Annihilate Me 2: Vol. 1

by Christina Ross

  “So, who’s the real genius here?” he asked.

  “You were going to do that anyway.”

  “Actually, I was prepared to go in and defend our phone. Then I was going to mention the rest of it. But you’re right. If I defend the phone, I’ll come off as reactive and defensive. And that’s what they’ll play. I need to cram that conference with nothing but positive information, and leave them with that.”

  “I spoke with Ann earlier. She said that the board had left.”

  “They’re here somewhere. They’ll be at the press conference.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Unless they plan to go to war with me, they kind of have to be there. I don’t see them not being there.”

  But an hour later, when we assembled in front of the press in the lobby, my worst fears were confirmed—Alex didn’t have the full board behind him.

  When he spoke to the press, he did so with enthusiasm, despite the fact that he only had me at his side and the four members of the old guard Blackwell had mentioned earlier. The other three members were AWOL, and I knew that would send a clear message to the press that Alex, though full of optimism and facts, didn’t have the board’s full support. Reporters would take note of that—and in my gut, I knew that they’d run with it regardless of what he said. It was the negative piece of the equation that I’d hoped to sidestep because I knew that it was this that the business world would latch onto.

  * * *

  Later that evening, when the day was behind us and by the time the markets had closed, Wenn’s stock—which had plummeted forty-three percent before Alex’s press conference—had rebounded by nine percent.

  “We aren’t out of the woods yet,” he said to me when we stepped into our Fifth Avenue penthouse. When we married, we gave up Alex’s apartment at Wenn and purchased a new home on the corner of Fifth and Sixty-First Street to give us a fresh start. “But it’s something. The entire board didn’t show up to offer their support, so we’ll need to see how that plays out. I’m afraid it won’t be good.”

  It was early evening, and beyond the windows that overlooked Fifth was a purplish hue punctuated by golden spots of amber-colored lights to the right and left of us. I dropped my clutch in the entryway, reached for his hand, and held it in mine as we moved into our apartment.

  “I’m worried about their lack of support,” I said.

  “Let’s see how the stock shakes out before we start to worry—we’ll have a good indication by morning. I messaged Robert, my head of PR, and told him that I’m prepared to do a host of interviews ASAP. He’ll field those calls and tell me who’s interested, and then, you and I will choose the opinion leaders we think could best make a difference when I lay out Wenn’s vision to them. I want to do as much of that as soon as possible. Do you agree?”

  “I do.”

  “Look, we’ve had a hell of a day. What do you say we sit down and just relax? Would you like martini?”

  “Actually, I would. But let me make them. You go and sit in the living room. No, Alex, don’t give me that look. Take off your jacket and your tie. I’ll also bring us something to snack on since we haven’t had dinner.”

  “We can go out to eat,” he said.

  “Hell no.” I kicked off my heels and immediately felt better because my feet were swollen from standing in them for so long. “This girl is home with her husband. She’s going to indulge in a drink and a few bites to eat with him, and then we’ll see what comes later.”

  He cocked his head at me. “What does that mean?”

  I kissed him on the lips. “You never know what might come. So, go and sit down, stud. I’ll grab us what we need. Give me five minutes.”

  When I returned with the drinks, Alex was sitting on one of the white sofas that overlooked Fifth. He’d removed his jacket and tie, and he’d unbuttoned his shirt to the point that I could see the concave of his throat and a trace of his chest. I thought he looked drained, not like himself, which was something I wanted to fix. I handed him his martini, put mine down on the coffee table, and then returned to the kitchen to retrieve a plate filled with cheeses, green grapes, and nuts. I put the plate down on the coffee table, sat as close to him as possible, and lifted my martini to him.

  “Here’s to nailing the press conference,” I said.

  “We’ll see if I nailed it.”

  “You did. You didn’t give anyone a chance to change the agenda. It was perfect—and it was positive. Bravo.”

  We touched glasses and sipped.

  “God, that’s good,” he said. “Did you know that in Russia, they call vodka ‘my dear little water’. Sound appropriate?”

  “It sounds as if I want to drink vodka from the tap if we should ever visit there.”

  “Do you know what’s even better? Having you here with me. Riding this out with me. You mean the world to me, Jennifer. I’m so happy that you’re not only my wife, but that you’re my confidant and best friend.”

  He put his drink back onto the coffee table, and then took mine from my hand and placed it next to his. I knew what was coming. He swept me into his arms, our lips met, and then suddenly he lifted me off the sofa and carried me to the bedroom.

  When he made love to me that night, it defined what it was to make love. He was gentler than he’d ever been with me. It was a profound kind of love, the sort that made our connection deeper than it already was. He cupped my breasts in his hands, kneaded them, and gently sucked on my nipples, which were so unusually sensitive, I inexplicably climaxed.

  “That was fast,” he said with a grin.

  “It’s not as if I’m spent,” I countered.

  “Then let’s consider that the first of many you’ll enjoy tonight.”

  “Feel free to fulfill that promise.”

  When he traced his tongue down my torso, I felt as if my body was on fire. My breathing quickened. I felt my heart begin to race. When he entered me with his tongue, I was at full boil, with my back arched as I writhed against him. I reached down and ran my fingers through his hair as he flicked his tongue over my folds. I wasn’t sure what it was—perhaps because today had been so stressful—but my body was more open and receptive to him than it ever had been. It was as if all of my nerve endings were calling out to him and craving his touch, in all of its many forms. I clutched a handful of his hair and pressed his mouth closer to me when he brought me to completion again.

  “You’re in a mood,” he said.

  “I don’t know what’s come over me. But I do know this—I want you inside of me.” I reached down between his legs and felt his length and girth throbbing in my hand.

  “You don’t need any more time?”

  I immediately sat up, straddled his lap, and took one of his nipples into my mouth. They were among the most sensitive parts of his body, and I licked and bit each one of them as he lifted me up and entered me.

  When he did, I felt a searing pain—even at this point, I still wasn’t used to his size. But I adjusted to it, and I rode him. I fell on my back for him. I got on my knees for him. With each new position, we tossed me against the bed, his breath hot against my body, my hands outstretched and clutching the sheets as if they alone would take away the pleasure—and the pain.

  As he continued to plunge into me, I could feel him pulsing through my entire body—not just my sex.

  Somehow, our lovemaking was different this time. More intense.

  When we both reached climax together, there was little question that, despite the day—or perhaps because of it—that this was us at our best.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next morning, I woke early after a restless sleep to find that I was alone in our bed. I sat up, and looked around the room and then over at the bedroom door, which was partly closed.

  I smelled coffee.

  How long has he been up?

  I looked at the clock on the bedside table and saw that it was only four-thirty, which meant that pre-market trading already had begun. With a sense of trep
idation, I got out of bed, found my white silk robe draped over the padded bench at the end of it, and slipped it over my naked body.

  “Alex?” I called.

  “In my office, Jennifer.”

  Before leaving the bedroom, I went quickly into the adjoining bathroom. I used the facilities, and then splashed cold water on my face, ran a brush through my hair, and put moisturizer on my face. I was still vain enough in my marriage that I only ever wanted Alex to see me at least looking reasonably good, even though I knew that he couldn’t care less about that. But still…I wasn’t about to not make an effort. The last thing he needed to see was that his wife had turned into a horror show.

  Once I’d brushed my teeth and done the best I could with myself without taking a shower and covering my face with the works, I left the bedroom and stepped into the living space just as Alex emerged from his office.

  I knew why he was up so early—he’d been on his computer, tracking Wenn’s stock, and reading what was being said about him and Wenn in today’s papers and blogs. He wore nothing but his pale gray boxer briefs, and his hair was skewed to one side in a way that I thought looked sexy as hell. The stubble on his face that I adored so much was in full show now—as were his dimples. The sight of him shirtless and looking so happy to see me made me melt. He came over to me, pulled me into his arms, kissed me on the mouth, and asked me if I wanted a cup of coffee.

  “That would be wonderful,” I said. “But let me get it.”

  “I’ll get it for you. And by the way, you didn’t have to brush your teeth for me. Or do your hair. Or do whatever else you’ve done.”

  “Oh yes I did. After what you put me through last night, I looked like hell. You deserve better than that.”

  “Actually, it’s me who doesn’t deserve you.”

  I watched him move into the kitchen, and I tried to sense his mood. He seemed to be his usual self, but I knew him so well at this point that I sensed an undercurrent. Was something wrong? I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t about to jump in now and ask him where our stock was or what was being said about him and Wenn online. Now wasn’t the time.

  I watched him as he pulled a cup from one of the cupboards and filled it with coffee, cream, and sugar. He gave it a quick stir and then walked over to me with a smile.

  And that’s when I knew—his smile was strained. It wasn’t real. It was a smile meant to set me at ease.

  I took the cup when he offered it to me and sipped.

  “You’re up early,” I said.

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “How long have you been up?”

  “About an hour. Would you like some breakfast? I’m not hungry, but I can make you some eggs if you’d like. Or whatever you want. Just name it.”

  Alex and I had never been big on small talk. So, I sat down at the breakfast bar and brought my coffee to my lips. “What’s going on, Alex?”

  “How about if you finish your coffee first?”

  “There’s no need to—I’m awake. What’s the news?”

  “It’s a mix,” he said.

  “So pro and con?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What’s the ratio?”

  “More con than pro.”

  “Sit with me?” I asked.

  He did, and when he did, I wrapped my arm around his bare shoulders.

  “Where is Wenn’s stock now?”

  “We fell two points since yesterday’s close. And so far in early trading, we’ve lost another three points.”

  I knew what that meant, and I braced myself for it. Investors would see that five-point decline as additional unrest. More could bail when the markets opened at nine-thirty. But that could turn around depending on what the press was saying. So I asked him.

  “Let’s begin with the big ones,” I said. “What is the Times saying?”

  “Fair and balanced, as you’d expect. It’s an in-depth article that ends on a positive note. As far as they’re concerned, the initial numbers for the SlimPhone are beyond impressive, but they worry about it going forward in a market that’s ‘overcrowded with other phones’—as they put it—which, of course, it is.”

  “What else did they say?”

  “That Wenn was diverse, which is good. The reporter, Michael Hayes, did his homework, and he obviously listened to me at the press conference. There was a lot of positive information in his article. He touched on everything, including Wenn Pharmaceutical—and the potential billions our new drug could make for Wenn. He even mentioned Wenn Publishing and noted that it saw a large spike last quarter due especially to Lisa’s book. In the end, he wrote that the correction in our stock was overstated, and that he considers Wenn a strong buy.”

  “Well, that’s great,” I said.

  “The problem is that he’s just one reporter.”

  “What did the Journal have to say?”

  “They were more critical.”

  “How critical?”

  “They actually reviewed the phone against our competition, and, as much as they liked it, they think we didn’t go far enough. They think we should have given it more memory, and a more robust chip, and a larger screen, even though we bested what the top phones are offering. They wanted to see more. They wanted a game changer, which they believe the market needs right now. They liked the design and the interface, but their concern is that we have only one phone on the market, while others—such as Apple and Samsung—have several. They’re worried about that. We have only one entry point into the market—our competition has several. They also think our phone is pricey, which it isn’t—the number of units we’ve moved tells us that. They wondered if our price will slow sales going forward.”

  “Is that all they reported on? The phone?”

  “No. The good news is that they also mentioned how diversified we are, but the bad news is that part was buried in their story. They said that our diversification has always been our strength. Several inches were given to the success of Wenn Publishing and Wenn Pharmaceutical. They especially gave us major points for Pharmaceutical, particularly—as you’d expect—with what’s coming from them. But they consider our stock a ‘hold,’ not a ‘sell’ or a ‘buy’.”

  “How about Business Week and Bloomberg?”

  “They were more in line with the Journal than they were with the Times. But they did say good things.”

  “How about The Motley Fool?”

  “They consider us a ‘sell.’”

  “Seriously?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “And the others?”

  “All negative.”

  I processed that for a moment, and then I said, “The good news is that investors don’t read the Post or the Daily Mail—and they certainly don’t take them seriously. If they’re looking for information on where to put their money, they’re going to the other four first, beginning with the Times and the Journal. The Fool fucked us, but they deal mostly with day traders, and not with serious investors—such as a fund manager. It seems as if the most critical to us at least offered a balanced opinion that’s open to consideration and evaluation.”

  “Agreed. Look, I have my own ideas about how we address this going forward, but I’d like to hear your ideas.”

  “Yesterday, you wanted the press to come to you, and they did. Today is another day. Our stock is already down five points, so we need to be proactive and go to them. You need to be profiled in features. You need to have a real conversation that will reach the masses. Have you talked to Robert in PR yet?”

  “I was about to call him.”

  “Get him on the phone ASAP. You need to offer one-on-one interviews to every thought-leader that matters. Sit with the Times, the Journal, Business Week, Bloomberg. Call Robert and have his team arrange those interviews for you today. As in the next hour. This is a hot story—people will jump at the chance to have at you. My advice is the same as it was yesterday—keep your focus positive, on point, and upbeat, because that’s where it needs to be. The mark
et has overreacted. Wenn has too much going for it not to be a buy. Wenn is a blue-chip stock. Getting the press on board for interviews this morning and afternoon shouldn’t be an issue. But listen to me here—limit each interview to thirty minutes. They’re going to be hungry to get to you. What you need to do is to serve them your message via their questions. If you’re asked something that seems unfair, deflect it—and spin it. Does that sound workable for you?”

  “I can handle that.”

  “I know you can.”

  “But we have an event to go to tonight.”

  “I know we do—Henri Dufort’s party. Given what happened on his rooftop with Jake Kobus, who nearly killed me, I’d rather not go back there. But things have changed. Jake is dead. Gordon Kobus is out of our lives. So I think we should go forward with it for a key reason. Now is not the time to back out of anything as high profile as this event. Now is not the time to disappear from sight. Instead, we must follow through with all commitments, and show the world that, as Wenn’s CEO, you are not even flinching at the drop in Wenn’s stock. The party isn’t until eight. If Robert puts out feelers now, you’ll have a full morning and afternoon of interviews. The board will see that you’ve made a significant effort. They’ll be pleased that you did. They’ll see that you’re not taking this lying down. When you’re finished with the interviews, we’ll have something quick to eat, and then we’ll get ready for the party.”

  “With the entire board in town, you do realize that most—if not all—of them will be at Henri’s tonight? They’re all friends with him.” He rolled his eyes. “But who isn’t friends with that man?”

  “Well, he is likable. And he is Henri Dufort.”

  “True enough.”