Page 52 of Bossing My Holiday
“Absolutely,” I lie, clutching my work bag closer to my chest. “Just another two-billion-dollar acquisition and I’m not wearing underwear. Typical Monday things.”
His laugh is low, private. “You’ve got this, Waverly. You always do.”
The boardroom is all glass and light, with Paris spread in the distance like a beaconing ship. Representatives from Smithfield are already seated. Four men, two women, all in variations of the pharmaceutical executive uniform consisting of conservative suits, discreet wealth, and stoic miens calibrated to reveal nothing.
“Mr. Ouest, Mr. Hicks, and Miss Dobbs.” Bernard Reynaud, the CEO, rises to shake our hands. “Welcome to Paris. It’s nice to finally meet in person. We’re very happy to have you here with us.”
“Thank you,” Braxton says with a genuine smile, ever the warmer one of the two of them. “We’re happy to be here.”
Tristan and I exchange similar pleasantries as we shake everyone’s hands.
I take my seat beside Tristan, who slides into business mode with disconcerting ease. No trace of the man who whispered filthy promises against my ear remains in his professional demeanor. It’s a transformation that both impresses and unnerves me. How is he not affected when that’s all I am?
“Before we tour the facility,” Tristan starts, nodding towardme, and I pull up what he wants on the iPad and hand it to him. “I’d like to walk through the final financial breakdown.” I slide a printout across the polished table so everyone has one. “We’ve accounted for the currency fluctuation since our last meeting.”
Braxton leans forward. “If you'll turn to page four, you’ll see our revenue projections for the merged entity.”
His voice is steady and authoritative. Nothing like the rough edge it carried when he asked,“Was her cunt this tight when you fucked her this morning?”as I came apart between them. I need to get my freaking head on straight and out of the gutter.
“We’ve identified cost synergies of approximately three hundred million in the first eighteen months.”
The Smithfield executives nod, making notes. I force myself to contribute, pointing out regulatory considerations for the European market. My voice sounds normal. Professional. Nobody would guess that beneath the table, my thighs still bear the phantom imprint of two different men’s hands. Two!
What in the holly jolly Christmas am I doing?!
Losing my mind clearly.
“Waverly, does this match your figures?” Tristan asks, and I glance down at my notes, exhale a deep, steadying breath, and force myself back into the game I’m here to play.
“Yes. That’s accurate.”
They go back and forth, negotiating the deal, and I take notes on everything.
“Shall we view the labs?” Braxton suggests after we’ve exhausted the financial documents and seem to be at some state of agreement, since that’s what he’s here for.
Following the Smithfield team, we wind through corridors of gleaming technology. I may work for a pharmaceutical company, but I have no clue what any of this is. I rarely, if ever, go over to the lab and production side of OuestHicks. Scientists in white coats with protective goggles on their faces glance upfrom equipment I don’t have names for as we pass, their gazes curious. Braxton asks intelligent questions about production capacity and patent protections on their newest compounds.
I focus on staff integration possibilities, pushing aside the awareness that both men occasionally let their eyes linger on me when they think no one is watching.
“This is our crown jewel,” says the chief development officer, using an access card to open a set of double doors. Beyond them stretches a laboratory full of sleek robotics, curved workstations, and screens displaying molecular structures that rotate in three dimensions.
“Impressive,” Braxton agrees, meaning it. This is why they’re paying two billion dollars. This drug and innovation factory will provide our company the edge it needs in antimicrobial treatments and whatever else Brax’s genius brain can think up.
Tristan stands close enough that I can smell his cologne, the same scent that filled the car when he leaned over me. “Worth every penny,” he murmurs, repeating the same thing that he said to me this morning, and I choke out a cough.
His lips twitch, and I give him a menacing glare.
“What? I meant the facility.”
“Jerk!” I mouth, spurring a light chuckle from him.
The executive team takes us back to a conference room, where we discuss transition timelines, employee retention bonuses, and press release language.
“So we’re agreed,” the COO states. “The final documentation will be prepared next week, following the Christmas holiday, and we can have everything signed before the first of the year.”
“Pending our attorney’s review, yes,” Braxton concurs. “A nice end-of-year gift for both companies.”
I can’t help the giddy feeling in my stomach. The meeting has gone well. The acquisition is on track. My professionalcompetence was on point despite the fact that I can still feel the ghost of Tristan’s breath against my neck and Braxton’s fingers gripping my knee.
