear you loud and clear.”
The man — the potential seller — leans back, rocks in his chair so far that I think it might break. He turns to his team, and I hear a murmur of agreement ripple through them. I wipe sweat off my brow and stand. I’ve never lost a deal like this, not one this big. The room is swimming, and I should be able to swim right along with it, but I can’t. I’m drowning.
Why can’t I hear what people are saying? I see their mouths moving, clear as day, but it’s like nothing is coming out of them. Have I lost my hearing?
There are silent goodbyes. Handshakes. Everyone is looking at me, their brows etched with confusion.
“Thank you,” I manage. “We’ll be in … uh — we’ll talk more about the deal.”
“Oliver, are you okay?” It’s Marie, my assistant.
“Peachy,” I say. My voice is strangled and sounds far away.
It’s hard to stand, my knees are trembling and weak. At least everyone is walking out of the boardroom, leaving just Dave, Marie, and me behind.
“I’m good,” I say, because the two of them are still staring at me.
But I know I’m not. I’m breathing hard. Too hard. It’s haphazard and quick. My lungs can’t fill, and it feels like they’re being crushed by some invisible weight.
“That’s it,” Dave says. “We’re going to the hospital. No more messing around.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, even as the room spins.
“Right,” Dave says, all business. “That’s why you’re three shades of white. Marie, bring the car around.”
“On it.” She’s already on her feet, her heels clicking on the floor like a typewriter as she hurries away.
Dave puts his hand on my shoulder and steers me like he steers every meeting he’s ever been in. “Oliver,” he says, “do us all a favor. Don’t be an idiot about this.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, even though my chest is hurting.
Somehow — I don’t even know if we take the stairs or the elevator — Dave and I end up outside Mid Coast Realty. Marie is already parked at the curb, the passenger door open and waiting for me.
“Take him straight there,” Dave tells Marie. He points a finger at me. “I’ll cover for you here, and you cover yourself by staying alive. Got it?”
I try to respond, but I can’t. All of the colors are wrong, all of reality twisting and pulsating in ways that it shouldn’t. I flop down into the passenger’s seat, feeling the shame of losing control in front of clients washing over me.
Marie puts the car into gear, and we’re off. I can’t stop seeing the partners as they walked out the door, as the project collapsed like an empty paper bag. With every repetition of the memory, my chest tightens a bit more.
“There’s no time for this,” I say. “I should go back?—”
