Page 2 of The Boardroom: Jonathan
“You spend all your weekends hanging out with Cassidy.That’ssad.”
“I’m too busy for anything more than occasional sex. I mean, please, Kirk, you’ve been trying all that romantic shit for ages and how far has it gotten you? Alone with your Xbox every Valentine’s Day?”
Kirk shot me a look as I froze and realized what I had said. “Sorry, man, sorry, that was harsh. I…I haven’t had my coffee yet.”
“It’s okay,” he said, turning into the parking garage. “But I’m gonna find you a really nice girl, and you’re going to give it a shot.”
I sighed as I ran my hand over the mess of dark blond stubble left on my chin. “You and I both know nice girls don’t date guys like me, and that most of them bore me to death with their quinoa, and nail treatments, and rom-coms, and—”
“Open.Mind.” Kirk said, and we hopped out of his car and made our way up to the building. I sighed in relief and hoped this particular topic of conversation wouldn’t resurface on the drive home as well.
The Torver Group, Seattle’s top-rated investment company (started by yours truly), was located on the top floor of our office building, giving us uncontestable views of the glimmering Seattle Harbor. It was the kind of office I never took for granted, especially after those hellish days I spent using my parent’s shed as office space. I had to admit I still harbored a bit of shameful nostalgia for the easy openness of my professional beginnings though. When the Torver Group was starting out, the possibilities seemed to stretch on forever. After months and months of hard work, it seemed that things could only go up, and then we got a lot of lucky breaks. Sometimes in our shiny new office building, with its touch-screen elevator and Swiss coffee-maker, I felt nostalgic for the days when I would crank up a space heater in my parent’s shed, a TV dinner in hand as I worked.
“So,” Kirk said cautiously as the elevator made its slow climb up. “Since you weren’t actually prepping for the meeting last night, how much do youactuallyknow about this company we’re acquiring?”
“The Wordsworth Company,” I muttered robotically. I was still a little pissed at Kirk for his interrogation in the car. “An investment company originally based in Portland. They get saved from bankruptcy, we get their clients. Negotiations should be easy.”
“Easy?”
“They’re a dinky little company compared to us. We got the upper hand here.”
“And what do you know about their CEO?” Kirk asked, and I tried my best not to roll my eyes at him again.
“I did my research. Some guy named Sam Doyle.”
“…And? What’s his story?”
“It wasn’t thorough research.”
The doors opened up to our office, which always looked strange to me in the soft light of the early morning. I had designed the place to be stately and modernist, but it looked like it could double as a high-end nightclub. A massive fish tank stood at the entrance, looking out over neatly tiled floors and deep gray walls adorned with abstract art in primary colors. A waiting area with a coffee machine, high-backed cream chairs, and copies ofVogueandThe Wall Street Journalsat in the corner. Everyone, with the exception of myself, had the refreshed look of coming off a relaxing weekend. Sabryna, my assistant, was sitting at her desk with her usual morning cup of earl grey. I could already tell from her face that she sensed my panic.
“Out with Cassidy again?” she quipped, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m pleading the fifth on that one.”
“Mmm-hm.” Sabryna stared into her mug of tea.
“Are they here yet?” I whispered, and Sabryna continued sipping her tea with resolute calm.
“Not yet, but they will be any minute,” she winked. “Conference room is all set up. Coffee, danishes, the whole deal.”
“Phew,” I said. “Sabryna, you’re an angel. Literally.” I ran into my office as she responded with the well-tired look she often gave me which seemed to say,if I’m suchan angel, where’s my raise, Torver?
I rifled through the organized chaos of my desk to find what I would need for the meeting. It should be straightforward, this acquisition. We would get Wordsworth’s clients, and we would lay out our rules for them, dictate our terms. The Wordsworth Company was quickly going bankrupt, and I couldn’t help but feel a shameful sense of pride at getting to be the one to swoop in and save them. Despite a shaky morning, the rest of the day should run smoothly. I would walk out of the building today with a newly expanded client base and a new batch of grateful employees ready to bow at my feet.
I walked into the conference room and put my things down at the head of the table. Our conference room was impressive, with a long mahogany table and unparalleled views of the sun-streaked waters of the Seattle harbor. I spotted the tray of pastries that Sabryna had placed at the center of the table. It included bear claws, palmiers, and frankly, some of the largest powdered doughnuts I had ever laid eyes on. It was generally against office etiquette, tragically, to snack on the provided food during such an important meeting, but I figured I could sneak in a doughnut before the rest of the office got here.
I snapped up a large powdered doughnut and quickly bit off half of it, and tried my best to keep it from falling out of my mouth. I looked out over the Seattle skyscrapers and tried to chew as fast as I could.
It was then that I had the unsettling feeling that there was someone standing behind me.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where Johnathan Torver is, would you?”
I jumped back in surprise to see a woman staring at me impatiently. She was half a foot shorter than me, with porcelain skin and dark brown hair coiled into a tight chignon.
“Oh! Um, uh—” I mumbled as bits of doughnut tumbled out of my mouth, the white powder cascading down the front of my suit. “That would be me. Johnathan Torver. CEO of the Torver Group.” I held out my hand to the woman and promptly pulled it back after noticing the white powder covering my fingers.
“The CEO of the Torver Group starts meetings with his hands covered in doughnut powder?” the woman asked, without even so much as a hint of mirth.
