Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Smells delicious, Mamma,” I said, ignoring her and sending up a little thank-you to God for inspiring the wisdom to invite Andrew along this evening.
“So you work with Sofia?” she asked, taking Andrew’s coat and hanging it on the coat rack. Before we’d gotten into the kitchen, the buzzer rang.
“Delivery for Andrew Blake,” a voice from the intercom sang. Mom glanced at Andrew but buzzed the delivery up.
“Sorry about this,” Andrew said, pointedly ignoring my stare. What was he doing? Had he had some documents couriered over or something? He hadn’t said anything about work on the ride over. Andrew opened the door just as the delivery guy arrived.
“Apologies that this has had to come direct,” Andrew said, handing my mom a huge bouquet of lilies and roses. “And a selection of wine,” he said, lifting the box in his arms slightly. “Italian, of course.”
My mother’s eyes were bright and twinkly as she answered. “That’s very generous of you, Andrew. I hope you like meatballs.”
“Mom,” I said, shock plain in my voice. “You made me meatballs on a Saturday?”
She took her flowers and swept past me into the kitchen as if she hadn’t heard me this time. “When’s the last time you went to mass?”
I turned to Andrew and mouthed, “I told you so.”
Thirty-One
Andrew
Tristan was hunched over his laptop when I found him in the hotel bar.
“Don’t you like American women?” I asked as I took a seat. A hostess followed me over and slid a glass of Barolo onto the table. My taste for red wine had developed since being with Sofia. Soft, plump, and delicious—taking a sip was almost as good as kissing her.
Tristan shut his laptop and looked up. “Not as much as you, apparently. Why do you ask?”
“Just whenever I see you in a bar or restaurant in London, you’re chatting someone up, giving someone your number, flirting.”
Tristan shrugged. “I’m busy. When I’m this busy in London, you don’t see me.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“Flirting is just a way for me to let off steam. A distraction. That’s all. Most of it never goes beyond that.”
“That’s because your game is terrible.”
Tristan laughed. “Okay, super-stud. If you say so.”
One of Tristan’s best qualities was he had skin like Teflon. Nothing much got to him—not even his closest friends roasting him on a regular basis. He had an inner confidence and didn’t give much of a shit what anyone else thought of him.
“Any news on Verity?” he asked.
I winced. “Not really. A potential wrinkle in the plan, but I’m sure we can flatten it out.” By Monday afternoon, I’d know either way. “If he’s prepared to sell, I want to move as quickly as possible.”
“And then what?” Tristan said, quick as a flash.
“And then I’ll own Verity, Inc. and I’ll be able to protect my grandmother’s legacy.” He must have heard this a thousand times before. Why was he asking?
“But how? You’ve never run a company for long, Andrew. And when you go into a business, it’s not to change their entire business model. Sure you might add in sales channels and close down divisions, shift strategy, but changing Verity, Inc. from a gossip rag back to a revered publication with an investigative journalism bent will be a challenge. Even for you.”
Tristan wasn’t stupid, so I didn’t understand why he was underestimating me. “I’m pretty good at what I do. Don’t you worry about me.”
There had been a nugget of doubt resting at the back of my mind about the turnaround of Verity, but I wasn’t about to admit that to Tristan. Not when I’d not allowed myself to think about it for long. Normally my goal was to make something profitable and sustainable in the medium and long term. It wasn’t usually to change course from unprofitable to really unprofitable.
“Have you even thought about whether you want to run a business long-term?”
What was Tristan doing tonight? Throwing darts and then when they hit, twisting them to see if he could catch an artery? “I don’t think I will. I’ll need to get in an MD.” I knew I couldn’t run Verity—it wasn’t in my wheelhouse. For me, going in to a failing business was like going into a zoo when all the keepers had gone home and left the cages open. It was up to me to herd the animals back into their pens and shut the doors. Then I had to clean up the mess they’d left before doors opened again. Once the first visitor arrived, it was game over for me. The day to day running of a zoo wasn’t what I wanted to do.
“So if you’re going to do it in the short term, do you know how you’re going to move from A to B—how you’re going to move from gossip to politics or whatever it will be? Are you going to shut down current operations, fire everyone, and start from scratch? Or are you going to spin off current operations into an online-only business under a different brand and then build Verity back slowly? I mean, what’s the plan?”