Chapter 2
ALICE
My heart pounds in my chest as Juan leads us toward the main conference room. Oscar Glynn. Here. In my company. No, not my company anymore — his company now.
Though I built this thing from the ground up along with two other founders, I’m the only one left now.
When Juan said we’d been approached by a conglomerate wanting to buy, I balked at the idea.
It sounded too much like selling out, and what about quality?
How could we keep it in check with some hotshot rich dude who only cares about the bottom line running the show?
Slowly but surely, he talked me into it. Convinced me that the man who had approached him would be good for Rooted Pantry. And so, I caved.
Now I know that might have been the biggest mistake of my life.
"We can get started with the official handover in here," Juan says, not seeming to notice the crackling air between Oscar and me. "I've prepared all the documentation you requested."
I force my legs to move, one foot in front of the other, all too aware of Oscar's presence behind me.
I can almost feel his gaze on my back, and it takes everything I have to maintain my composure.
Twelve years. Twelve years since I've seen him, spoken to him, or allowed myself to even think about him for more than a fleeting moment.
And I never, ever looked him up online. Not once. That was my rule when it came to him — no reopening old wounds. Let the past be the past; don’t dig it up.
Now I regret that decision. If I'd known he was the mysterious billionaire acquiring Rooted Pantry, I could have prepared myself.
Instead, I'm blindsided, struggling to process that the man I once knew — the ambitious but kind college student with big dreams — is now the powerhouse buying my company.
We file into the conference room, and I deliberately choose a seat at the table as far as possible from Oscar.
I need distance, perspective. His team — a collection of polished legal men and women with expressions ranging from bored to predatory — arrange themselves around him like a protective detail.
I sneak a glance at him as he sets his phone on the table.
He's changed so much, yet somehow he’s exactly the same.
His black hair is shorter now, expertly styled with just enough product to look effortlessly perfect.
His hazel eyes — the ones that used to light up when we laughed at our weekly movies at the cheap theater just off campus — are sharper now, more calculating.
And God, when did he get so handsome? His features have matured, the softness of youth replaced by defined angles and quiet confidence.
The suit he wears probably costs more than my entire wardrobe. And that Rolex on his wrist… the Italian leather shoes. He's become everything he always wanted to be — successful, powerful, wealthy.
The thought makes my chest burn with anger. All it took to achieve all that was pulling the rug out from under me, pushing people under the bus–
"Alice?" Sydney's voice pulls me back to reality.
“Hm?” I blink at my marketing director and closest friend.
"Are you okay?" she says softly.
"Fine," I whisper back, arranging my face into what I hope is neutral professionalism. "Just surprised."
Sydney raises an eyebrow but doesn't push further. She'll demand all the details later, I'm sure.
Juan begins the meeting, going through the formalities of the acquisition, but I barely hear him. My focus keeps drifting to Oscar, who appears completely at ease, as if running into his former best friend is just another Tuesday for him.
Did I mean that little? Has he forgotten everything we were to each other?
As if sensing my thoughts, his eyes meet mine, and for a split second, I see something flicker in their depths — something raw and unguarded that makes my breath catch. Then it's gone, replaced by cool professionalism.
"Now I'll hand things over to Oscar, who wants to share his vision for Rooted Pantry moving forward," Juan says, bringing me back to the present again.
Oscar stands, commanding everyone’s attention like moths to a flame. "Thank you, Juan. First, I want to assure everyone that this transition will be smooth. I'll be stepping in as temporary CEO while we search for the right long-term leader for Rooted Pantry."
His voice has deepened over the years, acquired a rich timbre. It's a voice accustomed to being listened to, and I have to fight the urge to fold my arms and stare petulantly at him.
"Rooted Pantry will join my family of companies in the health food sector but maintain its unique identity and mission. I Intend to only fix what is broken."
I can't help myself.
"And how do you determine what's broken?" The words escape before I can stop them, sharper than I meant for them to be.
Oscar turns those hazel eyes on me, and a small smile plays at the corner of his mouth. My fingers itch, wanting to smack it right off his smug face.
"Excellent question, Alice. I evaluate based on three metrics: financial health, market position, and growth potential."
"Not mission? Not impact?" I challenge, feeling Sydney tense beside me.
I know I should be more diplomatic, but seeing him here — so confident, so in control of the company I've poured my heart into — sparks something defiant in me. He might have bought Rooted Pantry with cold, hard cash, but it feels like he’s stealing my baby.
"Mission and impact are valuable when they translate to high output," he counters smoothly. "Which, I believe Rooted Pantry has achieved under your leadership. Your commitment to organic sourcing and eco-friendly packaging has created a loyal customer base willing to pay premium prices."
He's complimenting me, but somehow it feels like he's reducing everything I care about to dollar signs. The dream I had – still have – for Rooted Pantry is for organic, healthy food to be as accessible and as affordable as possible. Yes, it costs more than non-organic, but out goal has never been to milk people for the “premium” amount. We charge what we need to, and don’t sit on piles of gold because of it.
"What we do is for people’s well-being," I say, leaning forward slightly. "And it's our heart. It’s who we are.”
Oscar holds my gaze, unflinching. "I admire that… although some foundations need patching."
The tension in the room thickens. Juan clears his throat nervously, while the lawyer on Oscar’s right – Cole something – looks between us with raised eyebrows.
"Perhaps we should review the organizational structure," Juan suggests, clearly trying to defuse the situation.
Oscar nods but doesn't break eye contact with me. "By all means. I'm particularly interested in understanding how Alice's team operates, given their impressive market performance in the last fiscal year."
Is that genuine praise or is he just placating me? I can't tell anymore. The Oscar I knew was transparent, earnest. This man before me is an enigma wrapped in expensive wool.
The meeting continues, but there's an undercurrent now — a charged exchange happening beneath the professional facade.
Every time I make a point about our company values, Oscar counters with a business perspective.
When he mentions efficiency improvements, I emphasize the importance of our quality standards.
It's like a dance — hostile yet somehow intimate. And we're the only two people who know the steps, leaving everyone else in the room to watch in confused silence.
After what feels like hours, Juan calls for a short break. As people file out for coffee and bathroom breaks, I gather my papers, desperate for a moment alone to collect myself.
"Alice."
His voice stops me at the door. I turn, finding Oscar much closer than I expected. Up close, I can see the tiny laugh lines at the corners of his eyes — evidence that somewhere along his climb to the top, he found reasons to smile.
Without me.
Why that guts me the most, I don’t know.
I just can’t stand the thought of him sitting in a bar somewhere, with someone who isn’t me, having the time of his life.
It’s crueler than anything else we’ve been through, the fact that, not only did his world keep spinning after we parted ways, but his life just kept getting better.
"This is… unexpected," he says, his voice lower now that we're alone.
"That's one word for it," I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral despite the riot of emotions inside me.
"You've done incredible work here." His eyes scan my face, and I wonder what he sees. "Rooted Pantry has an impressive market presence."
Of course. Business first. Always business with him.
"It's more than market presence, Oscar. It's a community. These people, this mission… it matters."
Something softens in his expression. "I know. That's why I wanted it."
"Did you know I was here?" The question bursts out before I can stop it.
He hesitates… but why?
"No," he says. "Your name wasn't in any of the documents I personally reviewed."
"Would it have made a difference?" I challenge.
The question hangs between us, heavy with twelve years of silence and what-ifs. For a moment, I see a glimpse of the Oscar I knew — uncertain, vulnerable.
Tender, even.
But then his phone buzzes, shattering the moment. He glances at the screen and whatever we were building falls to pieces.
"We should get back to the meeting," he says, straightening his already perfect tie. "I think we both want what's best for Rooted Pantry, so we can at least agree on that."
I want to argue, to tell him he has no idea what I want. But he's right about one thing — we need to get through this meeting.
As people filter back in, Sydney sidles up beside me. "Holy tension, Batman," she whispers. "You know him?"
"Old friend," I murmur, the word 'friend' woefully inadequate to describe what Oscar and I once were to each other.
"Friend?" She gives me a skeptical look. "The way you two were going at it, I was thinking more like ex-lover."
"No," I say firmly, though my cheeks warm at the thought. "Just… it’s a complicated history."
Her eyes widen. "Well, your 'complicated history' is now your boss, and he can't seem to take his eyes off you."
I follow her gaze to find Oscar indeed watching me from across the room, his expression unreadable. When our eyes meet, he continues to stare, and I have to be the one who looks away.
Everyone settles in for the second half of the meeting, and I steel myself for another round of sparring with the man who once meant everything to me, and who now holds the future of my company in his hands.
The worst part is, despite everything, despite the bitterness and the betrayal and the years of silence between us, I can't deny the inconvenient truth - he’s only grown more attractive with time, and my body hasn't forgotten how it feels to be near him.
Which means this is going to be a real problem.