Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“I’m sure it’ll go away soon.” I set down my phone. “If you get me some TheraFlu and some medicine, I’ll be ready to handle today’s meetings with you.”
“The flu is contagious, Andrea.”
“I’ll wear a hazmat suit,” I said. “That’s what you would do, isn’t it?”
“No.” He smiled. “But I honestly can’t remember the last time I was sick.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do?” I tried to swing my feet off the bed, but I fell backward onto the pillows.
Harrison crossed the room and pressed his hand against my forehead.
“The nurse should be here any minute to give you what you need,” he said. “You’ll stay here until you get better.”
“Don’t you need my notes?”
“I have them already.”
“But I didn’t walk you through the questions I need you to ask the shareholders.” I couldn’t stop talking. “If you carry me to your library, I can show you those.”
“No.” He ran his hands through my hair before positioning my head onto the pillow. “I’ll manage.”
“I’ve worked really hard on these meetings,” I said. “I don’t want to be left out.”
“You won’t be.” He signaled to someone I couldn’t see. “I’ll brief you every evening this week.”
“What about putting me on a Zoom call?” I coughed. “What about that?”
“The answer is still no.”
“I can’t listen in, even if I promise not to intrude?”
He answered me with a shake of his head.
“She’s not allowed to leave my penthouse for any reason.” He turned away as a woman in light blue scrubs appeared next to him. “Send me updates every few hours, and share notes with the doctor when he drops by.”
“Yes, Mr. Cross.”
“Focus on feeling better.” He pressed a kiss against my forehead. “That’s it.”
The woman strolled over with a medicine vial and a syringe, and before I could protest, she stuck my arm.
I let out a breath as the needle slid under my skin, while Harrison gave her a few more instructions.
After kissing my cheek, he squeezed my hand and left the room.
I tried to put together one more argument, to call out to him for one more chance, but the world suddenly tilted and went black.
THIRTY-SEVEN
HARRISON
The next morning
Dr. Ryan
Your CFO would like me to tell you that her updated notes for today’s meetings are in your personal cloud.
Please let her know that I’m well aware.
Is she feeling better than she was yesterday?
No, but she keeps arguing with me about it…
How many times has she tried to leave?
Four and counting.
“Can we start our presentation, Mr. Cross?” a voice made me look up. “We’re excited to share our proposal for a new revenue stream, along with our investment proposal.”
“I’m all ears.” I set down my phone.
“Perfect!” He gestured to someone outside the boardroom, and within seconds, people dressed as oversized coffee cups walked into the room singing.
Completely off-key.
“All the reasons Sweet Seasons will sing higher profits…
All the reasons Sweet Seasons will be Cross’s best option…”
Two cups—one dressed as Starbucks and the other dressed as Tim Hortons—stabbed each other with straws. Then they fell backward onto my table.
This better be a joke. My jaw tightened.
“Don’t let their beautiful singing fool you, Mr. Cross,” the leader said. “The lyrics on their lips are just the beginning… If you agree to let us invest, we’re proposing something no other coffee shop has… Daily theater!”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as the dancing coffee cups passed out their agenda. Then I logged into my cloud and clicked on Andrea’s notes.
First meeting of the day will be utter bullshit. Smile. Nod. Wear one AirPod and listen to music or a podcast while they talk. (AirPods are in your left breast pocket. You’re welcome.)
Thank you very much, Andrea…
THIRTY-EIGHT
HARRISON
Three Days Later
In all my years in business, I’d learned two indisputable facts: Numbers never lied, and they didn’t care about your feelings.
No matter how badly you wanted them to…
And after sitting through my thirtieth investor pitch this week, the numbers were screaming at me to accept reality.
Sweet Seasons was still bleeding millions by the minute, and no amount of late-night strategy sessions, creative ideas, or budget cuts could fix it.
The corporate side of the company was overstaffed, and even if—by some miracle—we ran a campaign that netted us $500M, it would take years.
Someone needed to be laid off.
Well, thousands of someones, according to the latest strategy team I was currently listening to this morning.
Maybe we can compromise on the number somehow…
“Good morning, Mr. Cross.” Mr. Ken Lay, a salt-and-pepper-haired man who looked ten years older than me, slid a folder across the table.
“Morning,” I said.
“As the owner of the Lay Group, I’m proposing a pretty aggressive timeline.” He motioned for me to open the folder. “If you choose to accept our three hundred million dollar investment, we must implement Phase One immediately.”
I glanced at the first page.
“You want me to lay off forty-nine point eight percent of the staff?” I asked. “Why not just say fifty?”