The Billionaire Bargain #3

I glanced around the room and saw heads nodding, people whispering to each other.

“And Louis explained to me that that was what made the company so great: all these people, all working their hardest to the best of their ability. And they did it for us because we were the embodiment of a dream, of an ideal, of the future they all hoped for. They did it for us because they knew that this was a company that rewarded imagination and innovation and loyalty, a company that saw the value of their contributions and used their work to sculpt a better future for the whole world. They did it for us because they knew they could trust us, because we had trusted them first.

“Ms. Portia Smith would tell you that the glory days of Devlin Media Corp are far behind us. But I tell you that today, we have employees who shine just as brightly, if not more so. Mikayla, our development intern who brings brightness and enthusiasm with the morning coffee. Carl, our IT genius, who gives us not only an award-winning website but has saved us millions of dollars in prevented security breaches.” He smiled, his eyes flicking briefly my way. “And Lacey, without whom, quite simply, nothing at all would be possible.”

I felt my heart melt into my boots. But I still wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this.

“So you see, this company can’t be reduced to just numbers,” Grant went on, still conversationally, as if he and the audience were having an intimate fireside chat. “This company is about people. The hard work of a Louis, the imagination of a Lacey—they can’t be reduced to a balance sheet. And we can’t sell them out for a quick buck without shooting ourselves in the foot.

“My grandfather built something great, it is true. We may never know how he would have guided it today. We can never know how my parents—” Grant paused to wipe away a tear, and there were audible gasps from the audience—“would have shaped it. We can only know what we want to have today, and tomorrow, and go forth to effect that to the best of our abilities.”

Grant stepped forward, his hands raised in entreaty. Yet the position somehow looked not vulnerable, but noble. Commanding. “Ms. Smith wants you to dream of the past. Ladies and gentleman, I think you should set your sights higher. I think you should invest in our employees and in our dreams.

“I think that together, we should build a future!”

Applause erupted, deafening. The first several rows leapt to their feet, and then like a wave, the rest followed. My heart soared, and I could see Grant grinning in hope and delight.

And yet…there were gaps in those rows. It was hard to see in the darkness, but there were people still sitting down. People who were just naturally undemonstrative, or people who remained unconvinced? How many? Too many?

Grant came jogging backstage, where he enveloped me in a bone-crushing hug. He was grinning still, but he was also shaking, coming down from the adrenaline high. He was sweating, too, and I didn’t think it was entirely from the heat of the spotlight.

I hugged him back. “You were amazing, Grant. I didn’t understand at first, but now I do. She told a story—so you told a better one.”

“I just hope it was better,” he whispered into my ear. “I tried to make them see—I tried to make them understand—”

And this was the man who’d once been so determined to act as though he didn’t care. This was a man who once would’ve crashed a speedboat before talking about his emotions. He really had changed.

“I’m so proud of you,” I said, my voice cracking.

“Not half as proud as I am of you,” he replied, his voice muffled in my hair.

I stroked his back, wanting to hold him safe from whatever the future brought, and be held safe from whatever future was brought to me by him. “Now what do we do?”

He sighed, and I heard all my combined anxiety, exhaustion, relief, and trepidation echoed in that sigh.

“Now they vote. And we wait.”





TEN


I hate waiting.

Thankfully, Grant did too.

True, we couldn’t have been doing that waiting in more comfortable surroundings. Our hotel room was the size of a football field, and considerably more opulent.

The carpet was a deep rich shag that made you feel as though any second you might sink into it up to the knee. Handcrafted furniture with embroidered silk cushions was spread throughout the room so that you could flop down anywhere and be assured of hitting a cushion before you’d gone a foot; a fountain in the center sprayed water in soothing patterns. Paintings that looked almost frighteningly like they might be actual Van Goghs and Picassos lined the walls.