“You’re not staying for the rest of Investor Day?” he asks. “You have a closing keynote.”
I give him a sideways glance. “You think I don’t know that? I’ll try to be back in time. If I’m not, extend the dog-and-pony show. You’ve got promo videos and PowerPoints up the ass. Use something.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
I stop, and my eyes cut to Holly. She’s curled up in a chair, scribbling in the journal resting on her knee. She’s so fucking beautiful, and I’d walk through a thousand shitstorms like the one swirling around us just to watch her like this.
Not looking at Cannon, I say, “Improvise. That’s why I pay you the big bucks.” I take a step toward Holly, but pause when he lays a hand on my arm.
“Crey.”
I glance back at him. “What?”
“Damon is fucking crazy. What he’s doing—his issue with you—that’s not based in logic. It never has been. Be careful. I don’t trust him, and I don’t think you should either.”
I inhale, long and slow. “I know. This has been a long time coming.”
“Good luck, man.”
Cannon peels off and heads back in the direction of the auditorium, and I cross the half dozen yards between Holly and me. She’s so involved in her writing that she doesn’t notice me until I crouch in front of her.
“I bet if I were naked, you’d notice me quicker.”
Her head jerks up, and her smile is quick and bright.
“Damn straight, I would. That dick of yours demands attention.”
“Later. Definitely.”
“Count on it. After all, I hear I got a hell of a wedding present, which means you’ve got a hell of a thank-you coming.”
“Maybe I should book the room at the Plaza?”
“Screw the Plaza. Let’s go back to Vegas. I didn’t get nearly enough time to enjoy that villa at Caesar’s.”
I smile, thankful she’s not losing her mind over the Homegrown acquisition. “Deal. We sort this out, and you and I are going to high roll it in Vegas.”
Holly leans forward and threads her fingers through my hair. “I’m going to head back to the penthouse to finish this song and pack. So, hurry up and sort it out.”
“I’ll consider those my marching orders.”
Her lips press against mine, and while I want to seize control, I’m aware of the people moving around us, their eyes on us. I pull away.
“I’ll call you as soon as I’m on my way.”
“You better.”
Another quick kiss and then I step away.
I don’t realize that the next time I see her, everything I think I know about myself will have changed irrevocably.
I go first to my aunt and uncle’s penthouse in the city, but I’m informed by the doorman, who has been a fixture in the building for as long as I can remember, that my uncle’s already been and gone back to Westchester. Thanking him for the information, I slide back into the backseat of the Bentley.
“Looks like we’re headed to the estate, Michael,” I tell my driver.
“Very good, sir. I’m assuming we’re in a hurry?”
“Aren’t we always?”
I catch his grin in the rearview mirror. “Of course.”
Midday traffic is thankfully lighter than normal, and I cruise through the e-mails piled up in my in-box before I read through the top stories reporting on my impassioned opening remarks at Investor Day.
CREIGHTON KARAS: EXECUTIVE IN LOVE. THIS TIME IT’S FOR REAL, LADIES.
This morning at Karas International’s annual Investor Day, Creighton Karas publicly announced that his acquisition of Homegrown Records was an impulsive move fueled by his feelings for his new bride. He claims that allegations of self-dealing and breach of fiduciary duty leveled in a shareholder derivative suit filed by the executive’s own uncle are baseless given the company’s portfolio of holdings. Further, Karas claims that a purchase of Homegrown by Karas International would have been detrimental to the health of the company and the best interest of its shareholders, given Homegrown’s precarious financial situation. Homegrown, which has been hemorrhaging money since . . .
I skim the rest of the article and several others like it, but it seems that the court of public opinion is indeed turning in my favor.
Now, if I can get my uncle to take my offer and sell his shares in Karas International, then this problem will be solved and I can move on to taking Holly back to Vegas, and if I have my way, on a real honeymoon. I think she’d enjoy Europe after she gets her next record cut.
The beauty of my solution of having my uncle sell his shares is simple—he can’t maintain his shareholder derivative suit if he’s no longer a shareholder. Clean and elegant. Even my lawyers would be proud.
By the time we pull up to the tall, ornate iron gates of the sprawling Westchester estate that was arguably my childhood home, I have my entire speech planned. The gate slides open immediately, and Michael drives through. A blanket of crisp white snow blankets what I know is a manicured lawn with perfect shrubbery. It has never been graced by a swing set. Tag has never been played here. The ornamental trees have never been climbed.
Instead, Greer actually had tea parties, archery lessons, cotillion training, and etiquette instruction. Nine days out of ten, I was banished to my room when I was home, but sneaked out and stole books from the library on economics, finance, philosophy, and anything else that I thought could help me learn enough to make more money than my uncle.
I studied him. Mimicked his moves in the foreign exchange markets. Cashed in and got out to invest in business with people and assets instead of numbers and paper. I took my company public and made billions. And then he came and bought chunks of my stock, and his ownership of a piece of my company was eating away at the rest of it like a cancer. It’s time for him to be excised.