CHAPTER TWO
DREW
––––––––
With my ankles crossed under the boardroom table, my arms spread wide around my laptop as I listen to the presentation going on in front of me, but my mind is elsewhere.
It’s been three days since I hung up on Gemma Ford. Predictably, she hasn’t shown, and it's now goddamn Wednesday.
So, unless you want to be in breach of the terms of our fucking contract, I will see your ass in my office on Monday morning.
The tiny, sexy brunette is pushing her luck.
She’s lucky I even bought her fucking company. The books are a mess, and while the company owns some valuable prime real estate, my team and I need to move a lot faster than we are to ensure Open Leaf doesn’t drain more money than it has.
On my dime.
I don’t understand why she’s angry with me—well, I do—she had good lawyers, and my reputation is no secret.
I buy companies.
I fix them.
Or I do what’s required to profit from my investment.
It’s called doing b u s i n e s s.
I’m not a fucking non-profit organization curing cancer.
Jesus Christ. If her lawyers didn’t explain this to her, then that’s on them and her.
Listen, I’m not a fucking asshole, but I can’t hand hold every failing business owner that I buy out of their mess. I get my team to crunch the numbers, do due diligence, and then we slide a figure across the table. There’s either a deal or there isn’t.
It’s not personal.
In this instance, because of the number of stores around the country—forty—and Gemma’s relationship with the employees, I offered her a three-month contract to keep the business ticking over.
Obsidian Capital Partners (OCP) doesn’t have book retail experience, so this is quite normal when acquiring a company.
What is not normal is that the CEO happens to be a grieving widow with an ass you could bounce a quarter off. One I’ve had more wet dreams about than I did when I was a fourteen-year-old boy.
Not normal.
Very annoying.
Especially now Gemma has tossed her toys out of the crib and refuses to come into the office.
It’s put me in an interesting position. Not the position I want to be in with her, if I’m honest. Which is one where I’m standing with my legs spread and my cock in her mouth.
But I digress.
Like all takeovers, people tell us their stories as they’re justifying the reason for their failure, so I had to hear all about the death of her husband and the history of the company.
I listened.
Then we moved on.
I’m not a fucking therapist, nor can I turn back time, so I don’t know what they want from me. If I wasted time on emotions, I wouldn’t be where I am now...insanely rich and successful.
And able to help these people.
Because without me, or others who do the same thing, these businesses would sink into debt that destroys lives.
We know this is true because some company owners don’t take steps as Gemma Ford has done before things get dire, and I’ve watched it happen.
If you keep doing the same thing, you will get the same result—quote attributed to Henry Ford or Albert Einstein. I swear to God, no one can fucking agree on anything these days.
In any case, Gemma is upset with me, and I shouldn’t be dreaming about her sucking my cock.
Her expectations of this relationship are way out. Did she think I was going to circulate around the Open Leaf stores, shaking hands and singing Kumbaya?
That’s not how this works.
Keeping her on may have been a mistake. I know she doesn’t have much business experience, but she was quiet during negotiations, letting her lawyers do most of the talking, so I assumed she would toe the line, I guess.
Or was the immediate attraction to her the day she walked into my office in her fitted Chanel navy dress, stockings, and matching heels part of my decision?
Christ, she looked like something out of a fantasy I’d like to see in action—her bent over my desk, skirt tugged up, panties torn off and me pulling her cheeks aside as I lick her from hole to hole.
Without stopping.
“Drew?” Robin, my VP of Due Diligence, seeks my attention.
“Yes?” I successfully fake that I was paying attention, lifting my pen to my lips and tapping. “I agree, but just go over those numbers again for me, will you?”
Where I will no doubt tune out and go back to thinking about Gemma-fucking-Ford. I really don’t want to take legal action, but she needs to get her ass into OCP offices tomorrow or I will. I’m not a man you cross, and if she didn’t have such a sexy ass I probably would have done it on Tuesday.
Rubbish, you have a soft spot for her.
Fuck that, there is nothing soft about me...anywhere, especially when it comes to Gemma Ford.
As a native New Yorker, I’ve shopped in an Open Leaf bookstore many times. Most have, whether it’s to pick up the New York Times, buy a greeting card or a paperback. My mom used to take me as a kid.
My mother, who died just after I finished college.
Perhaps that’s why I wanted to buy the company. The books are a little confusing but given the brand loyalty, which I’m told book lovers are prone to, my team said it might be salvageable and that it has valuable property holdings.
None of this information was shared with Mrs. Ford.
The problem is, Open Leaf has stiff competition. Over the years, it has fought hard to compete, and they haven’t kept up with trends. That’s where all companies trip themselves up. The stores are rundown and lack popular stock, and their staff are tired.
But, as I said, a few are located in prime real estate. Some they own, some they rent. That will be a big focus over the coming weeks for me and the team.
When Gemma asked after we all signed the sale of the property, what my plans were, I’d replied, “That isn’t something I can share at this point, Ms. Ford—”
“Mrs. Ford,” Gemma snapped.
“Mrs. Ford.”
I’d held her stern gaze, wishing I could circle her neck with my hand and ask who was pleasuring her slick pussy now she slept alone.
That I had other talents besides business and could help her with the ache I knew she’d been trying to stifle during our meetings. Clenching her legs, biting her lower lip, glancing at my crotch when we stood after each meeting.
She wanted to know how thick my cock was.
I wanted to show her.
Then watch it slide down her throat as she choked on its length.
Such a shame she doesn’t have long hair to wrap around my fist. Her sleek, dark bob creates a prim and proper impression—one I want to see crumble as she screams my name as she comes.
You see my problem?
I fucking can’t.
Robin is talking, and I’m still not paying attention.
Gemma thinks I lied to her. I haven’t. Everything is outlined clearly in the contract, so she needs to get her sweet ass back here.
OCP now owns Open Leaf, and she needs to fulfill her end of the bargain while I do what I do best: make a high-risk investment and turn it into profit.
The latter is going to be uncomfortable for her to observe.
You’re in my world now, sweetheart, so buckle up.
Glancing at my team seated around the table, I uncross my ankles and straighten my back. Because I’m the founder and managing partner, everyone mirrors me.
“Let’s wrap this up. I have to get across town.” I nod at Robin. “This looks good. Send me the numbers, and I’ll share my final thoughts tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Drew.”
I nod and head out the door.
The question is, do I have my driver take me to Gemma Ford’s penthouse to kick her Prada-clad ass or head to the Obsidian Club for some light relief?
The club—an adults-only club—is owned by my buddy, Colt Winters, and could be just what the doctor ordered.
Striding down to my office, I pass my personal assistant, Chloe. “Tell Jeeves to meet me out front.”
His name really is Jeeves.
“Yes, sir. Oh, Drew, I have a message here from Mrs. Ford.”
My jaw clenches as I stop in the doorway to my office and turn. “Yes?”
“She says, and I quote, go to hell.”
Chloe bites her bottom lip.
I nod a couple of times, walk into my office and close the door.
A smile stretches across my face.
Game on, Gemma Ford, game on.