You feel ass. Ugh, I wanna strangle him. It takes everything I have in me to remain seated and not give into that veryveryinsistent urge.
He seems to catch my drift—or the murderous intent I feel on the inside simply leaks through—because his face undergoes an awkward transformation from exuding confidence to looking unsure of the nonsense he’s said so far.
Yay, progress?
After a few moments of chanting mantras to calm myself down, I try again. “Your employees shouldn’t be affected by your company failing to accurately calculate the costs for building two new sites at the same time.” I was furious when I found out. One is in Seoul and one in Singapore, and if I had to guess, the screensavers currently gracing the massive projector screen are of both. “I am sure the revenue will more than make up that difference as soon as the hotels open.” Which is to happen in four months with two over-the-top posh events a week apart from each other, so all the rich assholes can attend both.
He’s playing with the spiral of the folder that was lying on the table when I came in, which tells me I’m on the right track. I’m not the most intimidating person in theworld, what with the hint of elegance in my features that I inherited from my mom, but he looks spooked. Out of his element, like I’ve pulled the rug out from under his feet and he landed on his bare ass.
Speaking of bare assess… His was a nicely sculpted ass, firm, exercised, like the rest of this Adonis’ body. God, he was so sexy. So fucking perfect that night. Why did the world have to play such a cruel joke on me? He and I had an amazing time together and were never meant to run into each other again, but here he is. My number one nemesis.
“I… you make a valid point, of course,” he cuts off my inappropriate line of thought. He schools his features back to the way they were when he walked in, and in doing so, a sense of loss spreads through me. “But you have to keep in mind that this is a business. It is only natural to make the best decisions for it, even if some… areas might have to face extra challenges as a result.”
This is such corporate bullshit. “So, how will your business run if you have no employees to do the actual work?” I bark back, my mission now to make this idiot see the problem for what it really is, rather than the twisted crap he’s trying to feed me. “If the pay cuts are not resolved, people will go on strikes.”
There are two problems with doing that, but I play the card anyway because he is nowhere near a match for some of the people my mom and I have dealt with. First, a corporation as big as Devon Holidays can likely outsource much of those positions, hire third parties for cheap while the strikes last. Second, precisely because of the challenges people are facing, I am not confident a sufficient number of them would be willing to lose a fraction of their income so the strikes could last enough time to be effective. A coupleof days, maybe a week, that’s the most they’d be willing to do because the union fund can’t even cover basics.
Thinking my words through, he taps his fingers on the folder. “I do want to resolve it,” he says and for some reason I believe him and the flicker of determination I catch in those intense eyes as they lock with mine.
There is something mesmerizing about them, about the way that they are a window allowing me a glimpse of Alistair Devon’s soul hiding beneath the exterior of a billionaire’s son. It makes me think that there is more to him than just that label, that the man I met on that night can’t be a heartless snob.
To my arched eyebrow, he replies, “And I am aware there are things we, as a corporation, could be doing better. I believe we can do better. I… want to.” He sounds genuine if a little naïve, his smile still there but shier than before.
I wonder how long it would take him to lose it, to turn fully into someone who we, commoners, can only look at from afar. He would be unreachable then, no longer part of our world. It would be a shame when it inevitably happens, though I am not sure why that thought crosses my mind when he is nothing but an enemy I have to take down.
Still, it catches me off-guard a little, the fact that maybe I don’t want him to end up that way. That night is at fault, I’m convinced, the taste I had of him, the way he so easily gave me what I needed like it was the most natural thing. How could a person like that be evil? He read me so well, he took care of me… and selfish people just don’t do that.
Or… is this wishful thinking? Am I imagining things that just aren’t there because it feels like I might get my way? But those eyes—they are full of so many possibilities, ofideas I am not privy to, of thoughts and feelings that people at the top are incapable of possessing. I want to reach them, I am convinced I can, because I need this win desperately. Lives are on the line.
A deep breath precedes my small, hopeful smile. “So don’t roll out the pay cuts. I’m sure you can make budget adjustments elsewhere and make up for the extra costs that way.”
While he’s not technically the CEO yet, his word would carry weight and maybe enough of it so he could push for what we both know is the right thing.
I observe him, conscious of each small shift in his expression even if I’m having a hard time interpreting it correctly. Does he agree? Does he not? I’m positive I got through to him, but then again, you never know with these people. They are masters of acting, making you believe one thing while intending the exact opposite.
Alistair pulls out his phone and notes something down. “I think, yeah, that’s maybe something we could look into. There are a lot of considerations to make before I can ask the commission to reexamine the Union’s demands and revisit their stance. But, I’ll make sure to suggest that.”
My heart sinks, my hope crumbling. But I give him another chance. “Meaning?”
He produces a bunch of documents from the folder he was playing with and presents them to me. The commission’s outright rejection to the terms of my proposal glares at me with mocking satisfaction, red-stamped at the bottom of the paper.
I see red. This is not unusual, things never work out the first time, but the fact that Devon Holidays’ Union Commission senthim, a nobody,instead of someone whoactually matters, only shows how unwilling they are to hear me out.
“Maybe you could do a few amendments and resubmit? Like, you know, you could readjust your demands so they are more reasonable?” he puts forth as if none of what we discussed so far even registered in his brain. “Or, you could agree to revisit this at a later time and the employees that are most impacted will receive a one-off payment of $1000 each.”
He’s got to be kidding me. $1000? This has to be a joke.
I’m fuming, ready to smack his pretty face. But my death glares have no effect, his smile not dropping as if he feels like none of this is wrong.
I… shouldn’t be surprised. I tell myself I’m not, but the truth is, the disappointment I’m feeling is more than just exasperation from being denied what I know is right. It’s deeper and it crawls under my skin, punishing me for failing to forget a man I should have never fucked to begin with.
God, I can’t believe my luck. This is the worst. I slept with the enemy and still lost. What the hell did I do in my previous life to get such bad karma in this one?
He blabbers on the standard garbage about how much the company cares about each of its employees but, unfortunately, he can’t really do anything to overpower the Commission’s decision at this point, but maybe if I agree to their terms, in six months we could have another discussion. But I’m not really listening anymore. I’ve checked out.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Devon,” I cut in when he starts trying to convince me how generous the company is to offer that $1000 payment.
I’ve had enough. This is war.
