16. Ethan
Ethan
Sophia’s mere presence beside me in the car is enough to make me want to kick myself for not having fucked some part of her body before we left the office.
I’m tense as fuck, and she’s irresistible: a veritable symphony of all the alluring things that make up a woman.
On this dreary October day, she’s in a cherry red dress that, as usual, skirts the line between professional and coquettish all too skilfully.
It’s long and silky, its pleated skirt billowing around her on the cream leather seat, and it matches the perfect red of her mouth.
Her dark hair cascades down over her shoulders, shielding most of her face as she sends messages on her phone at lightning speed.
She’s ignoring me, but she’s ignoring me in her regular blithe, no-fucks-given kind of way.
I’m simply not entertaining enough for her to bother with me.
She’s not withholding her attention in that pointed, fragile, defensive way that women do when they want you to understand just how fully you’ve pissed them off.
Or offended them. Delete as appropriate.
A vivacious pain in the arse she may be, but at least Sophia doesn’t hold grudges or throw her toys.
If she disagrees, she says so. If she disapproves, she says so.
While I maintain that I was fully justified in giving her a dressing-down at the weekend when she butted into my business with Jamie, she shrugged it off immediately.
She didn’t burst into tears or barricade herself in the loo, both of which are the kinds of bullshit stunts that Talia and my previous two Seraph assistants were well known for.
She just got on with it, and for that resilience I’m privately, but extremely, grateful.
And here she is in the back of my car, looking like a fantasy come to life, as I attempt to hold it the fuck together.
It would be so easy to ruck up those long skirts and find her wet heat with my fingers, to have her slide onto my lap.
I could bury my face in the decadent fragrance of her neck and be inside her in seconds.
Seconds.
But I need this edge, because it’s my life force. I need to preserve this stress, this tension. I’m about to walk behind enemy lines, and the last thing I need is to be in a blissed-out, post-orgasmic haze.
I need every fucking advantage I have.
Sophia throws her phone into her ridiculously large bag. It’s a Birkin. I should know. I bought several of them for my ex-wife.
‘I should warn you, I’ll know quite a few of the Montague party,’ she says perkily. ’Just as long as you don’t think I’m a spy.’
‘You’d be terrible at corporate espionage.’
‘I don’t know. I could be one of those hookers who gets all the secrets out of the enemy the moment before they shoot their load. I wouldn’t underestimate my feminine wiles.’
I roll my eyes, although the thought of Sophia fucking her way through enemy ranks makes me feel vaguely queasy.
‘I know Miles and his brother, Theo,’ she continues. ‘And their parents, Charles and Laura. They’re so lovely. I told you I was a bridesmaid at Theo and my friend Nora’s wedding, I think.’
She did tell me. I grunt in response.
‘And I know their Finance Director, Jonathan Holmes, too. We were all at Cambridge together—me, Theo, Nora, and Jonathan, that is. He’s a good guy.
He dated Nora for years and years. It’s so funny—he’s literally Theo’s polar opposite.
You’ll see. Can’t imagine what a boring shag he’d be—Jonathan, not Theo—but he was born to be an FD.
Anyway, I told Theo to let them all know I was working for you.
I didn’t want it to be awkward when I walked in with the nasty Kingsleys.
At least they don’t know I’m actually sleeping with the enemy. That would be awkward as fuck.’
‘I can’t imagine they’ll spend a moment thinking about it,’ I retort when she finally pauses to draw breath. ‘And this is a very important business meeting, not a soap opera. You’d do well to remember that.’
She turns and looks at me properly, her dark eyes flashing.
She’s truly magnificent. ‘Here are a couple of life lessons for free, Ethan, because I know how much you enjoy them. One. If you think personal relationships don’t matter, especially in situations like this, then you’re a lot less smart than I thought you were.
I wouldn’t betray my friends for you, ever, but at the very least, you’d think that my knowing them would work to your advantage.
And two, you’re even more unbearable than usual when you haven’t come.
If you won’t let me touch you before events like this, you should really consider beating one out in the shower first thing.
It’s the decent thing to do for everyone else’s sake, after all. ’
Her dark eyes drop to my crotch. Before I can react, she reaches over and places her hand over my dick. I can feel the warmth of her instantly, even through my trousers and boxers. Lightning quick, I grab her wrist and hold her in place, my eyes boring into hers.
‘I want to be unbearable. Did you think of that? I want every person around that table to understand the full force of what I’m bringing to this deal.’
We stare at each other, and my dick twitches beneath Sophia’s warm hand. A couple of seconds pass like this. It’s not like her to miss an opportunity for a quick retort.
‘What are you thinking?’ I demand.
She snags her bottom lip with her teeth before responding, her hand pressing more firmly against my dick.
‘I’m thinking that the more objectionable you are, the more I want you to rail me. And I’m thinking that that makes me seriously question myself.’
From the unimpressed line her lips make when she’s finished speaking, I know she’s telling the truth.
Sophia wasn’t lying about knowing half of the Montague delegation. What should be a tension-filled meeting between two parties who dislike and distrust each other threatens, for the first few moments after we file silently into the large oak-panelled boardroom, to become a family reunion of sorts.
I watch with deep unhappiness as she kisses Miles Montague, the man responsible for every headache I have currently, warmly on both cheeks.
She then full-on accosts the cocky-looking guy next to him, who must surely be his brother, Theo.
They rock from side to side as they hug, and he whispers something in her ear that has her throwing back her head and laughing.
It’s completely inappropriate for the occasion.
My father, who came in another car with our Finance Director and Senior Counsel, mutters from behind me, ‘She could be an asset.’
I don’t turn around. ‘No.’
Once Sophia has finished effusively greeting everyone, including the senior Montagues and their FD, the guy she deems to be “a boring shag”, the rest of us make our introductions far more curtly.
The Montagues may be cursing our very existence, but at the end of the day, we’re all British.
We shake hands and murmur how do you do and good to see you again.
Mistrust is etched into every line of Miles Montague’s face, but his greeting is perfectly civil. His brother, on the other hand, shakes my hand a little too hard. Cocky little shit.
It’s time to show these people who’s in charge.
We take our seats as a couple of assistants hand out coffee.
We may be on Montague turf, every oak panel a reminder that they favour a classic look as clearly as we prefer minimalism, but this is our deal, and this is our meeting.
The Montague Group is under siege, and its board damn well knows it.
‘Thank you for hosting us,’ I say. ‘Firstly, I’d like to acknowledge that last week’s disclosure to the market, and the friendly approach that preceded it, may be unwelcome to some of you.
’ It doesn’t hurt to be gracious. It doesn’t hurt to produce a semblance of empathy.
‘After all, we’re both relatively small, family-founded parties in a sea of aggressive and bloated acquirers.
It could be us sitting in your seats just as easily. ’
Charles Montague nods his brusque acknowledgment, if not his approval. He won’t give anything away that easily.
‘That said,’ I continue, ‘we find ourselves here, having acquired the requisite three percent and continued to amass a stake from there, attempting to find common ground on which to build a joint vision for our future. I’d be grateful if you’d spare me a few minutes to paint a picture of how I imagine that future to be. ’
There’s something reassuring about the machinations of a hostile takeover, machinations that are firmly rooted in the Financial Conduct Authority’s acquisition playbook.
With the friendly offer, we had no control over the situation.
Montague were free to call the shots, to ride roughshod over a proposal we’d spent years finessing.
But now that we’re going hostile, the dynamic has shifted and, with that, the control.
Assuming the mega-corporates—Hilton or IHG—don’t try to waltz in and fight for our prize, we can control this deal.
Not the price we pay, sure, but pretty much everything else.
And, even as our presentation is met with increasing amounts of displeasure from the Montague Group board members around the table, I hold on tight to that knowledge.
‘These cost-cutting measures are downright criminal!’ Miles’ father, Charles, spits out, staring at the appropriate page in the deck with what looks like utter disbelief.
‘Almost all of these are human costs—these are people you’re talking about slashing here.
Employees who’ve given our family their undivided loyalty for years and years. ’
‘Loyalty never helped the bottom line,’ my father says smoothly. ‘And you know as well as we do that cost synergies like these are precisely what the market will be looking for, no matter who acquires you.’
‘My father’s correct. The thing to focus on here is the creation of shareholder value.
That’s what’ll get this deal over the line.
We may both have built family businesses, but those businesses stopped being family at some point in their growth.
They had to. And when we both took the leap and listed publicly, we pledged to make the creation of shareholder value our top priority. ’
‘We will never not think of our employees as family, no matter what size we are,’ Miles interjects viciously, ‘and I wholeheartedly disagree that loyalty is not good for the bottom line.’
I give him a shrug. I suspect it spells out exactly what I think. Well, mate, that kind of approach is na?ve at best and parochial at worst, and it’s precisely why you’re not fit to run a multi-billion-pound business.
‘This very substantial part of your pitch was notably absent in the first presentation you sent over,’ Miles continues. ‘I’d call that pretty fucking suspect.’
Under the table, I dig my thumbnail into the palm of my opposite hand.
Show nothing. Feel nothing. Win everything.
‘I’d call it commercially prudent.’
We glare at each other.
‘Let’s be clear. We’re going to fight this every step of the way. We intend to sit down with all of our major shareholders and appeal to each of them in turn.’
Dad scoffs. ‘No financial institution is going to turn down the chance to create this kind of value. You may not like the cost-cutting scenarios, but the reason they’re so aggressive is that our two companies have such significant synergies. There’s not much anyone can say to that.’
Control the room or lose everything.
‘Let me be clear.’ I lean forward, addressing Miles and his father directly.
‘We will also spend the week making ourselves available to your major shareholders and persuading them of the wisdom of this deal. At the end of the day, we already have a good deal of overlap between our shareholder registers. These investors are already established relationships for us, and I believe most of them will be willing to swap their Montague Group shares for Kingsley Hotels ones, especially when they see that we’re not afraid of shying away from the tough actions necessary to create value for them.
They’ll compare that to your, shall we say, sentimental inefficiency, and they’ll be in no doubt as to which horse to back in this race. ’
I sit back in my chair and place my palms flat on the smooth walnut of our nemeses’ boardroom table, willing my heart rate to slow.
Contrary to the coldly impassive expression I have fixed on my face, confrontations make me extremely anxious.
But I know that the more anxiety, the more terror I feel about taking actions like this, the more critical it is to show no chinks at all in my well-crafted armour.
Show nothing.
Feel nothing.
Win everything.
In my peripheral vision, Dad gives me an approving nod. He likes it when I bare my teeth, make a show of strength. He likes having an ally when he’s bullying people. With my father, there are only ever two choices:
Stand with him, or stand against him.
Comply, or die.
And I’ll choose survival every time.