Chapter 15
A mazingly, Mr. Burnson showed up to the office in the afternoon. He patted me on the back when he saw me, saying that I had helped contribute to the amazing deal that “we” had put together. Of course, I wanted to smack him for that.
“We” had not done anything; only I had done something. And it was an amazing deal for only one party, us, and even then, when the Taylors realized how much we had screwed them over, they would look to back out and our amazing deal would fall apart. I even expressed as much to Mr. Burnson.
But like Mr. Hunt, he saw negotiation not as a chance for both sides to come out happy, but as a chance to win.
“If they don’t notice, they lose,” he said.
I had no choice but to agree in the moment, given he was still my boss. But…
As poorly as it sounded from a business perspective, I had to swear to myself that I would not fuck over Layla.
I wouldn’t fuck myself over to make her happy, far from it, but I couldn’t be giving her a deal this bad.
The percentages added up over the years—I preferred lining the pockets of the Taylors than I did the Burnsons.
Nevertheless, the conversation didn’t last long, in large part because I was too busy to spend much time on it and because I had something more important—a date that night with Layla, a rising tide of emotions, and some questions I couldn’t shake in my head.
I had a feeling that when it came down to it, tonight was going to have some very interesting conversations. And I had no idea if they would go well or not, but they were conversations I couldn’t keep silent.
When I got home, I quickly changed into something comfortable—for once, we weren’t going to get dressed up in fancy clothing.
We were just going to be two lovebirds, Netflix and chilling, or probably just going straight to the chilling; no need for fancy bars or restaurants, and no need for subtlety.
I spent the next hour waiting patiently for Layla to come, hoping that she remembered the address and would come—and that she hadn’t suddenly gotten cold feet, again.
But, as my good fortune would have it, she knocked at my door at almost precisely 7 p.m. I opened the door and smiled at the brown bags she had in her had.
“Taco trucks,” she said. “I thought you might be hungry before we get to the good stuff, huh? Besides, I’ve seen you eat.”
I could only laugh and kiss her in appreciation of the gesture. She was far too kind of a person. At least in falling for someone, I had picked a true winner of a human being.
“You know the way to my heart is through my stomach,” I said.
“Well, it’s through someplace else, but that’s the second best path.”
And she’s got a sense of humor. Man, I really hit the jackpot.
Don’t fuck this one up, Chance.
Like you would be fucking her over on the deal…
“Chance?”
I lurched out of my thoughts, realizing that I had spent the last several seconds in them instead of answering them.
Such was the extent of my own conscience questioning what I had done with the deal for her father’s company that I couldn’t even focus on answering her.
The question of my feelings coming up was now not a matter of if but when.
“Sorry, just thinking about stuff, meaning work,” I said, not sure that that was any better. “It’s hard to focus, sorry.”
“It’s OK, we’ve had a lot going on and we’re nearing the end of the dealing period,” she said. “Although I am surprised, usually you’re so good at keeping your focus.”
“Yeah, well, the closer we get, the more I think about it.”
Think about how you’re too Edwin Hunt and not enough Chance Hunt right now, and you know it.
We sat down and I turned on some Chris Rock special on Netflix, but I barely ate and I barely laughed while Layla got a kick out of both the food and the comedy.
She laughed her ass off, and while I enjoyed that she found it funny, it just left me thinking that she wouldn’t be laughing her ass off when she discovered how badly her family got screwed in the deal.
She’d be laughing even less when she made the obvious connection to the fact that I was the one who had negotiated that deal, even if our lawyers had created the fine line details.
“Chance,” she finally said at one point, going so far as to pause the program. “What’s going on? I know something is bugging you. Just tell me instead of being so distant and coy.”
It was time. It felt right. It felt… ethical.
“The deal you guys have with us, it’s not… it’s not fair to you.”
I spoke as quickly as I could, as if trying to spit poison out of my mouth. Which, in a way, I was—the poison of greed and lust for money that Mr. Hunt had burrowed deep into my skull.
“I was taught by my adoptive father, Mr. Hunt, to take, take, and take. Mr. Burnson more or less did the same. But you guys undervalued your company. Specifically, you failed to forecast future earnings at the rate you could have gotten away with, and the percentage of market share you could acquire you also undersold. You can do so much better than the deal we—I—gave you. Layla, I just… I…”
It didn’t feel right to say “I love you” right there, so I went silent.
Layla deserved the chance to respond to what I had just said, the kind of admission that would get me fired at most investment firms but the kind that I felt ethically bound to make if I would say those three words just a short while later.
Layla just sat and stared at me for the longest time.
I would have killed for even just a couple of seconds in glancing inside her mind to know what she was thinking.
Anyone with any modicum of business sense would have danced their way back to their office, informed their superior, and used the knowledge to their advantage.
The person might get fired, but that was a small price to pay—and one that the winner wouldn’t pay—for the gained knowledge.
Hell, even a high schooler would take advantage of it.
But I trusted—perhaps foolishly, but I nevertheless did—Layla that she understood why I was doing this. Or at the very least, if she didn’t, she would not fuck me over.
“Why did you tell me that,” she said.
Her voice sounded weak, as if she knew the truth but hated it. I hated it too, in a way. I knew that the likelihood of heartbreak had increased tenfold by this, but now…
“Because it’s right.”
“Bullshit.”
“Because I love you, damnit.”
Layla gasped and leaned back. I gulped. No turning back now. It’s too late.
“I can’t stand to see you screwed over. I’m not going to screw myself or Burnson, but I don’t want you to lose as you will this deal.
Maybe that’s career suicide, I don’t know.
But I know that I love you, Layla, and I choose love over business.
Edwin Hunt might stab me and hang me on public display if he heard that, but… ”
More silence. The genie was out of the bottle.
The horse was out of the barn. I was never bringing what I had said back.
Frankly, the best case scenario, oddly enough, was for Layla to just quietly change the deal and force Burnson to negotiate down closer to her.
But how would that ever happen without him realizing it?
Well, then again, for all the golf he plays…
“Say what you just said again,” she said. “I need to know what I heard.”
I gulped, and I did. I repeated everything—how they were getting screwed, that I loved her, and that business took a back seat to love.
“You mean everything you say?” she said.
“Unconditionally.”
There was a half-second pause before she jumped on me and began kissing me. What started as a fiery, animalistic tackle, though, quickly became… almost painfully emotional.
We kissed like we would never kiss after that night. We stayed in each other’s arms, refusing to ever drift out of eye contact. I had had some intensely passionate sex before and some wild sex with Layla, but this…
It was very different. It was almost too much to handle, but for Layla, I swore to take it.
Her eyes never left mine. Sex almost became an afterthought—what we experienced felt like a spiritual connection, the kind where two minds become one.
I could see the pain in Layla’s eyes, the trouble of heavy burden, and everything that followed.
She could see my hesitation in love, and how much courage it had taken me to admit what I had.
She saw the grief I had gone through, and I could see her heartbreak.
Finishing felt less like a physical reward than an emotional one.
As corny as it sounds, I got choked up when I looked into my eyes after finishing.
I kissed her gently, like I wanted nothing bad to ever happen to her, and that’s because I really didn’t.
Even at the risk of my own career, I never wanted her to get hurt.
When she lay beside me, she did something expected in the moment but unexpected just twenty minutes before.
She began to cry.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
I knew she wasn’t OK. What we had just experienced went far beyond words and feelings. To say “I’m OK” was a lie, because even if nothing business-related had popped up tonight, what we had just went through would disturb and unsettle even the calmest of souls.
“I don’t wanna… I can’t talk about it right now.”
She sniffled some and I pulled her in even closer.
“Just… promise me that what you said is real.”
“Of course,” I said, wondering how it could not be.
“No, I mean it, Chance,” she said. “Promise me that you love me, no matter what.”
I had no idea why she was asking that question, and it left me a bit uncomfortable that she had to ask it. But I wouldn’t have said those words if they were anything but unconditional. And nothing meant unconditional quite like “no matter what.”
“I promise, Layla Taylor,” I said, kissing her on the forehead. “I love you.”