Most Eligible Billionaire CEO, page 61
“Thank God.”
“I know.”
As much as I hate to admit it, the man’s presence was comforting. Without him, I would’ve freaked out.
“How was the meeting in the end?”
“It never happened.”
“Were they pissed off you were late?”
“Once the elevators were working again, I raced to the meeting, mortified by my tardiness. The prospects weren’t at the office.”
“How come?”
“Their executive assistant said it was confusion on their part, which I don’t understand since I triple checked with her to make sure the meeting was still on. Still, I didn’t argue.”
“That sucks.”
“It really did… especially after the elevator incident.”
“Is the meeting rescheduled?” Phoebe asks.
“It is. I’m meeting them again in twelve days.”
“Knowing you, it’ll only give you more time to perfect an already pristine presentation.”
“I guess.” I’m still really annoyed by their forgetfulness.
“So, Cosmo was your cure for this morning’s mayhem?” Phoebe veers the conversation to the original topic.
“It was! Before you called, I was reading an article that explained my predicament.”
“Care to share?” There’s resignation in her voice.
“You seem so excited.”
“I already know you’re going to find a million reasons to stay stuck.”
I ignore her comment.
“Men can smell my angry pussy a mile away,” I say. “All the festered disillusionment I foster is more pungent than the most expensive perfume. So, you see, I’m a lost cause.”
“Don’t say that!”
I know where this conversation is going.
“Just because you met the one, doesn’t mean we’re all destined to be as lucky.”
“Give it a chance—”
“Pun intended?”
“Crap. Chance is your ex’s first name.”
“Ironic, right?” I sneer.
“Wrong choice of words, sorry. But Oscar has a lot of really handsome and available friends. And they’re all normal.”
I doubt any of them look nearly as drop dead gorgeous as the guy I was trapped with this morning. No one should have such mesmerizing eyes. No one. That shade of blue could make a girl do a lot of crazy things. Good thing I have my wits about me.
“It sounds like you’ve psychoanalyzed them,” I say.
She’s quiet for a long beat.
“These are good men. Solid men, Ari.”
“Unless I can secure one of them as a client, I’m not interested.”
“What about a friends with benefits arrangement?” she asks. “It can’t be about work twenty-four-seven.”
Okay, so my life is sixty percent work, thirty percent thinking about work and ten percent sleeping, but at least I devote zero percent of my time thinking about men.
“It still involves being with a man. I’ll pass.”
“Ari—”
“You’re wasting your time, Phoebe.”
She lets out a long sigh.
“Work doesn’t stampede all over your heart and it sure as hell doesn’t backstab you.” Anger bubbles up inside me.
“Arianne, please—”
“I’m sure you have a lot to do since you landed not long ago. I’m going to go head out and work on my tan.” And clear my head.
“Arianne, don’t shut the door in my face,” Phoebe says. “By letting Chance and his trashy girlfriend win, you’re punishing yourself.”
So she keeps reminding me.
“It’s called self-preservation,” I say. “We’ll talk to each other tomorrow.”
I hang up before she can argue.
Chapter 5
Beckett
I follow the maître d’hôtel through a bustling bar for a late-night drink with a friend. The spacious room mirrors the décor reminiscent of old-fashioned British gentlemen’s clubs, a close resemblance to the well-appointed style of one of my favorite hangouts in LA—The Study, the private gentlemen’s club annexed to the Quintus Hotel.
A tall, elegant man stands up as I approach, a broad smile already stretching his lips.
We greet each other with a bro hug.
“Beckett Christensen,” he says, stepping away from me.
“Prince Easton,” I say.
“Just Easton,” he says with a laugh. “Brielle isn’t my wife yet.”
“Speaking of the stunning beauty, how is she?” I ask.
“Perfect in every sense of the word.”
“I can’t believe you’re off the market.” And I still can’t believe your fiancée is a bona fide princess with royal blood running through her veins.
“I’m in love.” I swear his eyes twinkle. He’s pussy whipped. It seems to be a contagious disease running rampant in my circle these days. Lucky for me, I’m immune. “I was never a bad boy like you, Christensen. I’m just a finance geek who got really lucky.”
Geek? He means, genius.
“I can’t believe you’re going to be a bona fide prince,” I say. “Once it’s official, do we have to bow in your presence, Your Grace?”
“I’ll expect nothing less,” he says.
“Don’t hold your breath, Winchester.”
We both laugh.
“Sit down,” he says.
A waitress approaches.
Easton suggests the cheese and charcuterie platter, an assortment of croquettes, and the meatball flatbread as appetizers. I don’t argue. We both opt for top shelf vodka on ice as a drink.
The waitress scurries off.
I scour the room before meeting his gaze. “This is a cool hangout.”
“Bygone is where I meet friends. I keep the more overrated Manhattan establishments for clients and prospects.”
“Glad to see I’m still on your good list,” I say.
We first met at a conference in San Francisco. He knew who I was before I introduced myself. Turns out, he’s a huge fan. Many moons ago, I was a rock god and lead singer of one of the bigger rock bands of our time. As an angel investor, Easton is a billionaire many times over. He has a flair for buying and selling companies at the right time. He took an interest in our company early on. Over the years, I’ve relied on his expertise.
“Always,” he says. “So, how was your stay in New York?”
After last week’s craziness, I couldn’t wait to get out of LA fast enough. My time in the Big Apple helped me regain my equilibrium. My sexy little stuck-up roomie is no longer on my mind. Bonus, Zelda is in my rearview mirror. I’m not sure how the conversation with his daughter started, but the pastor ate his words and shut the hell up about suing me after #BackdoorZelda exploded on social media, causing an embarrassing number of men to share their stories.
“Ten whirlwind days, but they were really productive,” I say.
“Good,” he says. “How’s life as a CEO treating you?”
“Hectic. Demanding. Stressful. Relentless at times. But it’s also humbling and incredibly rewarding. It’s more than I signed up for, but I wouldn’t give it up for the world.”
“From singer to kickass executive, who would’ve thought?” Easton says, not for the first time.
I’m about to shoot off a smart repartee, but the waitress is back with our drinks and food.
With a nod, we thank her.
“The American dream… anything is possible,” I say once she’s gone.
“I’ll drink to that,” Easton says, lifting his tumbler.
I mimic him and we clink our glasses.
For the next few minutes, we enjoy exceptional food and sip on smooth as velvet vodka.
“Wow,” I say, pointing at my plate after taking another bite.
“I know. This place is a gem.”
“Although this is your hangout, I hope you don’t mind if we talk business?” I ask.
“I’m willing to make an exception for you, Christensen.”
“I’m special?”
“You are,” he says with a laugh. “Seriously, you had a lot of questions and since you were going to be in town, meeting in person made more sense.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“You’re a CFO short?” he asks.
“Two, actually.”
He knits his eyebrows. “What am I missing?”
“Our CFO has been on maternity leave for two weeks now. We went through an executive agency to hire an interim, but the day before she was due to start, the agency called to let us know her son was rushed to ICU after a bad car accident. Eleven days later, he’s still in a coma.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Easton says.
“It’s a tragedy. Understandably, she stepped down before she even started.”
“So now, you’re looking for a replacement?”
“Yes and no.”
Easton frowns. “How can it be both?”
“The executive agency went into action to find us another CFO, but Rhys, who was at a conference in Dallas while I was in Vegas, made suggestions that prompted us to put everything on hold.”
“Conferences spark new ideas that can set a company on a lucrative path. What kind of suggestions?”
“We’re flying high, so the idea of selling the company is off the table. That said, Rhys suggested we hire a merger and acquisition expert for a thorough fitness assessment,” I say with air quotes. “What if we’re leaving millions of dollars on the table, but we’re unaware of it? We want to know so we can fix the issues and boost profits.”
“Forward thinking. Great idea.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” I say. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but a CFO has a different mission than a consultant whose main objective is to shape a company for a potential buyout or an IPO.”
“You’re right,” Easton says.
“Our closest competitor sold their company to a computer giant for over three billion dollars—
“Since then, sales have doubled with no signs of slowing down.”
“No one else in the marketplace has a buzz-worthy brand like theirs… other than us.” I steeple my fingers together. “We want to dominate the market!”
Easton nods.
With his eyes still trained on mine, he grabs his tumbler and takes a long swig of his drink.
I do the same.
“We don’t measure up?” I ask when he remains silent.
“Your company is worth well over three billion dollars,” Easton says.
I like the way this conversation is going.
“The superior bass on your headphones trumps the competition. No one comes close. I wouldn’t dream of listening to music on anything else since I discovered your headphones.”
“That’s a huge compliment coming from a guy like you.”
“It’s the truth, Beckett,” he says. “You have a solid brand, a former rock star status—hence, instant name recognition—and a product customers gobble up—even though it’s a luxury item far from being within everyone’s reach. I’d say your company is worth five billion dollars. With the right consultant, that number could skyrocket to six or seven billion.”
I nearly choke.
The news hits me like a slug to the chest, forcing my back against my seat.
Rhys and I figured we could get a little over two billion, making us instant billionaires, but this blows my mind.
“Seven billion dollars?” I ask to make sure I heard him right.
“Absolutely,” Easton says.
“Wow.”
“I know exactly who you need,” he says.
I rub my hands with excitement. “I’m all ears.”
“Have you ever heard of Glach Tech?”
“No.”
Easton pulls out his phone and does a quick search before handing me his device. I scroll through Glach Tech’s product catalog.
“Still doesn’t ring a bell.” I hand him back his phone.
“Amassing funding through a crowdfunding campaign is an art. Many try, few succeed. Of those who get traction, not all reach their campaign goal because it takes extraordinary vision and a solid plan. It also takes a kickass and aggressive social media campaign. You need all the pieces to work together. One weak link could spell failure.”
“I assume Glach Tech is the exception.”
“Glach Tech pulled a hattrick.” He places his elbow on the table and flashes me three fingers. “Three massively successful crowdfunding campaigns, each amassing several millions of dollars. They went from an insignificant company with fledging sales to a market leader in five years.”
“I gather you know who orchestrated those campaigns?” I ask.
“After their first noteworthy campaign, I did some digging. I also had my intelligence team poke around. Turns out, it wasn’t a consultant who masterminded Glach Tech’s rise to success. It was an employee. She was a young woman at the time, barely out of college—”
“You want me to poach one of their employees?”
“She no longer works for them,” Easton says.
“Is she working for another company?”
He shakes his head.
He’s piqued my interest. “I’m surprised she isn’t one of your consultants.”
“When she was still working for Glach Tech, she made it clear her allegiance was with them—which I respected. We stayed in touch. I was fascinated by her brilliance. Then two years ago, out of the blue, she contacted me. She needed to get as far away from Silicon Valley as possible.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“It’s not mine to tell,” Easton says.
“Fair enough.”
“When she came to me, I was considering investing in a number of tech companies across Europe. I bought her a first-class ticket to Stockholm. From there, she hopped around Europe, working for me and other angel investors.”
“You’re saying she knows her stuff.”
“She was instrumental in helping me avoid money pits,” Easton says.
“Is she still in Europe?”
“After a couple years away, Arianne decided it was time to come back stateside.”
This sounds promising.
“I know she’s talking to a few companies for possible consulting work, but I’m not sure if she settled on anything yet.”
“Arianne,” I nod. “Pretty name.”
“Don’t let the softness of her name fool you. She’s tough as nails, sharp as a whip, and she doesn’t take bullshit from clients. She tells it like it is, so you don’t waste time or money.”
“All good things,” I say. “I’m excited.”
“You should be. She started her undergrad degree at seventeen—”
“Holy shit!”
“Yeah, she’s extremely smart. She has an analytical mind like I’ve never seen before. If you look up ‘sexy brain’ on Google, her photo appears.”
I laugh.
“After completing an honors bachelor of business finance degree, she graduated at the top of her class at the tender age of twenty-three with an MBA/CFA degree. The CFA is one of the hardest degrees to earn. The prep work is punishing. The failure rate is extremely high, yet Arianne nailed it on the first try while finishing her MBA.”
“I barely finished high school,” I say.
“I’ve never met anyone with the ability to reshape a company like her.”
“Wow.”
“Earlier this year, Glach Tech was bought out for a ridiculous sum, making the CEO an extraordinarily rich man. Without the crowdfunding hattrick and Arianne’s foresight, they would never have sold for that kind of money. She single-handedly brought back the company from the dead—”
“Sold!”
“Without even meeting her and without talking to your business partner?” Easton asks.
“It takes a lot to impress you, Easton,” I say. “You only have accolades for this woman. Her only fault might be she can’t walk on water.”
He laughs.
“She’s a free agent?”
He nods.
“I want her!”
“I can make the introductions.”
“Is she in New York?”
“It’s your lucky day, Christensen. She just moved to Los Angeles.”
Chapter 6
Arianne
“Stupid idiots.” I rage under my breath as the packed car zooms down from the nineteenth floor.
Twice! Twice, they are a no show!
How can people be this disrespectful?
I let out a sigh.
Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice and don’t expect me to take your calls ever again.
When the elevator doors open, I stomp out, still angry as hell, muttering a string of four-letter words.
All this preparation and sitting in traffic for no good reason. I was up at five-thirty this morning to slap makeup on my face and get ready.
Thanks for nothing.
I exit the building in search of a cab when my phone rings.
I fish for it inside my handbag.
“Hey, Easton!”
After Phoebe and my parents, Easton Winchester was the fourth person to get my new phone number.
“Hey, Arianne!”
“I got your message. I was going to call you back after my appointment.”
“Is this a bad time?” he asks.
“No, it’s not.”
I move out of the way to avoid getting run over by a mass of people rushing towards the entrance of the building.
“Did your prospects hire you on the spot after a stellar presentation?” he asks.
“They’ll never get to hear the presentation I slaved over for days,” I tell him.
“I detect frustration,” he says.
“You detect correctly, dear friend.”
“What happened?” he asks.
“Twelve days ago, I had an appointment with the same company. On my way up, I got trapped in the elevator—”
“Oh, no.”
“I know, right?”
“How long were you trapped in there for?”
“About an hour. The heavy construction right outside the building was responsible for a temporary power outage.”
