Page 63 of Takeover
Sam remained, planted on the spot of carpet, ice running in his veins. That gave him less than three hours to figure out some way out of this mess. All he wanted to do was run out the door.
What the hell do I do now?
Every answer he came up with was a bad choice that led to a broken career or broken heart.
Or both.
* * *
Michael shookGreta’s hand and some of the tension he’d carried since following her into the small conference room slipped away. “Thank you very much. I hope I meet your expectations.”
The talk—interview in reality—had gone well, though Greta had caught him somewhat off-guard with years’ worth of his goals and evaluations and project notes. Sundra had been busy and taken an unusual interest in the folks at Four Rivers. That was good—better than he had expected. It meant what Sam had implied was true—Sundra wanted more than just the software and hardware. They wanted the brains behind those as well.
“If the work you’ve done over the past seven years is any indicator, you’ll exceed them.” Greta gathered the spread of papers she’d laid out over the conference room table. “We’re glad to have you on board.”
What they wanted from him was straightforward—and essentially what he had done back when Susan had been CEO. Oversee all the projects at the office, coordinate the different teams. Be the person who orchestrated development. It would mean handing over the management of testing to someone else—he would miss that—he’d built a good team in the past four years. But to be involved from the ground up again? He wanted that—had for years. It’s what the board—and Rasheed and Susan—had taken from him.
And yes, technically he’d be a suit. He’d also have the title that should have been his ages ago—Vice President of Routing Development—but Sundra had a very lax dress code. The actual suit was optional; he could still dress like it was five o’clock somewhere.
There was one thing he had to ask, though. “How much of this was Sam’s idea?”
Greta stacked her papers and slipped them into an attaché case. A small smile curled the edge of her lips, then vanished. “Very little. He recommended you, but we do our own diligence. You’re not the only person we looked at. Whether or not Sam had said anything, you would have risen to the top of our list.”
More knots loosened in his shoulders.
Greta picked up her case, then opened the door and gestured for him to proceed her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve worked with Sam. It’s a shame he’ll be moving on.”
“He has to, though. Part of the deal.”
Greta nodded. “In some ways, he’s too much of a go-getter to say put. Never willing to settle down.”
That pretty much described Sam to a tee. They rounded the corner and returned to the lobby. On the far side, near the bar, Sam sat. He waved when he saw them, but it was stiff—calculated.
Michael hesitated for just an instant, his heart dropping to his stomach. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Greta look his way.I’m giving away too many signals.He walked forward, keeping his pace casual. But God, the look on Sam’s face. His smile didn’t even touch his cheeks or eyes. Something was horribly wrong and Sam was doing his damnedest to hide it.
As they approached, Sam gestured at the other chairs around the high-top table. “Please. I need to speak to you both.”
This time, it was Greta who paused, her expression frozen for just a second. Sam gave her a smile that was old and worn—the kind friends share—then she slid onto one of the chairs. Michael took the other. Sam’s gaze was wary, sad, fearful, and defiant, all mixed into a blur.
Michael opened his mouth to speak, but Greta beat him. “Oh, Randy. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”
Sam’s chuckle was strained. “The usual.”
Michael found himself being studied by Greta in a way that made heat rise to his face. It wasn’t sexual by any means… but it was knowing. Very, very knowing. Sam’s two words seemed to have told Greta everything.Shit.Had Sam changed his mind?
“I don’t buy that,” she said. “If this were the usual, he wouldn’t be here. Or you wouldn’t.”
Michael’s ears felt like they were aflame. She certainly knew they were a couple. And if Greta did… Michael’s innards twisted.Oh, fuck. Everything they’d talked about moments before might be gone.
This time, Sam’s laugh was more open. “Oh, now that’s true. I always ran, didn’t I?” He sobered quickly and lowered his voice. “I don’t want to run. William is trying to blackmail me.”
A burst of prickles raced down Michael’s back. Sam wasn’t running and they were in a fuck-ton of trouble. Elation and horror. “How did he—” His brain caught up and he swallowed. “I guess it doesn’t matter how.”
“Because indiscretion is indiscretion.” Greta said the words without emotion. “One of you reports to the other.”
Sam nodded.
A stabbing pain formed behind Michael’s eye. “It’s not—” His throat threatened to close tight. “He didn’t take advantage of me. It just—” Jubilation to despair.
