He walks away, leaving me with a sinking feeling in my gut. I say goodbye to Jimmy and head through the revolving doors of the very company that might dismantle the charity he depends on.
I feel like a traitor. I always wanted to be successful, to prove I could do it. But now, the higher I climb this corporate ladder, the more I realize just how many lives we affect with every deal. It’s not just about trading pounds and pennies—there are real people on the other side of those numbers. I’m no saint, but I can’t shake the feeling of wanting to do better.
If we win the bid, we’re set to make some major changes. We’ll be licensing the TLS brand to foreign markets, allowing for expansion. We’re also planning to reduce the workforce, cutting staff numbers particularly in middle management. And we’ll be moving certain operations, like IT, to countries with lower labor costs. Then, in a year’s time, we sell it off, presumably for a tidy profit.
From a business perspective, it all makes perfect sense. Streamline operations, cut costs, maximize profits, then cash out while the going’s good. It’s the kind of calculated move that has made Liam McLaren as successful as he is.
I head straight up to the main boardroom, steeling myself for another round ofWhat the hell is she doing herelooks from some of the suits who are wondering why I’m helping with the bid.
This is the second executive board meeting I’ve been invited to, and some of them still look at me like I’m the tea lady who’s accidentally wandered in. As if HR is just a lowly admin role.
As I walk in, I hear the execs laughing and joking around, which throws me for a loop. After seeing Sir Whitmore looking so grim earlier, I figured Liam and the others would be ina shit mood. But nope, they’re all smiles, even Liam—though he’s got it reined in compared to Ollie, who’s practically falling out of his chair cackling at something one of the execs said.
I opt for the seat farthest from Liam’s end of the table, joining the other B-list suits who didn’t make the cut for the first meeting.
I’m pleased to see that Liam looks just as knackered as I feel, though it’s a good look on him. My pulse quickens at the mere sight of him. Memories of last night come flooding back—the feel of his stubble rasping against my thighs, of him eating me out.
Fuck.
This is fine. I can sit here and pretend I didn’t spend the night riding him, pinching his nipples and pointing his own jizz at his face. Easy.
He looks up then, his gaze locking with mine, and despite the otherwise stoic expression, there’s a flash of something in his eyes. A silent communication that passes between us like an electric current.
His eyes flick to my chin, taking in the reddened skin, and the corner of his mouth twitches. I hope his dick is as chafed as my face.
Liam doesn’t sit. Instead, he stands behind his chair, gripping the back of it. “Before we dive into the agenda, I want to give you all an update on our meeting with Sir Whitmore’s team. He’s finally ready to come to the table. Just a few minor details to iron out.”
Ollie lets out a whoop. “Finally, the old man sees sense.”
I frown, not quite buying it. “That’s . . . great. What made him change his mind?”
Liam shrugs. “We hit him with some scary projections, stuff he should’ve woken up to ages ago.”
But something doesn’t feel right. These guys aren’t reading the room at all. Sir Whitmore might have backed down in the moment,outnumbered by the execs, but he’s tough. He hates being pushed around. I’ve got a hunch they’re nowhere near closing this deal like they think they are.
Liam did say he wanted me to be straight with him. So screw it, here goes. “I actually ran into Sir Whitmore downstairs. For a man about to sign a deal he didn’t look that celebratory.”
Ollie waves me away. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”
But my gut’s telling me it’s not fine. Not even close. “I’m sure he’s still not happy with what we’re offering for the charities. That’s a risk.”
The rest of the room’s eyes land on me, probably wondering why the hell I’m piping up about some piddly little coffee carts when there are millions of pounds at stake.
“This is a small part of the deal, it’s hardly relevant,” Ollie interjects, his voice dripping with condescension. “Can we get back to the important points?”
I ignore him, my eyes landing on Liam. “Sir Whitmore doesn’t want his charity to go under. And rightly so. That charity does so much good, helps people who have nothing else. We can’t just cast them aside.”
“Gemma, for fuck’s sake—” Ollie starts, but Liam glares at him.
“If the company goes under, the charity goes under. It’s a moot point,” Liam says, his voice hard and unyielding. “The charity model will have to adapt into a profit percentage model. We can keep the main coffee shops open in the flagship stores, but the others aren’t sustainable. A fixed percentage of TLS’s profits will go to the charity—one percent, which is the best I can do with the numbers.”
I feel my heart sink. “But those people will lose their jobs. This isn’t just about numbers on a spreadsheet. This is their lifeline.”
Liam’s jaw tightens. “No one is going to do any better,” he snaps. “It’s this or the charity closes completely.”
“But—” I start to argue but he cuts me off with a sharp gesture.
“Enough,” he growls, his eyes flashing with anger. “This discussion is over.”
