Champagne Brunch: The Stiletto Sisters Series Page 2

  Justin really upsets me. I never said I wouldn’t move to Austin.

  Okay, I never offered to either. But he didn’t even ask.

  Why is being successful such a bad thing if you’re a woman? It’s not as if any of my friends don’t or wouldn’t shower their man with love and affection. Why does having a big bank account mean you can’t have a good relationship and be taken care of in other ways?

  I sigh.

  A little while later, I’ve showered and changed, but I don’t have to be at my board meeting for another two hours. If I hadn’t already told Peter I’d meet him at eight thirty, I’d have him drive me to my office before the board meeting.

  I need a distraction. I want a date for this weekend. There must be a few nice guys left here in San Francisco. I open Tumble. It’s the app many of my staff are always talking about.

  Yikes. This guy’s profile is a picture of his dick. Eww. I’m tempted to comment that it isn’t anything to be proud of, but I refrain. Tumble is what I thought it was—an app for sex. What happened to meeting someone in a bar and seeing where things take you?

  I open eTogether. There must be an hour of questions to answer. Wow. This is some serious stuff. And then you can’t talk to each other until you communicate via email and messaging for a few days. And the cost. Ick. No thanks.

  I look at Distinguished, and the photographs all seem like stock images. Hmmm... The cost is a thousand dollars a week, and if you look closely—which I do—they make zero promises.

  Dating apps suck.

  I start to think about the math it would take to find someone. Everything is math. Look at nature—it’s everywhere. There needs to be a happy medium between Tumble and eTogether, and if people are willing to pay for Distinguished, I can create something better. Maybe with my friends’ help, we can make something fun, something flirty.

  That’s it. Flirt.

  I start writing some basic code, and before I know it, my doorbell rings. It’s already eight thirty. I grab my bag and walk out the door.

  “Here you go.” Peter hands me a cup of coffee from my favorite local coffee shop close to the Clear Security office.

  “Thank you. I hope you didn’t detour for me.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I needed to pick up Jim and Gage this morning. They’re in the car for the board meeting.”

  “You look nervous,” I say with the best smile I can muster.

  “I won’t be nervous unless you’re nervous.” He steps in front of me to open the car door.

  “Well, they can’t really fire me since I’m the largest individual stockholder, but they can make my life miserable.”

  “You have lots of people rooting for you today.”

  I get in the car, and Jim and Gage look like they might have been in deep conversation, but whatever they were saying has come to an abrupt stop. “What’s up, guys?”

  Jim looks at Gage in a silent signal.

  “We found a data breach on your system,” Gage says.

  My stomach tightens, and a massive sigh escapes me. “That’s not surprising. I trusted Viv and never questioned anything she did, so my computer was on when she was around. She knew me well enough that she might have guessed my password. It’s Chinese, but she knows it’s the nickname my mother calls me. She was good. She blended in, and this was truly a long con.”

  Jim looks at me, seeming surprised. “You’re taking this well.”

  I shrug. “I’ll follow what the board thinks is best—except I won’t be giving up my stock and my position as the largest stockholder.”

  “Mason wanted me to tell you, he will be there and will follow your lead,” Jim says. “Together you make up almost seventy percent of the company.” He stares at me intently.

  I know he and Mason really want me to fight this, but I’m not sure what I want to do. I could easily buy a place in another city and meet new people who know nothing about me.

  It won’t be Austin.

  I smile. “He’s pretty wonderful about that. But I’ll listen to what the board has to say. I do expect you to be honest with them if they ask if we’ve had a breach.”

  Jim nods.

  Peter pulls up at the Ritz Carlton valet. Jim and Gage walk in with me to the conference room where my board meeting is taking place. We don’t ever meet in my offices since the information is sensitive—particularly today.

  Despite being more than fifteen minutes early, everyone else is here. I can see the used coffee cups and empty plates. They met early without me.

  I paint a smile on my face, take a deep breath, and sit at the head of the long table. “Hello,” I begin. “So good to see everyone.”

  Several of my board members won’t make eye contact with me. This is going to be a shit-fest. Fan-fucking-tastic.

  Mason takes the seat to my right, and I look out at the group.

  “Where would you like to start?” I ask.

  “We’re concerned about your relationship with Viviana Prentis,” Alex Tuberville says.

  Alex has always been challenging to work with. He’s done well with his shares of my company—certainly better than he did with the company he founded. He’s well known on Wall Street, which is why he was added to our board. His connections make him an asset. But he’s a pain in the ass and always has an agenda, which typically comes with lots of mansplaining.

  I nod. “Me too. I was completely blindsided by this news. I trusted her, just like I used to trust all of you.” A few people’s eyes grow big. What, did they think meeting early wouldn’t erode my trust?

  There’s some grumbling, and while I may not like what today will bring, I have to believe I can still trust them to help me navigate this mess with our stockholders.

  “Viviana, to my knowledge, was a successful entrepreneur. She started a mechanical engineering company that built robots for assembly lines dedicated to small and delicate things that couldn’t be assembled with human hands. I was stunned to learn that she was working with the Russian government to share capture secrets and technology. But what really breaks my heart is her role in Cecelia Lancaster’s death. She’s not reached out to me since her arrest, and if she were to do so, I wouldn’t talk to her.”

  “We understand that, but we’re concerned for the overall health of Diamond Analytics,” Trace Benedict, another board member, says.

  “Good, because that’s what I’m here to sort out. What should we do?” I ask.

  “We think you need to step down as CEO,” Trace says.

  They’re coming out strong, but it’s time to do a gentle nudge back. They can’t take my options and ownership away, and they’re advisors. “Okay, but I own fifty-eight percent of the company. Currently, we don’t have anyone who can step into my shoes as CEO.”

  Victor Mao, my chief financial officer, snorts.

  It soon becomes evident that Trace and others are backing Victor to take over. That would be a bad idea. He’s frequently tried to suffocate the company by limiting expenses, and he doesn’t have a real grasp of our complicated P&L statement.

  Mason levels a look at Victor. “You may have gone to Stanford for business school, but that doesn’t mean you’re ready to step into the role of CEO. Your last quarter and year-end financial statements were each corrected four different times by our outside accounting firm. If you can’t get those correct, how can you be trusted to run the company?”

  Victor turns a lovely shade of pink.

  “I believe,” Mason continues, “that we need to be careful of our next step. Wall Street is watching. If we knee-jerk and ask Mia to step down, we could lose our government contracts. According to the CFO at my investment firm, a drastic decision will send the message that our data has been compromised and will result in the stock crashing.”

  Dillon Healy is the CFO at SHN, and he’s extremely well regarded. The board takes this information as gospel. There’s a collective murmur.

  Two hours later, the board has gone round and round, but they’re no closer
to determining what they want me to do.

  I finally stand. “Ladies and gentlemen, I still don’t know how my best friend fooled me. But you all know me well, and I’ve always been aware of our relationship with the government. Despite being the largest individual stockholder, I will throw my voting rights for this decision to one of you.”

  “Mason will automatically defer to you,” Alex Tuberville snarks.

  “Okay, fine.” I tear a piece of paper from my notebook. Quickly, I make ten slips and write Yes on one of them. I clear out the fruit in the bowl next to the coffee maker. Handing the bowl to Peter, I say, “Peter, if you don’t mind, can you please have each person take a slip of paper from the bowl? Make sure they can’t see what they’re picking.”

  Peter walks around the table, and I can see people getting restless. Once everyone has a paper, I ask, “Who got the yes?”

  Alex raises his hand. I suppress an eye roll. He’s the person most likely behind the coup this morning. “Alex, looks like you get to vote my shares in this one instance. You can’t terminate my relationship with the company, but you can determine our next steps.”

  Alex smiles. “I vote that Mia Couture is put on a three-month temporary leave as CEO while she works through the issues caused by her close relationship with Viviana Prentis and the impact it has on the company. Anyone disagree?”

  Mason stands. “I disagree with Alex. I think that decision would leave us vulnerable to a hostile takeover.”

  Alex smiles. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He has enough shares to negotiate for a large payout. This company isn’t his life’s work.

  Sandra Collins, the first female CEO of German Bank, looks around the room. “Is anyone else concerned that we’re policing Mia’s friends? Doesn’t that sound overreaching and intrusive?”

  Jennifer Wisk, the head of an international public relations firm, says, “I agree. What are we going to police next?”

  In the end, Alex squeaks through my temporary leave under the guise that I’ll be distracted. He says he and Victor Mao will work with Jim and Clear Security to finish the investigation with the FBI and the three government audits we’re facing. The fact that I’m stepping back but not leaving should keep our stockholders happy.

  I stand. “I want to thank all of you for being here. I know this decision was not an easy one. I’m devastated by the betrayal of one of my closest friends, and I appreciate your understanding while we get this under control.”

  I turn and walk out, leaving Jim, Gage, and Mason behind to clean up the mess with the board. Peter walks out with me and calls the elevator.

  “Where to?” he asks as we walk to the car.

  “Home,” I tell him. “I started a project I’d like to finish.”

  Chapter 2

  Axel

  I throw my pen down on the desk. Today is the five hundred and twenty-sixth day I’ve worked without a day off. But who’s counting? I blame it not only on my demanding clients but also because I work from home. I’ve lived in San Francisco for almost two months now, but I don’t have many friends. I spend my days glued to my desk.

  Staring outside, I take in the stunning bay. I have what they call a bridge-to-bridge view. To my left, I can see the spires of the Golden Gate Bridge, and my panorama of over one hundred and eighty degrees gives me the Bay Bridge and Treasure Island on the right. On clear days, I can see the San Rafael Bridge in the North Bay that connects Richmond with San Rafael north of Berkeley, and to the south I can see the San Mateo Bridge, which connects the San Francisco Peninsula with the East Bay. It a good thing I have this view, because I rarely have time to ever cross these bridges.

  SoBe, my greyhound rescue, looks up at me with his big black eyes. He’s a tuxedo greyhound—black with a bit of white across his chest and white feet—and my forty-mile-an-hour couch potato. He cocks his head to the side and communicates silently in our daily conversation.

  “All right. Let’s go for a walk.” I’m not motivated to go out, but he has to. It’s late May, and I miss the sun. I need a sweater, and I want to wear shorts and a T-shirt.

  SoBe stands and stretches into a downward dog pose with his tail wagging. He hears walk and he’s ready to explore, rain or shine. Despite never having been fast enough to race, he’s the love of my life. SoBe steps closer and rests his head on my lap. He’s got me wrapped around his finger.

  “You’ve convinced me,” I tell him. “I need to stretch my legs, too.”

  I fasten his leash since it only takes a moment for him to become distracted and he’ll be gone once he starts chasing something—people and traffic be damned. We set out to the park at Coit Tower. As we exit my front door, my neighbor Mindy steps out.

  “Hey, Axel,” she mewls.

  “Mindy,” I say, trying to be polite. Mindy Fraser has flirted with me since I moved in. She’s beautiful, but not appealing otherwise. And anyway, I don’t pee where I eat. She once showed up only wearing panties at my front door. She said she accidentally locked herself out of her place. The first thing I wondered was why she was outside in just panties. But I gave her a T-shirt and called her a locksmith. I keep walking.

  “How were the waves today?” my neighbor Andrew Fitzsimmons asks as I step into the courtyard.

  Andrew knows I try to get out most mornings to catch a few waves, and he enjoys reliving his glory days of surfing with me. “They weren’t too bad in Pacifica.”

  “Man, in my day, we’d head down to Santa Cruz.”

  “It’s one of my favorite spots, too,” I tell him.

  SoBe and I walk for a little over an hour. He attracts all kinds of attention, usually from the fairer sex, which I don’t mind at all. He’s helped make the transition to living in San Francisco a little easier.

  A beautiful, dark-haired woman is talking to SoBe about his tuxedo when my cellphone rings and Foreigner’s “Urgent “plays, so I know it’s my baby sister. “Excuse me.”

  She laughs. “It must be urgent.”

  I can’t help but grin. “If you only knew.”

  “Hey, beautiful!” I say into the phone as the woman hands me her card and mouths, Call me. I smile as I tuck the card in my pocket and admire the view as the woman retreats. I may just have to do that. I pat SoBe on the head.

  “Right back atacha, you Barney,” my sister says.

  I roll my eyes. Surfers use Barney to call someone uncool. I’m cool. My sister, Alana, is married to Marco Hammond, who’s been my friend since high school and is a professional surfer. “I hear waves crashing. Who’s really the Barney to call and rub in Australia’s best waves?”

  “The waves are ankle biters today,” she complains.

  It’s crisp today in San Francisco, though the fog has settled nicely. The temperature high might make it to fifty, if we’re lucky. “I’m not very sorry that you’re sitting at the beach.”

  She laughs. “How’s the action with the Bettys?”

  My sister and her surf lingo—Bettys are women. “Nothing too serious.”

  “Up to your old bag of tricks—a different girl every night?”

  Not every night. “What’s the schedule?” I ask to move the conversation off of my sex life and back to her and Marco’s plans. Winter is in full swing down below, and the surf competitions are running above the equator these days.

  “I think we’re looking at a trip stateside to Cali in a few. Mom and Dad will be celebrating their fortieth, so we should start thinking about their anniversary party.”

  This isn’t a real reason to call—their anniversary isn’t for nine months. Something’s going on. I look to the heavens for a moment. I don’t have time for this, but my sister is in Australia, enjoying the waves at Byron Bay, and she wants to ease into whatever she needs to talk about.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask.

  “We could always get them to the North Shore on Oahu?” she offers.

  “I can’t get away for that in February,” I tell her. I get it. Marco hasn’t done exceptionally
well on the professional surfing tour this year, and money is tight. “Kelly is in on Monday. Let me have her do a little bit of research and see what she can find.”

  “Thanks, Axe.” She sounds tired. “I think it’s time the kids and I come home.”

  My heart softens. “Let me know what you need. I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “I needed to hear that today. Thanks.” I can hear her holding back the tears.

  I sit down on the grass of the park. “Tell me more.”

  I listen to my sister talk about her struggles with living out of a suitcase while on the professional surf tour, the challenges of four boys under seven and a husband who’s fighting an impending retirement. While surfing isn’t as dictated by age as many sports, agility and speed come easier when you’re younger. Plus, he’s supplementing his income by selling drugs, which makes me worried for Alana and the boys.

  “Do you want to move to Santa Cruz?” I ask. “My place down there isn’t that big, but it would be a free place to stay for a while. You could give the boys some more permanent roots.”

  She sighs. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. Mom’s made it clear that moving back to Laguna isn’t going to work for them, and Marco’s stepdad can’t take the chaos with the boys.”

  “Ignore them. SoCal is too far away anyway. Come here. And if you guys want to stay in San Francisco, you’re more than welcome—with or without Marco.”

  “Thank you. You don’t know what a relief that is to hear today.”

  My call waiting beeps. I look and it’s my biggest client—the reason I’m here in San Francisco. “I’ll call you later this week and we can talk about plans for Mom and Dad. And think about where you want to go and let me know. I’ll get you booked for flights home. I’d love to see you.”

  “I love you,” she says.

  “Miss you and love you.” I end the call and click over to my next one. “Jeremy, what’s up?”

  “Sorry to bug you,” he says. “Uh, have you heard anything about a trade?”

  Jeremy Hamilton is a breakout pitching star for San Francisco’s professional baseball team, the Prospectors. He’s also just seventeen and emancipated himself from his parents because they couldn’t leave their Nebraska farm or their other five children to move with him as he began his baseball career, so it sometimes leaves me to be a bit of a surrogate father—or maybe an older brother.