His phone buzzed. It was Uncle Frank. Joel wanted to ignore the call, but realized it wasn’t close to being a viable choice. He answered, prepared to deal with his temporary despair.
“I’ve spoken to your investors and they’re standing by the missed deadline.”
“Only twenty-five minutes late? You can’t be serious.”
“I couldn’t be more serious. This is a done deal. Pay up, transfer the Southern division as the late fee, and you’re done. That’s what they want.”
“That’s not doable,” Joel told his uncle.
Uncle Frank snickered. “Are you kidding? This is not up for discussion. Don’t you get it? You lost this round. Take the money and bow out gracefully while they’re still nice about it. You don’t want to form a bad relationship with your partners right off the bat,” he said, roaring in laughter. “Show some diplomacy. Look, I have to go check on my retirement. Your father didn’t leave me much money and you fired me, so I’ve been forced to fend for myself. So thank you for the contribution. I should be able to sustain a modest lifestyle until you present the next opportunity for me.”
Joel wasn’t amused. He was frustrated about allowing himself to be reduced to the source of Uncle Frank’s jokes. “Sure you don’t want me to come back as chief financial officer?” The question didn’t deserve a response. “I’ll take your silence as a no, for now anyway.” His uncle stopped laughing long enough to say, “I’ve proven that I can get creative financing deals done under the most precarious circumstances.”
“No doubt that’s why you were fired.”
“Touché, young nephew. I’d love to keep chatting with you but I have other business that requires my expertise. There are those who value me.” Joel couldn’t see him but could imagine his smirk.
“Uncle, before you go,” Joel said, agonizing over the hit his pride was about to take. There was no choice. “Can you please ask your investors—”
Uncle Frank interrupted, “Let’s be clear, they’re not my investors. They’re yours.”
“Fine, whatever. I’ll need ninety days before I can publicly announce the sale of the Southern division.”
“You’re asking a lot.”
“Just do it, Frank,” he said, tossing aside the smidgen of respect he’d reserved for his uncle. “I paid you three million dollars. Earn your money.” Joel was not willing to be totally lamblasted by his uncle’s antics. Doom crept in while he was on the phone and sat patiently waiting for him to terminate the call. Joel paid no attention. He was frantic to come up with a plan to save himself and DMI, a feat growing more difficult by the second.
chapter
58
Don didn’t let Naledi out of his sight. Joel was lurking and couldn’t be trusted with decorum when it came to a radiant woman, available or not. He couldn’t stop Joel from going after Abigail. Naledi was off limits. “Do you have a few minutes?” Don asked Abigail after they’d chatted near the elevators. Joel had already left.
“Sure,” she said, letting her gaze roam up and down Naledi’s frame.
Don wasn’t oblivious to the simmering tension Abigail had previously expressed toward Naledi, but there wasn’t much to do about it. Abigail motioned for them to follow her into the office. Each person took a seat inside the office, Naledi near Don, and Abigail at her desk.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Abigail,” Naledi said. Don wanted to close his eyelids and listen to her speak, with her voice flowing like a song, tranquility he didn’t always have but appreciated. Having her in Detroit was an added blessing, one he didn’t take lightly. She inspired him to keep working hard.
“How long are you going to be in town?” Abigail asked.
“I have not yet decided,” Naledi said, gazing at Don.
Abigail tried to keep her expressions plain. Don didn’t have to know how she truly felt about having another woman visiting. She and Don weren’t an item, but she still found it difficult to grapple with Naledi being on her turf. Between LTI and DMI, Don had plenty of work with no time for distractions.
“Don thinks very highly of you,” Abigail said, and Naledi blushed.
“More than you know,” he told Naledi.
Naledi shifted her gaze away from Don for a dot of a second and had it right back on him. His gaze didn’t fluctuate much either. She seemed to have a legitimate eye for him. The friendship half of Abigail was thrilled for him. The rest wasn’t. The two had to spar it out before she could declare a sole winner and then be able to react.
Sitting in her office among two starry-eyed gazers wasn’t the most ideal way for Abigail to spend her spring afternoon, especially when one of the gazers was Don. But she would smile, and be courteous and accommodating.
“Excuse me for a minute. I have to make one call.” Don turned to Naledi. “Will you be okay here for a few minutes? I’ll go quickly and come right back. We can see my mother for a few minutes and then get you settled into the hotel.”
Goodness, did he really need to secure her safety? Naledi was a grown woman. Surely she would be okay for a while without Don. Abigail wanted to jump in but opted to keep quiet, choking on the excessive doting.
Don left and Naledi stayed. Abigail didn’t have much to say and kept letting her gaze shift away. She didn’t need to be constantly reminded of Naledi’s striking looks. She didn’t know much about the woman other than what Don had told her. Basic courtesy spurred her to strike up a conversation and eat up the time. “How long will you be here with us?”
“I’m not certain, but I’m here for Don. I’ll stay for as long as he needs me.”
Abigail wanted to gag. “Sounds like you put a lot into LTI.”
“I’m committed to LTI and to Don.”
“So, you’re not married?”
“Oh no, not yet.”
“Excuse me for asking such a personal question, but the way your face lit up, there must be a special someone in your life.”
“There is, that’s why I’m here.”
“Who, you mean Don?” Abigail shared a nervous laugh, not finding the discussion funny at all. “He’s married to his work, never having time for romance.”
“Maybe that was true in his past when he was here. It is not so true back home. He appreciates loyalty and it is what I am most freely willing to give him.”
“You’re right, he does value loyalty. That’s probably why we’ve maintained a close relationship for so many years.”
“Yes, he has shared with me that his past was quite turbulent and he looks forward to a new future with a new perspective. Hopefully that’s what I provide, a fresh perspective.”
Oh no, Abigail thought, Naledi wasn’t trying to lay claim to Don. South Africa was a long ways for Naledi to come and get her feelings hurt. Abigail wanted to preserve Don in her corner, at least until she’d recovered from the heartbreak. Abigail needed her friend and he had to be free to think clearly with no distractions from the likes of Ms. Universe. Circumstances had claimed Joel, but it wasn’t going to be able to pry Don away so easily. Her time with Don would come if it was meant to be. This time, there wouldn’t be the pining and hoping. She’d learned a valuable lesson with Joel. If any man was interested in pursuing her, he had to make the investment in her, and her alone. She was no longer willing to carry the bulk of the relationship without equal input. Sharing was out. For now, her newly refined guidelines rendered Don a friend. But that didn’t mean being around Naledi or hearing her name constantly flow from Don’s lips was going to be well received. She could guarantee that it wasn’t.
chapter
59
As long summer days approached, Joel wasn’t able to hide from the sunlight blasting into the room so late in the day. Back at home, he was sequestered in the library, tucked away in the corner chair, away from the primary line of sight into the hallway in case anyone walked by. He longed for a break, a piece of quiet, not to be surrounded by the constant chattering of people wanting this and that, telling him no, hounding his
every move. Tired, he leaned his head against the high back on the chair. Sleep wasn’t his intent, but he wouldn’t turn it away.
The quagmire of being lodged between rest and weary wasn’t a place he had visited in the past, not when he was on top with his mounds of wealth, women, and wisdom. The race to victory was faltering. The image of Don, Abigail, and Naledi hounded him, relentlessly nipping at his heels. They wouldn’t leave him alone, serving as a constant reminder of how much Don was succeeding at the expense of Joel’s despair. Losing was bad enough, but worse, to somebody like Don, a person he’d already knocked out in an earlier round. His struggle couldn’t slip any further into the abyss for fear of being unrecoverable.
“Excuse me, sir, are you joining us for dinner?” the new cook asked.
Joel slowly opened his eyelids and said no. “Tell Zarah to go ahead without me.”
“Yes, sir, would you like for me to wrap up a plate for you and set it in the refrigerator before I leave?”
“No, I’m not hungry. But you could do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Could you please join Zarah for dinner again tonight?”
“Sure, it will be my pleasure. I have a few more hours left anyway. Thank you for the offer.”
“No,” Joel said, sitting up. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. I’ll make sure there’s a little something extra in your pay.”
“That won’t be necessary. You explained to me when I started earlier this week that my job is to prepare dinner each night and to make myself available to Mrs. Mitchell in your absence.”
“I know but I want to thank you,” he told the cook as she left. He claimed a sense of satisfaction in knowing there was at least one decision he’d made that was working as planned. Zarah had a companion, some of the best money he’d ever spent. Joel returned to his position in the chair, head leaning back and eyelids closed. Peace was not his. He understood that and didn’t search for it. Instead, he retreated to the place where his strength was never questioned. Sheba was his single source of pure companionship and unadulterated passion. She had a way about her that sparked his juices. Every time he left Sheba, Joel was recharged, ready to take on the world. She was what he yearned for, especially now, a boost to the one area reserved for his unquestioned success and charisma.
Feeling alive for the first time in days, Joel sprang to his feet, preparing to make the flight plans for a quick Chicago trip. Zarah met him at the doorway.
“I would like to eat dinner with you.”
“I’m not hungry,” he said, squeezing past her.
“I can wait,” she said, trailing him.
“No, don’t do that. I have to go out of town for a quick trip.”
“Can I go?”
“No.” He and Sheba didn’t need any company. “The cook is going to have dinner with you.” He approached his office.
“Yes, but I have not had dinner with you this week. I miss my family,” she said, erupting into uncontrolled sobs.
He considered comforting her but was afraid the gesture would give the wrong impression and delay his chance to catch the last flight out to Chicago. “That’s why I’ve offered to send you home for a few weeks or a month to be with your father and to see your family,” he said, entering the office and hustling to the desk.
“I will honor my father’s wish.”
She’d said that repeatedly, and he’d heard it, but there wasn’t any harm in asking again and again. Optimism wasn’t totally lost.
Forget about her father, he thought. Joel had kept his end of the bargain down to the last detail. Musar made a bunch of promises and showered a ton of false hope only to be hanging on with a selfish shred of life. After forfeiting the Southern division to Uncle Frank’s boys, Joel didn’t want to hear or need to hear much about Musar. The deed was done and Musar was the clear winner, getting everything he wanted—the merger, the West Coast division, and probably, most important to him, a husband for his daughter. Well, she might have a husband but the marriage wasn’t going to have him. Musar wasn’t going to have a clean sweep.
Zarah’s sobs continued. It wasn’t easy to listen to her but his escape routes were limited. He went to her, laid his arms around her shoulders for a hot second, and released. A couple of nights he’d considered performing his marital duties, but there was nothing for him, no spark, no passion, not even a dab of satisfaction. They were exactly what the contract stated, an arrangement. Joel grabbed his PDA and scrolled feverishly down the list, looking for the number to reserve the corporate jet. Zarah remained at the door sobbing. There wasn’t much time. He had to reserve the plane, and if it wasn’t available the next option was to book a flight from Detroit Metro. Either way, he was getting to Sheba tonight. Worst case, he’d hit the road and see if she could meet him in Kalamazoo again. He wanted, no, had to have the reassurance she provided, the gumption that said he was still the man who could woo women like bees to a garden of pollen-filled roses.
chapter
60
Joel traipsed to the boardroom having little to no interest in dealing with Madeline today. Maybe another quick junket to Chicago was the medicine he craved. It had been two weeks since the last trip, and his shot had worn off. The pain of sitting in a meeting with a bunch of sniveling whiners who didn’t have the vision required to resurrect DMI was draining. Joel entered the room and they were there, sitting, not thinking, just taking up space and eating away his time like a disease. The chatter died down as he approached the conference table. “I see you’re all here.”
“As always, we’re here. It’s you that’s usually missing.”
“Good to see you, too, Madeline,” he said, not willing to let her disrupt the smidgen of tranquility he was clutching. She smirked and tapped that same pen, the one that drove him crazy. He was sure she knew it. That’s probably why she did it. “Let’s get started,” he said, directing his gaze onto Abigail. The tension between them had lessened, not from any changes he’d made. Basically she avoided him. Except for extremely important matters, she didn’t seek him out for day-to-day conversations. Joel reflected on his situation, too disturbed to laugh it off and too proud to let it show. He was a man who couldn’t go home and couldn’t stay at work.
Abigail passed around the monthly report.
Madeline picked it up and let it sail to the table like a sheet of paper flying in the air. “Awfully thin,” she said. Joel would let her continue needling and nagging. He wasn’t going to lose composure this time. She wasn’t going to win. “Oh, that’s right,” she said, “the report is one division short. Is your wife or Mr. Bengali going to present the West Coast update?”
“Neither,” Joel said and let the sarcasm pass.
“Is Brian on the call?” Abigail asked, checking off names as she scanned the room.
He chimed in as Joel spoke. “As I’ve stated at the last two meetings, the West Coast will continue operating in its current structure and with the same management team until otherwise decided.”
“That makes no sense,” Madeline said. “It’s owned by another party.”
“That’s right,” Joel responded. “There will be one difference. The division will have its own profit and loss statement. It will be treated as a subsidiary under the DMI umbrella. George is breaking out the financial reporting structure as we speak and it should be ready before our next meeting.” Madeline balked. It didn’t bother him. The room of people didn’t have to know that he was really depending on Musar’s death to reclaim ownership of the West Coast division very soon, and that changes wouldn’t be required at least for that division. He continued, hopeful. “In the meantime, it is business as usual for the West Coast.”
“Now that’s a problem,” Madeline said, “because we’re short on business around here.” The room of attendees stirred. “Barry, are you on the call?” Madeline said, leaning forward, closer to the tabletop intercom phone. “You better speak up before your Midwest division gets sold, too.”
Madeline couldn’t find out prematurely about the Southern division already being lost. If he had a choice, he would have given Uncle Frank’s goons the East Coast instead of the South. He could have gotten rid of Madeline with the stroke of a pen, but her division was the strongest performer. So, there she sat, Madeline. “What do we have here?” Joel said, opening the report which was stapled in the corner. “I’m not accustomed to seeing the reports like this.”
“Like what?” Abigail asked in a seemingly defensive tone.
“Stapled like this,” he said, fanning the papers apart.
“We can’t waste money on fancy bound reports,” Abigail responded.
“We have to cut costs somewhere,” Madeline interjected. “We should consider bringing a few flashlights in to have around the office, in case it gets dark around here,” she said, letting her voice trail off into a low tone.
“Let’s hear the East Coast update.” He’d rather die a brutal death than tell Madeline that he admired her business prowess. If there was going to be good news in the numbers it would be from her division.
“I should have brought an extinguisher, because this report is hot.” Madeline tossed her gaze toward Joel. “Don’t you think it’s time to call it a day and step down? You have a wife and other matters that demand your attention.”
Ignoring her might work. Nothing else had come close.
“My division had a slight drop in revenue and a few major accounts opted out of renewing their contracts, but at least we didn’t totally lose them. They’re in good hands,” Madeline said.
“What do you mean” Joel asked. He’d heard rumors about business flopping to a competitor but didn’t have time to hire a consulting group and get to the bottom of what was going on. He’d find out in due time. For now, he wanted to rebuild quickly, stop the massive client exodus, and establish a new base.
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