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I end the call without saying goodbye and without revealing the surge of anticipation swelling in me. Apparently the Ridgeway golden boy has a plan, and I sure as hell hope it works.
I turn my attention back to my laptop. There are a thousand things I need to do today—a thousand things more pressing than getting my dick wet—but I don’t care. All my business goes to the wayside so I can review the draft of the acquisition contract. Like Davis mentioned, Davenport-Ridgeway’s lawyers have added new section since the last time I read it:
The parties agree as follows:
5. CONDITIONS OF ACQUISITION
5.1 Conditions Prior to Commencement of Acquisition Proceedings: The buyer will facilitate the following conditions:
(a) Coordination of one (1) night between the CEO of seller (August Winter) and Julia Ridgeway prior to the end of the current calendar year (31 December)
I re-read the new language, lingering on “one night.” Too damn vague. There’s no ambiguity about what I want: I want to fuck her. I want to fuck her wildly, beastly, in ways she’ll never forget. I want it to be one part revenge and one part curiosity, but mostly I want to ruin her for all other men.
…But I do understand if my motivations are difficult to capture in legal terms.
An hour later, I’ve conferred with our lawyers. They sounded like they were wondering what evil things they did in a past life to have survived law school and endured decades of overtime hours only to be subjected to my petty, vengeful shit. They’ve promised to ‘tighten up the language’ and ‘reduce the possibility of re-interpretation.’ In other words: They’re going to make it abundantly clear that I’ll get Julia Ridgeway the only way I want her: coming around my cock.
The fantasy lulls me until I’m staring out the window at the sun setting over London. Pinks and orange meet in a soft fade behind the usual cloud cover.
Constance used to love sunsets. It’s been a long time since I watched the sunset.
But oddly enough, my mind doesn’t stay on Constance. It drifts back to Julia, wondering where she is right now. For all I know, she might be watching the same sunset.
I kind of wish I knew where she was.
The sound of Brent knocking on my doorframe makes me flinch with surprise. He sticks his head in once again. “Need anything?”
“I’m fine.”
“All good with Julia?”
I almost freeze when he says her name, but I don’t let him see me falter. Brent is the only person with un-tented access to my emails, so it’s well within his role to know about my demands. What strikes me, however, is how he asked about her. Not the deal. Not the acquisition. Not Davenport-Ridgeway.
Julia.
“Remains to be seen,” I answer succinctly.
“And if she doesn’t agree to your terms,” he goes on, choosing his words carefully as he slips into my office and closes the door, “are you really going to tank the deal?”
Concern? Interesting. It’s my turn to choose my words carefully before I say, “Brent, you’ve been my assistant for twenty years.”
“True.”
“You got enough stock when we IPOed to never work again. Aside from that, I pay you well. An acquisition isn’t going to change your financial outlook.”
“All true.”
“You’re forty-five. You could have retired fifteen years ago. Why do you care what happens to the deal?”
Not missing a beat, Brent raises both shoulders. “It’s about time you sold, Gus. If the deal goes through, I’m going to be drunk on a private beach this time next year. You’ll be jobless too, and I hope you’ll be doing the same—or at least drinking a coffee in subzero temperatures from your Montana compound,” he concedes.
“I prefer the term ‘cabin.’”
“Either way, it’s time for you to do whatever you want. You’ve spent all your adult life in an office. You’ve earned a break.”
“So if I’m hearing you correctly,” I clarify, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms, “you want the deal to go through because you think I should retire.”
“Not retire. Just do something different. Something new.”
