“If you don’t like it. If you can’t see a future here at Thorne or if you are one of those who knows they’ve wronged me and my name, open the envelope in front of you.”
The entire room goes silent.
Several men and one woman loudly tear open their envelopes.
“Is that enough?” Mason asks, moving his eyes from them to everyone else sitting around the table.
“Because if it isn’t, then I’ll have legal schedule an appointment to discuss your conduct, maybe even recommend an attorney for you too. But if it is a fair price and you don’t want to play by my rules anymore, there’s your checks and, there’s the door.”
He says it with such force, such definite power, and authority, that I almost get up to rush over and hug him, but I manage to contain myself.
There’s a long, painful silence. I can almost hear half the people in the room weighing up their options.
“You have about a minute left before I call security. Anyone who wants out or knows they shouldn’t be here get the fuck out,” he says and turns away from everyone to look out the huge windows overlooking the city.
Everyone who opened their envelopes, pick up their checks and without looking anyone in the eye leave.
After a few minutes, Mason turns around. Looking relieved he smiles at everyone who stayed, and we all stand applauding him.
Applauding the man and everything he stands for.
But I make sure I clap the loudest.
For the man I love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Mason
Turning around, I almost half-expect to see only Jules left in the room.
A part of me actually hopes for it to be only Jules left.
Just her and me.
But most stayed.
All the rats and sneaks, I gave them their bolt hole and they all took it. Every single one.
Their mastermind, Nicholas? I’ll deal with him differently. No payday for him.
My plan is radical, stupidly dangerous some would say, and some of them do. We go over what’s outlined in the portfolio, the good, bad, and the ugly.
The best and worst case scenarios.
Either way, Thorne industries will survive. It’ll be a slimmer, leaner organization, but it will have the one thing it started out with all those years ago.
Integrity.
Purpose.
It’ll serve to do more than just make money for people like me who have far too much of it anyway.
After what’s a grueling few hours for Jules to sit through, I give my remaining leaders their objectives. Their new agendas and I warn each of them that I’ll watching from now on.
They each shake my hand, passing back their unopened checks as they leave through the door. Jules by my side, as always.
Fitch is last, and I hand him his envelope back. “You earned this,” I tell him firmly, pressing the envelope back into his hand. “We’ll talk about your promotion once things level out.”
He nods in appreciation, haggard. I thought I was tired and worn out, this man’s been doing the work of ten for twenty-four hours straight.
I close both the doors gently, sighing with relief.
“I couldn’t have done that without you, Jules,” I tell her, almost collapsing into her arms once we’re alone.
I held my own for a few hours, but I feel exhausted.
She helps me sit down and pours me some water, about to take a seat next to me when I grab a hold of her.
“Where are you going?” I ask her, smiling and pulling her into my lap. I growl as I hold her around her middle, her heavy breasts resting on my arms.
I nuzzle her neck, grateful for the feeling of her body leaning back into mine again.
“That’s not the last of it though, is it?” Jules asks, putting her hands over mine, tracing the outline of my fingers with hers.
“It never ends,” I tell her honestly. “But the price I just paid is what I get for taking my eyes off the ball. I trusted other people and they broke that trust, they helped themselves using my name and tried to ruin me in the process.”
I feel her shiver in my arms, and I draw her closer.
“I thought you said you had plenty of money,” she muses innocently, making me chuckle.
“Oh, I do. I do,” I tell her and myself. “But the thing is, honey. The modern corporate mindset isn’t even about money, it’s about something even more abstract.”
I’m grateful too when she doesn’t ask what it is, shifting her position after asking me if the door’s locked and I tell her of course, she straddles me, hooking her arms around my neck and starts to grind on my lap.
“It feels like lunchtime,” she purrs, making me laugh and groan with pleasure at the same time.
“Real lunch or this lunch?” I ask, flexing my hips so she can feel me through her own dress pants.
“Hmmm. Hate to disappoint you lover boy, but my stomach’s telling me real lunch. I didn’t even have breakfast,” she confesses, and I have to admit, I could use a bite myself.
Picking her up in my arms, I carry her out through the doors and across the empty reception area, back home.
“Do you really want to live here?” she asks suddenly as I set her down at the kitchen counter, readying ingredients to make us some lunch.
I start to answer, then notice a wistful, almost faraway look in her eyes.
Like she knows something I don’t.
“I’ve been here, like my habits,” I finally tell her, “Probably for too long.”
She smiles wider, seeming pleased with my answer.
I settle on toasting some bagels and filling them with a variety of meats and relish, a couple I leave untoasted, making them smoked salmon and crème fraiche instead.
Yesterday Jules might have commented on how it’s too much food, but today it’s already normal.
I like that.
“Where do you want to live?” I ask her after taking a couple of bites, the only sounds being our hums and groans of satisfaction at finally being able to eat something.
“And don’t just say wherever I want.
