Chapter Three #2
"Because you needed capital to go public," the head of Holiday Industries says. "Capital we provided in good faith, with certain expectations."
Like marrying Jameson. Like becoming the perfect Holiday wife to clean up his playboy reputation.
"The board has voted," Richard says, sliding a document across the table.
"Effective immediately, you're placed on administrative leave for sixty days.
Your accounts will be frozen until the situation resolves, and all Newport Staffing Solutions property must be returned, which includes your company Range Rover. "
"Frozen? My car?" The word comes out strangled. "You can't—"
"We can and we have," Martin says, but won't meet my eyes. And now I know why I never had a good feeling about him. Something always rubbed me wrong.
"It's temporary, Vivi," Richard says, his voice calm. "Just until you and Jameson work things out."
Work things out. As if Jameson isn't currently in Greece with our wedding planner, ignoring calls from everyone, including his own mother.
"And if we don't?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"Then the board will be forced to make permanent leadership changes, and Holiday Industries may take additional action as the largest stakeholders.
" Richard's tone turns a little more serious, but this is a serious threat he’s suggesting.
"You have sixty days, Vivi. Either you and Jameson marry, securing the merger and your position, or… "
"Or I lose everything." The words taste like ash.
"And Jameson will be disinherited from the family trust," Genevieve chirps in. "You both have a lot to lose."
"Your shares will remain yours," Richard offers, as if that's any consolation, considering I’d have a hard time selling those shares if Holiday Industries doesn’t take it public.
Not that I want to sell my shares—it just puts me in a tough position.
"However,” he continues, “operational control would transfer to the board's appointed CEO. "
My hands clench under the table. Eight years of work. Eight years of solving not just childcare problems for parents needing help but now Fortune 500 companies that we staff and train employees for. Success after success, sacrifice after sacrifice, all built by my own hands.
Gone in two months if I don't marry a man who's using Natasha as a bargaining chip on a Mediterranean honeymoon.
"If there's nothing else?" I stand, gathering what's left of my dignity.
"Actually," Genevieve speaks up. "I'd like a word. Privately."
The parking garage is empty when we reach it, our heels clicking against concrete in perfect alternating rhythm. I head for my car, but Genevieve's voice stops me.
“You and I are going to have to work together, Vivi.”
“And why do you believe that?”
“Because I have no idea what my son is planning, but this is a game of chess and he’s using the press and Natasha as his checkmate.
I think he might have offered her money just to stick it to both of us—you and me.
He’s trying to teach me a lesson at the very least, but in the end …
” She exhales, running a manicured hand over her face—the first genuine gesture I’ve seen from her. “He’s made a mistake.”
A mistake bad enough to make Genevieve Holiday nervous? That alone sends a chill down my spine. “What kind of mistake?”
“One that could cost him everything.”
“The trust.” Understanding dawns. “If he doesn’t marry who you choose…”
“He loses everything. His inheritance, his position at Holiday Industries, his board seat.” Her eyes lock onto mine.
“The trust is very specific about arranged marriages. All Holiday children must marry their parents’ chosen match or be cut off completely.
It’s how we’ve maintained our position for four generations.
I’ve kept the board from finding out about Natasha.
I hired a private eye to follow them around and make sure to pay off any paparazzi who get photos, but it will only keep us safe for so long. ”
"And if Jameson's caught with Natasha? What does that mean?"
"If the trust board determines that Jameson’s actions in Greece show contempt against your betrothal, or that his misconduct damages the family name by gallivanting around with another woman, they won't hesitate to cut him out. They don’t care if he’s playing chicken, using Natasha to call my bluff,” she says, raising an eyebrow.
“What he fails to remember, is that I only have so much power over the trust.”
“And if the trust pulls his inheritance?”
“Then his piece of the trust transfers equally to his siblings." Her voice hardens. "Which cannot happen. The board is already questioning my judgment. If I can't control my own son…"
She trails off, but I understand where she's going with this.
"If you can't control your son, they'll question your ability to arrange marriages for the other children," I finish. "And your position as matriarch."
"Precisely." She steps closer. "Which is why we need to fix this. Quickly, before anyone finds out."
Virginia knows but a quick text from me will keep her silent. She's loyal, and for now, she'll be my eyes and ears inside my own office that has turned against me.
"We?" I laugh without humor. "I'm not the one who took off to Greece with the wedding planner."
"No, you just left him at the altar in front of half of Seattle's elite." Her eyes narrow. "Which wouldn't have happened if you had just gone through with it and married my son like we planned."
Guilt twists in my stomach, but I push it down. "I left the ring."
"Yes, how thoughtful." She pulls out the ring from her bag.
I stare at the massive diamond sparkling even in the dim lit parking garage.
"I already cleared it with both boards. We are putting out a group statement that says that the merger and all of the wedding planning put you through too much stress and that you and Jameson have decided to elope in two months to the south of France, as was your dream to begin with. "
She’s pushing a narrative to feed the press. I never wanted to elope.
"Are you insane?"
"I don't know. Are you willing to lose everything?" She fires back and then hands me the ring. "You will wear this whenever you are in public so that everyone sees it and knows that the engagement is still on."
I let out a sigh. At this point, I have no choice. I take the ring from her…reluctantly.
"Have you heard from him?" I ask, hating the desperation in my voice. Not because I miss him—six months of engagement produced nothing more than a working relationship—but because my entire future hangs on his return.
"No." She puts her phone away. "But he'll come back. He has to. And when he does…"
"What? We just pretend none of this happened? That he didn't run off with our wedding planner while I ran out on our wedding?"
"That's exactly what we'll do." Her tone leaves no room for argument. "The press release is already written: 'Cold feet leads to intimate destination wedding.' We'll say you got overwhelmed by the publicity, that you and Jameson decided to elope quietly."
"And Natasha?"
"Will be generously compensated for her silence." Her smile turns sharp.
"Do you really think he’d take her out into public just to get the press talking?"
"I think my son is desperate enough to do something stupid." She straightens her jacket. "And I think you're smart enough to see your options clearly. Marry Jameson when he returns and produce a grandchild to carry on the Holiday name, or watch everything we've both built crumble."
She turns to leave, then pauses. "Oh, and Vivi?
I suggest you find temporary employment.
Two months is a long time to live on savings alone.
Good thing you kept your townhouse because you'll be needing a place to stay. I’ll have the moving company bring your boxes back to your place for now, but I wouldn't unpack too quickly. "
Then I watch her head straight for her Town car with her driver stepping out to open her door.
I grab my phone out of my purse and dial Jameson's number, but it goes straight to voicemail. Then I send him a quick text:
Vivi: I know you're probably mad at me, but call me when you can. We need to talk.
The Town car pulls out of the parking garage and back onto the busy streets of Seattle.
She's gone within minutes, and I stand there with a diamond ring in my hand that I can't seem to get rid of, an ex-fiancé who's not taking my calls, and a soon-to-be empty bank account that I’d better find a way to fill. And fast.
Perfect.