The Billionaire's Board

by Lark Anderson

  Others are chiming it, but it isn’t until Lindel speaks up that I hear anyone making any sense.

  “Now, how do we know we aren’t going to end up with some obsolete tech again,” Lindel says, raising a valid concern.

  Over the years, the trap Icor Tech fell into time and time again was wasting money on technology and software that was eventually rendered obsolete. Initially, we wanted to be first movers, getting the products before the competition, and at a discount. The number of times we were burned and the dollars wasted—uncountable.

  The mouse clears her throat, forcing her voice louder. “Expressions is owned by Fingor Inc., and as we all know, they aren’t going anywhere. Expressions also solves seven of the Ten most common complaints raised by people working with Telwire. If anything, Fingo—”

  “You’re probably having us look at a small snapshot of what, the last two years?” I interject.

  “If you look at the papers I handed out, you will see it’s been going on for five. Five long years of lackluster performance, and five years before that of merely adequate. And from what I see, they don’t have anything scheduled to launch. They’re basically staying afloat.”

  I look around, gauging support from my fellow board members—from Lindel. She looks deep in thought, pursed lips, brows drawn in. She never speaks unless she’s had time to thoroughly mull that data.

  Barry is red-faced, fist pressed to stomach. Damnit, Barry has gas again, which means he’s not paying attention. At least not to us. He’s probably paying considerable attention to his clenched spinster. If there was ever a reason to clear out the boardroom, it was Barry’s gas.

  “Gabriel might want to see this,” Tom finally says.

  “Why? So he can upgrade the bathroom to cleansing butt wipes?” I say.

  The girl starts to sputter, and I know it’s time to close in and pounce, but then Tom speaks up.

  “I think we need to get Gabriel on the line.”

  The boardroom falls silent.

  No one can come out and say, “No, don’t call that idiot,” but it’s what we’re all thinking.

  Maxwell Icor was a genius, but his son fell a little further from the tree than expected, and because of that, Gabriel cannot be trusted.

  The monitor flickers, Gabriel’s face filling the screen.

  Damnit!

  “What’s up?” he asks casually.

  He’s the damn CEO of Icor Tech answering a business matter with ‘what’s up?’ I sure do hope Maxwell Icor is not haunting these halls.

  “Gabe,” Lindel enthuses. “How are you doing?”

  Lindel acted as a mother to Gabriel, but unfortunately, for as much time as Gabriel spent with the cunning woman, he didn’t take on many of her qualities. Still, he was like a son to her. Her own granddaughter had dated him, and boy did Lindel have strong words with her when she broke it off.

  “I’m well. Sorry, I couldn’t make it to the meeting. I’m a little busy as of late.”

  “Gabe, we have a program manager here, Remi Stone, and she has a proposal, and I gotta tell ya, I don’t think I’ve ever been so impressed before.”

  Tom’s looking at the mouse, or rather leering. He does enjoy himself a pretty woman, making his way through the New York City socialites at lightning speed, but he should know better than to look that way at an underling.

  “Well, what does she have for me, Tom?” Gabriel asks.

  I sigh, rather vocally. I’m not known to suffer silently.

  The mouse proceeds with the proposal, stopping to answer questions from time to time. I initially assumed most of the data was estimated, but it turns out, she actually called around to get most of the figures.

  Gabriel takes interest, asking way too many questions regarding something that should have been tabled immediately. The damn fool just likes to hear himself talk is all.

  Finally, Gabriel says, “I think it needs to be brought before a vote. It’s solid research and definitely headed in the right direction. Why don’t we give it two weeks to chew on?”

  Go before a vote? A vote? Damnit, they’re taking the mouse more seriously than I had anticipated.

  A vote such as this involves more than just the seven board members. It would involve the directors’ input as well. Countless man-hours will be lost on this endeavor. I can’t stay silent.

  “Not so fast!” I speak up. “Do you realize just what this will entail?”

  Tom smiles that ridiculous grin of his and says, “It looks like Remi’s done most of the research for us.”

  “I’ll say,” Gabriel says through the monitor. “I’m rather impressed by the slides and the accuracy of the data.”

  “I knew you’d want to see good work, Gabe,” Tom says, leering at the mouse.

  “Thank you for finding Ms. Stone. But looking at what she’s put together and her actual job description, well, needless to say, they don’t align.”

  Tom frowns, glaring at the monitor. “Well, I don’t think we should hold a go-getter attitude against her. Let’s not discourage innovation.”

  “Oh, certainly not. But as CEO, it’s clearly within my right to make adjustments to the org chart. And I must say, the position that suits Remi Stone best is director.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Remi needs better stress management…

  Oh, dear God, thank you for helping me make it out of there alive. What are you going to request of me? My firstborn child, not that I’ll ever get to consummate anything with how much time I spend at work, but there’s always the dream.

  I stand alone in the bathroom, hands clutching the sink. I fight the waves of nausea threatening to overwhelm me, but I’m losing, and bile fills my throat. I choke it down, not wanting to soil the executive bathrooms.

  I was only supposed to be an assistant. Nothing was said about me becoming a director.

  I just faced the entire board and a bunch of directors and told them they were working with dated systems.

  Then the head of the company, Gabriel Icor, got on the line and promoted me to a sea of mixed reactions. I just became public enemy number one to a bunch of powerful people, and the only ally I have, couldn’t bother to be there in person.

  Well, there was Tom. He seemed to be delighted in what I had to say and my promotion.

  The door opens, my breath catches in my throat. The last thing I need is to be caught off guard. I press the soap dispenser, filling my hand with too much suds, but I can’t help myself. I’m in a daze, shaking, and more than a little terrified.

  Oh, God! It’s Lindel Sampson!

  Lindel Sampson is a known woman, and not just around Icor Tech. She has a New York Times Bestselling novel out based on her life, one that I have read half a dozen times.

  At fifteen, Lindel dropped out of high school, taking odd jobs to help care for her eight brothers and sisters. When Maxwell first hired her, it was merely to bring them coffee and take memos. Since she was black, not as many people were willing to hire her, so she worked for scraps.

  But when Maxwell started to show earnings, he paid her double the average salary for her position, and eventually, she became part of the board. When Maxwell talked, the world listened, and he said in front of everyone that his company would not be where it was without Lindel. And now, here I am crying just thinking about it.

  “You okay?” Lindel says, eyes narrowed.

  My jaw drops.

  Lindel Sampson is talking to me, Remi Stone, who has worked at Icor Tech for just over two years. Lindel Sampson, who wasn’t afforded the benefit of a college education—a high school education—yet helped grow an empire, is talking to me.

  I can’t say anything. I can only stare. Now, she’s looking worried, gazing at me critically, and I realize what a creep I’m being.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally say.

  “Sorry for what? Your rudeness?”

  “Yes, I mean, I just can’t believe I’m in here with—”

  “Lindel Sampson. You think I don’t get th
at everywhere I go? You should see me walking into inner-city high schools. They scream louder for me than they do for Justin Bieber, but that’s not what I’m here to talk about.”

  “Pardon?” I look at her, confused.

  “You go waltzing into that boardroom, telling your superiors about their inefficiencies, end up sweeping the room—getting a director position.”

  “I’m sorry? Oh, gosh—”

  “Why you sorry for? That shit is rude as hell, but do you think I got to my position by being polite?”

  I stare at her blankly, unsure of what she’s getting at.

  “Look, what I’m trying to say is don’t go all acting like everyone’s friend. You aren’t. If Gabe hadn’t been wired in, you would have been chewed up and spit out. We’d all be laughing, talking about how you came on into our room, our board, and told us how to run things.”

  I stare at her, even more confused than I was a moment before if that’s even possible. Everything she says seems to contradict itself, and I’m left unsure of what to say in return.

  “I don’t like you, but I don’t dislike you. Ya got that going for ya. People like you come and go. Bright young things. But if this idea of yours turns out to be bad, to be a fluke, based on a little blip in the radar—well, you’ll be leaving Icor Tech and flipping burgers at McDonald’s.”

  I’m unsure of whether Lindel’s giving me a warning or issuing a threat.

  “Dry your damn hands,” Lindel says and turns to exit the bathroom.

  I mull over her words, and suddenly, I can no longer keep the bile at bay. I rush to a stall, narrowly missing the floor as my stomach overturns.

  When Gabriel asked me to keep his knowledge of my presentation a secret, I thought it was to allow me to retain credit and make it less likely people would think he manipulated the data.

  I had not expected him to elevate me to the position of director. I merely thought I was getting a slight promotion to work on similar projects. And I certainly didn’t expect the chaos that ensued.

  I had to stand there in a sea of angry voices, Tom being the only shelter in the storm. I honestly don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t calmed the crowd.

  My phone vibrates, and I pull myself up from my kneeling position, turn, taking a seat on the toilet. It’s a text from Gabriel Icor himself.

  Gabe: You did great!

  I wanted to throw my phone in the trash—no—in the toilet. I’m so angry, but I have no idea where to direct it towards. I mean, Gabriel gave me a director position—at twenty-three! I had thought it was a big deal when I became a program manager at twenty-three, but that’s nothing compared to becoming a director. I should be thanking Gabriel, but with the way the position was presented, I can’t help but want to go back to being a program manager.

  Remi: Thanks.

  What else am I supposed to say? I can’t just ignore him. After all, judging by what the other directors make, he did just give me a six-figure raise.

  Gabe: Would you join me for coffee Friday morning?

  Coffee? Gabriel Icor would like me to join him for coffee?

  It’s almost too much, and I fear I’ll be found dead, slumped over on a toilet seat. Forever the joke of Icor Tech. I’ll be like that ghost haunting the bathroom in Harry Potter.

  I recall the way his blue jeans sat on his hips, his sexy saunter, his taut muscles.

  He’s your boss! Stop this! Stop it now! You don’t want to be sitting in meetings, undressing him as he’s giving a presentation.

  But…that’s exactly what I want to do. I mean, what heterosexual woman wouldn’t want to have sex with Gabriel Icor? He’s charming, hot, muscular, and sexy as hell. And—a billionaire! The question is, why would he want to have sex with me?

  He has taken an interest in you.

  I dare to dream for just a moment. Gabriel looking at me with lust-filled eyes, taking off his shirt, his pants, his—

  Then reality hits.

  It’s because you’re a genius, nitwit.

  Oh yeah, of course. How could I forget? For a moment, I had dared hope that he just might fancy me, but that would be absurd. I mean, Gabriel Icor has dated supermodels. There is no chance he’d ever want anything more than a professional relationship with me.

  He’s my boss. I must say yes, I tell myself, but I really don’t need convincing. Gabe is a perfect 10 in looks and smarts. Of course, I want to have coffee with him.

  Remi: Sure.

  Gabe: Great! I’ll show you your new apartment next week. I’m having it readied for you.

  New apartment? That’s right, Icor Tower houses several suites at the upper levels reserved for board members and select directors. I guess I’m going to get to move.

  Right now, I’m living off of just over 500 square feet, my monster cat Kibbles claiming around 150 of it for herself. With any luck, I might gain a few hundred.

  Remi: There’s something I haven’t told you.

  Gabe: Oh? Do you have a fiancé or something? If he passes the background check, you’re welcome to have him come live with you.

  Remi: No, it’s not that. It’s worse.

  Gabe: Oh, dear, what is it? Are you some kind of sex offender? Damn it. I shouldn’t have ignored that vibe.

  Remi: No! It’s just that—I have a monster cat, bigger than Godzilla even.

  Gabe: How big can this cat possibly be?

  Remi: 30 lbs. It’s haunted by the ghost of my dead grandma. She’s ornery.

  Gabe: Well, you’re in luck, because if anyone can afford an exorcist, it’s me.

  Butterflies are fluttering in my stomach, making me giddy. I can’t believe how funny he is and that he’s wasting his jokes on me.

  Now, I just need to go back to my tiny office four floors down, pack up, and wait to be escorted to my new office.

  I shove my phone in my bra, cursing the fake pockets on my black pantsuit and exit the stall.

  Standing before me, clipboard in hand is what can only be described as a supermodel. At least five-foot-nine, flawless skin, and perfectly proportioned.

  “I hope you didn’t get any in your hair,” she says.

  “Pardon?” I reply.

  “Puke. I thought that was obvious.”

  I turn red, willing my legs to navigate around the woman to the sinks but fail entirely, and I stand there staring, mouth gaping like a fish.

  “So you’re Remi Stone?”

  I blink. She knows me. She’s been waiting for me. While I’ve been throwing up in the executive bathroom stall, this Amazon had been silently standing outside.

  “Was it Cregor? I bet it was Cregor. Shining beacon of antiquity that he is. You should have seen him after we toilet papered his office—he went ballistic! He wanted me fired.”

  My brows raise, my stomach is released from the iron grip clenching it. “You toilet papered his office?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but it was during a different time. Coffee wasn’t free, timecards were highly scrutinized, and toilet paper was so thin it was like wiping your ass with your bare hand.”

  I stare at her, unsure if she’s being friendly or sarcastic. Part of me wants to laugh, but if this woman ends up being a snake, I am quite positive she has awfully long fangs.

  “My name is Analise, by the way.” She holds out her hand, revealing a perfectly filed set of nails, then suddenly retracts it, a sneer crossing her face.

  “Yeah, maybe I should wait for you to wash your hands.”

  My legs grow bold, and I find myself navigating to the sink to take her suggestion. When I’m done, I turn back around to restart our introduction.

  I take her hand, shaking it with the firmness I hear is desired in the business world, but the sight of her grimacing lets me know I’m being way too over-ambitious.

  “I’m here to take you to your new office, and boy, are you lucky.” The side of her lip cocks up into a smirk.

  “How so?”

  “You’re up in the ‘Shark Tank.’”

  “The
Shark Tank?”

  “Yeah, the executive level.”

  “Can you tell me something?” I ask.

  “Sure thing.”

  “Am I on some kind of reality television show?”

  The pretty redhead scrunches her brow.

  “I mean, are there hidden cameras everywhere? Is Ashton Kutcher going to jump out and yell surprise? Because surely this has to be some kind of prank, and people are laughing at me from their televisions.”

  Analise’s eyes grow round. She blinks.

  “Or worse, is this the Truman Show? Has my whole life been some big joke?”

  She clears her throat, looking at her clipboard. Then she turns ever so slightly to the side, brings a hand up to her ear and says, “Lunchbox, Lunchbox—do you read?”

  What the hell is she doing?

  “Lunchbox, this is Pumpkin Spice, do you copy?”

  I stand there looking at her, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.

  “Lunchbox, we’ve been made. Repeat we’ve been made. Abandon ship”

  I laugh, realizing she is jesting, and for the first time, I see a genuine smile cross Analise’s face. I like her, even if she doesn’t like me. She’s not fake, and I’m pretty sure whatever her intentions are, she’ll make them quite clear. The devil you know is definitely better than the devil you don’t, and by the look on her face, I am assured she’s quite the demon.

  “Let’s get you up to your new office,” she says.

  I finally muster a smile. “Lead the way,” I say and follow her from the bathroom.

  CHAPTER 6

  Gabriel wants what he can’t have…

  I pace my office, just as my granddad had when he was my age, trying to fix company problems.