“We're handling the majority of the due diligence in-house,” Jeffrey explained. “But, as I mentioned earlier, some details specific to the telecom industry are beyond our expertise. Paying G&S ten million to uncover skeletons in closets and mistakes on balance sheets is money well spent.”
While I wouldn't hesitate to spend twenty-five million on a car, I hated wasting a dime when it came to my business. It was mostly a formality since the acquisition was practically a done deal, but Jeffrey was meticulous about covering our bases, and I appreciated it.
Glancing through the project description and the list of individuals involved, I slid the paper across the desk to him. Leaning back in my chair, I tossed the ball into the air.
I said, “Fine, whatever you think is best. Do you know anyone on the team Silverman is sending over?”
Jeffrey picked up the paper, placing it on top of the folder. Peering through his glasses at the list of names, he ran a finger down the list. “Yes, the senior people I’ve worked with before. Stan Robbins and Gianna Ruiz. Marco Gaines and Dennis Hunt I know by reputation. I don’t recognize this last name. She must be new. Carla Jameson.”
“I’ve never heard of Carla Jameson either,” I said. Catching the ball, I tossed it into the air again. “Did they send her resume?”
Jeffrey opened the folder, wet his finger, and fanned through the pages. “I have resumes on the key players. Let’s see… Carla Jameson. BA from Penn, MBA from Harvard. Graduated with honors last year.”
“Fresh meat,” I sighed.
Ignoring my remark, Jeffrey continued reading. “She joined Silverman right out of Harvard, so she has to be top-notch. She has been on several teams that have consulted for Silverman in the telecom field.”
“Did they send a picture? A link to her Facebook page perhaps?” I gave him a smirk. “She sounds attractive. I don’t think I’ve ever had a Carla.”
“This isn’t Match.com, for Christ's sake,” Jeffrey said, giving me a look over the top of his glasses. “They don’t submit photographs with the resumes.”
“Pity.” The ball went up and down.
He tucked the resume back into the folder, then cleared his throat. “Do me a favor, Alex,” he said with a sigh. “Keep your personal affairs in check this time, will you?”
Catching the ball in my right hand while looking at him, I put on a confused face. “Jeffrey, what are you talking about? My personal life is always in check.”
“Except when it’s inside some random woman that’s caught your fancy,” he said, rolling his eyes. Jeffrey had always considered himself to be like a wise uncle to me. He gave me the look you’d give a child with burnt fingers as you’re explaining why they shouldn’t have touched a hot stove eye.
He said, “Look, I know it’s not my place to tell you what to do.”
“Or who to involve myself with,” I added with a grin, shaking the ball at him. “Jeffrey, relax. Do you need to squeeze my ball?”
“Not even remotely funny,” he said, tugging off the glasses and tucking them inside his suit jacket. He blew out a long breath. “You know what I’m talking about. You can be with whoever you want in your private life, but this time, please, for me, don’t involve anyone that’s a part of this deal.”
I had a brief dalliance with the wife of the CEO of a company we had sought to acquire several years ago, and it caused quite a stir in the business world.
Alright, maybe “brief dalliance” is not the correct term. Her husband caught me in a compromising position with her right before the papers were to be signed.
Regrettably, the deal fell through.
Jeffrey never let me live it down.
Swinging my chair around and planting my elbows on the desk, I squeezed the ball between my hands and smiled. “But Jeffrey, if you can’t engage with your business associates, or their wives or daughters or girlfriends, who can you engage with? I mean, what’s the point of having all this money if I can’t be with whomever I want?”
“You’re worth two billion dollars, Alex. You can be with just about anyone you want. I’m just asking you to keep it discreet until we’re finished with this deal.”
I held up three fingers in a Scout’s salute. “Jeffrey, you have my solemn pledge that I will do my best to keep my personal life in check until this deal is done.”
“Wish I could believe that,” Jeffrey said. The phone in his pocket buzzed. He pulled it out and slid open the screen. “The team from Silverman & Stern are here. They’re waiting for us in the executive conference room. Come on, you need to meet them.”
I scowled at him. The only thing worse than slogging through extensive reports from pricey consultants was enduring face-to-face meetings with them.
Consultants, especially management consultants, irked me to no end. They exuded an air of arrogance and smugness, as if harboring some dreadful secret that could sabotage your business, only to reveal it once you wrote them a hefty check.
They were like leeches, feeding off thriving businesses because they lacked the wit to start their own.
They resembled little fish trailing behind sharks, scavenging scraps instead of charting their own course.
They were just so... consult-y.
You get the gist.
I loathed consultants.
And yes, I was using "fucking" as an adjective, not a verb.
Hmm... had I ever engaged with a consultant intimately? I doubted it, but there's always a first time.
I leaned back in my chair, propping my bare feet on the desk. Jeffrey winced at the dirty soles of my feet.
As the second in command, he preferred three-piece suits. I, being the boss, typically strolled into work in worn jeans, sneakers, and t-shirts.
I picked up my phone and wiggled my toes at him. “You deal with the Silverman people. I’m waiting on the call about the Ferrari.”
“Alex, they’re here to meet with both of us,” he said, shoving my feet to the floor. He dusted off his hands and growled at me. “Now put on your damn shoes and let’s go. And behave yourself.”
“You're such a buzzkill,” I said, searching under my desk for my sneakers. By the time I found and put them on, Jeffrey had already left the room.
I grabbed the stress ball and leisurely caught up.
Carla
“Okay, let me handle the discussion when they arrive,” Stan Robbins instructed, lowering his voice and gesturing at the rest of us seated at the table.
In his fifties, tall and gaunt, with thinning hair, Stan often ingratiated himself with clients, occasionally going a bit too far. As the senior telecom consultant at Silverman & Stern and my immediate boss, he had a penchant for sticking his sharp nose where it didn't belong.
Gianna Ruiz, a disgruntled woman in her forties, stood out as Stan's second-in-command. Unusually thin, her clothes hung off her like a hanger. She loathed everyone except Stan, and if she weren't reporting to him, she'd probably despise him too. The power couple of Silverman when it came to telecom, together they possessed over fifty years of industry experience, leading the team in the final due diligence for Herron Enterprises’ acquisition of Levington Telecommunications.
Marco Gaines, a forensic accountant, sat next to Gianna with his hands neatly folded on the table. Balding and resembling a mortician, Marco could uncover financial skeletons in the darkest corporate closets.
Between Marco and me sat Dennis Hunt, Silverman’s legal expert in the telecom sector. Much shorter and older than me, Dennis was rumored to be capable of sleeping with his eyes open during meetings. I kept an eye on him, waiting for any sign that he was nodding off.
I was there because of my experience on several telecom teams in the past year. My input was valued, but I wasn't deluding myself. I was the junior member, the one fetching coffee, donuts, and making copies of documents. Most of Gianna’s disapproving stares would be directed at me.
That suited me just fine. In a few years, I'd be in Stan’s position, raking in a hefty paycheck, and some other newcomer would be doing the grunt work.
A tall, distinguished man with salt and pepper hair entered the room, and Stan hurried to shake his hand. Recognizing him from my research as Jeffrey Costas, Alex Herron’s former professor at MIT and his right-hand man for the past decade, I knew he would be our main contact for the project.
Stan introduced Costas to the team. Costas greeted everyone with a warm smile and a handshake, though his eyes lingered a bit longer on me than on the others.
I immediately questioned my decision not to tie my long hair into a more professional bun. I hated how self-conscious men could make me feel with a simple glance.
Dressed in a dark blue suit and grey top, I tried to look professional. My ample assets were squeezed into a bra that aimed to make them appear smaller, and I wore minimal makeup and jewelry.
Yet, Costas continued to glance at me as if I were a fox trying to infiltrate his henhouse. He took the chair at the end of the table, sitting across from Stan, and finally released me from his gaze.