by Linda Coles
At precisely 12.10 pm, he heard Sebastian before he saw him, exuberantly greeting the maître d' by name and patting his shoulder affectionately. He knew many of the staff by name; after all, he ate lunch there several times a week in order to impress whoever he was with. From the corner of his eye, Jason saw him approach his table, then make a beeline off to the left to exchange back-slaps with a man at another table. He sipped at his glass of water and pretended not to be aware of him.
“Jason!” boomed Sebastian at last. Jason felt a meaty paw clap him heartily on the shoulder.
“Sebastian,” he said, fighting to keep his voice cordial. He watched as Sebastian took his place at the table, unfolded his napkin onto his lap and then sat back, a fake smile set firmly on his lips , dazzlingly bleached teeth just visible, and looking pleased with himself. A young waiter appeared at his shoulder and Sebastian ordered a large gin and tonic.
“What are you having, Jason?” he enquired.
“I’m fine with water, thanks.” Jason smiled at the waiter.
“Suit yourself. Now, what do you want to speak to me about?”
Jason was happy to get straight down to business. He’d assumed they’d order first, but this was fine, too; his stomach was in knots.
“I’ll get straight to the point, then.” He cleared his throat and carried on, massaging his glass of water, looking for strength in the glass. “I’m not happy about how things are running at Liberty-Lite since you took over as CEO. It’s not what I signed up for, and the debts are rising after such a big spend—a spend that you instigated and the rest of us had no say in but are all equally liable for. And since you’re not listed as a director of the company, you don’t have the same risk, because your shares are owned by the parent company. And that makes me, and the others, feel nervous that you have nothing to lose if it all falls apart. And the numbers say it’s headed in that direction.” A bead or two of sweat surfaced on his forehead as he finished, and he took a sip of water. He’d said it, politely but to the point. There was no way Sebastian could misunderstand what he’d said.
Sebastian stayed quiet as the waiter delivered his drink, then took a long sip before finally speaking. “So correct me if I’m wrong. What you’re saying is you don’t think I have the same vested interest in this succeeding, and that you don’t trust me? Is that about the crux of it?”
“You have no risk, and you’ve gone through all the working capital, leaving the company in bad shape. If you were at risk too, I think you might have done things differently, that’s all.” Jason could feel himself deflating even as he sensed Sebastian was revving up inside.
“You have to spend to accumulate, Jason. You must know that. You haven’t got to where you are now by not taking risks, have you?” He didn’t wait for an answer and ploughed on. “No, you haven’t. And to be fair, I’ve done this a good few times more than you have, so why don’t you leave the CEO side of the operation to the more experienced one?” Sebastian’s tone had changed dramatically from the jovial, chummy greeting of only a few minutes ago, and his eyes flashed angrily.
Jason kept his voice level; he wanted to have it out with Sebastian, yes, but not by letting it turn into a public slanging match. “Look, all I’m saying is our agreement is not balanced anymore. When Brian was CEO, he consulted us all equally and joint decisions were made, but now? It’s a far cry from any joint decision with the rest, and we feel railroaded as well as worried for our personal financial security. Most of us have had to re-mortgage our homes and the debts that are mounting all carry personal guarantees from us all. All except you.”
“Well, I can hardly change that, can I? Maybe it was a better decision to use a company to buy my shares. Maybe you should have sought better advice before getting in with this.”
Looking across the table at him, Jason detected his mask of smugness and it annoyed him. “And just how could we have done that, Sebastian? Eh? We don’t all have the funds to just do what you did. We had to raise our own money against our homes. The banks needed guarantees if we ever defaulted. Your other company bought your shares, fifty-one percent of Liberty-Lite in fact, and I suspect that will be well protected some way down the tangled set-up keeping you safe. And to be quite honest,” Jason continued, getting more and more revved up, “I feel set up.” There: he’d said it all. He could feel himself shaking with anger, and hoped it wasn’t showing.
“Well, I’m not changing a thing. My agreement is structured properly, and my business acumen is sound. If you don’t like it, Jason, I suggest you find an alternative buyer for your shares and present the buyer to the board. As per the agreement.”
“You know there’s no way on this earth anyone would want to buy the shares with the company in such a mess. How exactly do you propose I do that?” He was beginning to boil inside.
“That, Jason, is not my concern.”
He smiled in an almost bored manner, and Jason couldn’t stand it any longer. Leaping up from his chair, he leaned over into Sebastian’s face and shouted, “You’re just scum, Sebastian Stevens. Scum! And I’ll have no part of being in business with you. I’ll find a way to get out of this—just you watch me.” He picked up the remains of his glass of water and threw it in his face, then turned on his heel, leaving Sebastian to mop himself up with his napkin.
A hush had fallen over the restaurant, and as he headed for the exit, he swore he heard a male voice quietly say, “Bravo.”
Exiting the lift in the lobby, he made a beeline straight for the bar in the corner and ordered the double whiskey he’d wanted earlier. Now he needed it to calm himself, to think over what to do next. Then he might just have another. Sitting in one of the private booths, the leather seats helping to cool him, he rested his head back and breathed deeply, replaying the whole damn conversation in his head. There he sat for the next two hours, deep in thought, ignoring his telephone, ignoring the rest of the world. If there was one lesson he’d learned from all this, it was that he should never have invested in anything with such a small shareholding and one person holding the majority chunk. He knew there was no way to sell his shares, and the only idea he’d come up with was to sell them back to Sebastian. But he doubted he’d go for it. With the company in such bad shape, Sebastian would stay well away from them, just like any other intelligent prospective buyer. And if he was right with his suspicions, Sebastian wouldn’t want to buy more of something that was worthless, no matter how cheaply he was willing to sell his shares. Jason leaned his head back against the leather seat and groaned softly, then signalled the waiter for another whiskey. He was well and truly screwed.
Chapter Thirty-Two
He’d been embarrassed like that before, though usually by a woman, Sebastian mused as he dabbed himself with his napkin, a waiter hovering at his shoulder trying to assist. He’d seen people looking as he did so, and had laughed it off. Sebastian’s reputation travelled well ahead of him. Not all of those looks had been in support of him, though; he knew many of the other diners were probably applauding his adversary, but he didn’t much care. He’d gone on to order his lunch regardless, placing a fresh napkin on his lap. He wasn’t going to be driven out of the restaurant by someone like Jason, and since his thick skin was as hard as an elephant’s, what people thought didn’t particularly bother him. And he knew what was about to happen anyway, so there was no point trying to pacify Jason and the rest of the licensees. He’d already started to move the few assets Liberty-Lite held across to the parent company, of which he conveniently owned 100%. The sale of the main licence was the next thing on his agenda. Given that Liberty-Lite then didn’t own the license at all, was no longer the licensor, how could it then let each of the men operate their businesses as licensees? Jason and the others would each have a worthless piece of paper and a whole lot of money problems. There would be no license. Sebastian chuckled to himself as he dabbed at a spot of sauce on his lips, knowing full well how it was going to go down, the ruckus and disappointment turning to anger, follow
ed by resentment. Under his breath, he added, “And maybe a spot of conniving, I expect. I’d better watch my back.” Though he was chuckling again at the thought of someone getting their own back on him.
Having finished his meal, he stood, placed his napkin on his plate, and headed for the door, ignoring the sensation of dozens of eyes on his back.
By the time Sebastian had reached the office, the wheels had been set in motion. One telephone call was all it had taken to destroy not just Jason’s life, but the lives of the other four men involved. By five o’clock tomorrow night, they’d no longer have the right to operate their businesses. If anyone looked at his dealings from the outside, it was a simple business transaction that made sense because Liberty-Lite hadn’t made any money for some time and was haemorrhaging cash. If they took a closer look from the inside, though, his methods would probably raise some eyebrows, but were still within the legal boundaries—just.
“Afternoon, Georgia,” he said brightly, a cheery smile replacing the tense look that had been in place just an hour or so ago.
While Georgia had the good sense not to mention it, she wondered what had happened at lunch with Jason today. No doubt she’d hear about it soon enough.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jason watched the conversation on The Daisy Chain, his favourite local community site, while he half-heartedly ate fish and chips straight from the paper on his dining room table—alone. He’d already had his fill, in more than ways than one, both with his meeting at lunchtime with the wanker Sebastian, and now with his dinner. He’d fancied fish and chips after an afternoon of feeling sorry for himself and going overboard with the whiskey. His housekeeper had prepared a wonderful-smelling chicken casserole that was in the oven keeping warm, but he’d wanted comfort food and that’s what he’d had. The chicken casserole would see another day. So there he sat, on his own, watching what was going on locally with some of his other friends, picking at chips he now didn’t want. He licked the salt and vinegar off his fingers and typed a response to Jordan’s comment about the new paper delivery boy and his inability to quite get the morning paper to the right house on time. It was a trivial matter, a first-world problem, but sometimes it was those problems that caused the most irritation. In the grand scheme of recent things that had happened to Jason’s world over the last few weeks, it was a minor blip, but he showed support to his friend anyway.
@Belfort, Just sack the paper and read the internet, buddy, it’s fresher news anyway. Cheaper too
His reply came back almost immediately.
@Jaybaby, I detect a note of something, my friend. Bad day perhaps?
Jordan had been born with a top-notch silver spoon in his mouth, not even a regular silver spoon and was one of the local elite businessmen. He’d done well for himself with his own company; he’d chosen to stay in sales out on the road himself and appointed someone else as the CEO. Someone he could trust.
“Know your strengths and your weaknesses and make sure you employ someone else to do the things you loathe,” had been Jordan’s advice once upon a time. The men he dealt with in his sales role got on famously with him and Jordan was a generous man to everyone. Unfortunately, he had the Midas touch in reverse when it came to women. They thought he was a grade one letch and he suffered trying to hold on to a girlfriend for more than a couple of dates. Truth be told, he really was a letch but no matter how many times his male friends had tried to talk to him about it and help direct his ways, he’d always brushed it off as nonsense. And so he was still single. Jason aspired to be just like him in business—his entrepreneurial spirit and technical know-how were legendary. But while Jason was definitely not a letch, he too hadn’t been successful in love.
@Belfort, You could say that. Disastrous lunch meeting then drinking whiskey to console. #Shitday
@Jaybaby, Youch. You need some company?
@Belfort, Nah, just feeling sorry for myself. Don’t want to spoil anyone else’s evening.
@Jaybaby from @McRuth, Bad day means chocolate. Works for me everytime. #familysizedblock
Jason smiled at Ruth’s reply: typical woman. Chocolate solved everything.
@McRuth, Unless Cadbury’s want to buy me out of a deal, I’ll need more than a family block.
@Jaybaby from @Belfort Oh, sounds serious. You sure a manly chat won’t help?
@Belfort, Thanks anyway. Fingers crossed for a miracle; otherwise I’ll be looking for lodgings before long. #Spareroomanyone
Jason put down the hot chip that he wasn’t going to eat and screwed the paper up with the remains of his supper inside. He couldn’t wait for the day to be over.
@Belfort and @McRuth, Early night for me, I reckon. Sweet dreams all.
Then he closed his laptop and took the remains of his evening meal outside to the rubbish bin, turning the oven off as he passed through the kitchen towards the back door. Maybe he’d feel better tomorrow; maybe things wouldn’t seem so bad, he thought sleepily.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jason woke with the mother of all hangovers pounding his temples. As he came round and realised his pain, he was surprised he’d even managed to fall asleep, having lain tossing and turning for what felt like most of the night. When his alarm clock had read 3.15 am, he’d contemplated getting up but had lain there thinking about events from the previous day. Now, with eyes as swollen as a bee sting underneath each one, he winced as he sat up in bed. His mouth felt like the floor of a dusty bird cage. He tried to moisten his lips.
“Hell, what did I drink so much for?” he said out loud, massaging both temples simultaneously. His clock now read 7.30 am, way past his normal get-up time of 6 am.
“Shit!” he exclaimed, and did his best in his pained state to dart from his bed to the shower. As he crossed the landing, he caught the smell of fresh coffee wafting up the stairs and even with his hangover, it smelled divine. His housekeeper, Mrs. Meadows, must be brewing herself a cup, not realising he was still in the house. Not that it mattered; she often helped herself to the Vietnamese blend he favoured. He’d bought her some for Christmas, but still, she helped herself when she was here.
A moment later, he was stood under the warm invigorating jets of his power shower, letting the needles do their best for his stiff shoulders while he rubbed shower gel over himself, hoping the strong fragrance would wake him up and wash away the stench of yesterday’s whiskey. He headed downstairs for a much-needed coffee. Mrs. Meadows glanced up from her paper at the unexpected intrusion in the kitchen. When she realised who it was, she jumped to her feet and stood looking like a rabbit caught in a headlight. He smiled at her distress.
“Morning, Mrs. Meadows,” he said. “Don’t look so scared. I’ve told you before to help yourself to coffee.”
She stuttered a little as she tried to speak. “I’m sorry, Jason. I didn’t know you were still home. I’ll get straight to work!” She stood to take her cup to the sink.
“No, stay and finish your coffee. I’m making one for myself. Do you want a top-up?”
Hesitating, she replied, “Yes, thanks, if you’re sure.”
Jason moved over to the kitchen counter, filled the tank with water, and added fresh coffee. The machine chugged into action; the strong aroma of coffee refilled the room and he savoured the smell again. He sat down at the kitchen table while he waited.
“Can I make you some breakfast?” Mrs. Meadows asked. “I must say, you look like you had a tough night. Your eyes are quite swollen. Is everything okay?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, but thanks for your concern.” He thought about it for a moment, and then added, “Well, I hope I can handle it. We’ll find out soon enough.”
“Well, in times of strife, my old mother used to say eggs on toast and tea sorts most of life’s dilemmas out. Would you care for some? I can soon whip up some scrambled eggs, put some food back in your stomach after the drink.”
She must have caught a whiff as he’d passed he
r. He hadn’t cleaned his teeth yet.
“Ah, still obvious, is it? Better have some eggs, then, but I’ll stick to coffee. I did have some fish and chips last night, though I didn’t eat much of it, to be fair.”
“Well, you stay sat down and I’ll make some breakfast for you. And you can reheat that chicken casserole for your dinner tonight. Can’t waste it. It will be quite alright.” Her gentle old hand brushed his shoulder as she got to work. She busied herself gathering eggs and cracking them into a bowl, then put two slices of bread in the toaster.
Jason smiled at her motherly dominance. Sometimes, she was just what he needed in his life. At 35 years old and still single, he welcomed her female influence in his life but as a self-proclaimed workaholic, there was little time for a full-on female relationship. Mrs. Meadows was his saviour. He opened the newspaper she had been reading and scanned the headlines, though it was pretty much the same each day. He didn’t know why he bothered with it anymore anyway; the up-to-date news was online as he’d said to Jordan last night. Still, kids needed a job to get started with and if no one bought papers, none would need delivering.
Five minutes later, she placed a plate of steaming scrambled eggs on hot buttered toast in front of him and he tucked in, surprised at how hungry he was. Even though his head was filled with worry, he felt a little better once he’d had his fill.
“Thanks for that. Your old mum is right. I feel better already.”
