Page 4 of Five Years
“Rude,” she whispered.
“Please,” he added with a grin.
“You’ve got three check-ins this morning with senior analysts, then a meeting with potential investors at 10:30, followed by lunch with industry contacts at 12:30...” She checked her calendar. “Mr. Fraser, I believe. Do you need me to prep anything for lunch?”
“No, I know David well. Did you book a table at Kawabun?”
“I did. They’ve reserved your favourite corner table.”
“Wonderful.”
“I also prepared a tailored plan for your meeting with Mr. Norman this afternoon. He’s looking to grow his finances, and based on his file, he could be a huge client. I also thought it might be worth reaching out to the new investors at DJ Morgan Financial Services. If they’re looking to expand their portfolio, we could be a solid prospect—we’re outperforming them in eight out of ten categories. Maybe pitch something, see what they’re willing to offer?”
Douglas smirked. “I’m impressed. You’re showing real initiative, kid—sorry, Green. Keep up the good work.”
It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that she had a chance to sit down with him again. He didn’t give her a moment to ask about how his lunch meeting had gone.
“I need you to attend a fundraiser tonight in my place,” Douglas said, typing furiously on his laptop.
“Tonight?” Leah’s eyes widened.
“Yes, I know it’s short notice, but one of my biggest clients moved our meeting forward. He’s only available for a few days and—”
“Dad, I can’t just attend a fundraiser with two hours’ notice!”
“It’s actually four hours—you don’t need to be there until 7:30.”
“Dad!”
“It’s Mr. Green,” he said, smirking again.
“Oh, now you want to pull rank. Brilliant.” Leah opened her laptop and began typingfundraiser appropriate outfits––at short noticeinto her browser.
“I’m sorry to spring this on you, kid. But when a client says, ‘get on a plane to Tokyo tonight,’ I get on a plane. There’s no negotiating.”
“What am I supposed to wear? Where is it?”
“It’s at The Seagram Building on 52nd. And wear a dress?” He said it so casually it made her want to scream.
“Will there be any famous people there?”
“Does it matter?”
“Famous people means paparazzi. And paparazzi means I can’t show up in last season’s collections. Do you want me to embarrass your company like that?”
“I doubt the paparazzi care about my company, sweetheart,” Douglas chuckled.
“Oh god, I am not prepared for this. I haven’t even had my nails done. Look at them!” She shoved her hands across his desk.
“So paint them,” he shrugged.
“Do I have to go? Is there really no other option?” she pleaded.
“No. It needs to be a Green representing the company—someone who can talk me up to all the clients who’ll be there.”
“And what makes you think I’m going to talk fondly of you?” she asked, folding her arms.
“Because you’re my favourite child.”
