The Widow and The CEO.

Chapter 6. Glitz and Glamour.

Chapter 6. Glitz and Glamour.

Devon frustratedly tapped his foot against the floor under his desk, as he listened to Craig Doyle, his Chief Finance Officer, who had taken the trip over to England on his behalf, to go through the Bowman Groups finance records.

“Everything is on paper. No accounts are in digital format?” Devon asked for clarification, unable to quite believe what he was hearing.

“Everything. The only digital stuff we have access to is a company intranet, and emails. Signor doesn’t typically use them, and the accounts are all filed with their accountant via snail mail. Copies are held in a cupboard, it is a bloody nightmare,” Craig sighed.

Devon wondered how in this day and age the company had survived as long as it had. He also could not help but wonder if this was just an elder CEO stuck in the past, or if Signor Coats was hiding something.

“The other issue is, he has a temp in there on an afternoon, allegedly, and I quote, ‘sorting out the files for me.’ So I can only get into the office in the morning. Sorry Devon, but we either need to pull out of this deal, or you need to get over here and help with this mess,” Craig’s annoyed voice echoed down the phone line.

It was not often Craig requested Devon to come help, and it was a clear indication to him just how much his Chief Financial Officer was concerned about what was happening.

“I have a gala to attend, the one that raises funds for the local hospital tomorrow, I will come the day after,” Devon groaned.

The truth was, he would rather be looking through a million paper files than attend the ‘event of the year’. Its only redeeming feature was it raised a lot of money for the children’s department of the local hospital. It was filled with the rich and famous, along with the not-so-rich, and socialites looking to cling to any man with a decent wallet of cash, and more than a healthy bank account. Every year, he had to come up with more inventive ways of getting rid of the more determined women who would attempt to attach themselves to his arm, batting their fake eyelashes, with even faker personalities. He hated it. Not one of them had an interest in Devon as a person, they only liked his prestige and position in the world of business.

Hanging up the call with Craig, Devon blew out a long and very annoyed breath. Why did he feel so strongly about this bakery? Was nostalgia clouding his judgment? Sense told him, that he should back out of the deal and run for the hills, but there was just something deep inside him that drew him to the new company.

“Demi, can you come in please?” Devon shouted to his PA, schooling his features into a stoic mask.

“I need the jet loaded and ready to go at 6 am Saturday morning,” Devon stated.

“What, the morning after the Gala?” Demi asked with a shocked expression. The event didn’t finish till the early hours of the morning. She had tried for numerous years to attend with Devon, to keep those money-grabbing women at bay, but he never accepted her offer to help.

“As I said. I will be heading straight to the airport from the event. Have someone pack up enough clothes, both casual and business attire, for three weeks. Also, call my mother’s nursing home in the UK and let them know I will be visiting in a few days,” He ordered, and his PA nodded her head and left his office.

Devon had never met Signor Coats in person, everything had been done over the telephone and snail mail. Although Devon’s face had adorned many a business magazine, he doubted the older man had read them. An idea formed in his head, and he buzzed Demi immediately.

“Also, have someone go get some cheaper suits and clothing from a goodwill store, and pack those as well please,” he decided.

“Someone is going to go undercover for a bit,” Demi laughed, wondering how her CEO would manage to pull that off.

“I am going to try,” Devon told her, before clicking off the intercom and calling Craig again.

“Boss,” Craig’s voice greeted him.

“Don’t tell the management or Signor Coats I am coming. Get me a pass or whatever they do there to gain me entry. Using David Obed as the name on the pass, I want to try and slip in unnoticed and get a lay of the land from a worker’s perspective, find out what I can dig up,” Devon told the closest man he had to a friend in the USA.

“On it,” Craig told him, and hung up the phone.

Devon stood in front of the mirror, attaching his small platinum and diamond-encrusted cufflinks to his cuffs, before fiddling with his black bow tie. He added his silk cumberbund around his waist, before grabbing the jacket for his tux. The media would be out in force, snapping pictures of the Gala guests, as they walked the red carpet to the event, there would be no avoiding it, and again he hoped and prayed that Signor Coats and his team did not read magazines, which he knew by morning would have his face adored on the cover, or inside the glossy pages. There was little he could do about that, and, feeling a little like a monkey in a suit, he headed down for the limo that was waiting to take him to the prestigious event.

As he waited in the back of the car, sipping on his fresh orange juice, for over an hour to reach the large prestigious hotel where the Gala was taking place, Devon scrawled through his emails on his mobile phone, attending to work whilst he waited.

“We are next, Mr. Boaz,” his driver alerted him via the intercom.

Devon finished off the email he was typing to Demi, with her instructions for the next few weeks, along with his senior management team, and replaced the phone in his inside pocket, as the limo pulled up outside the drop-off point. Just ahead of him was a man, dressed head to toe in a suit made from the American Flag.

“Gregg Hockenheim, Manager to the Stars,” The flamboyant man introduced himself. Devon noticed he was followed by a young boy, no more than 18 or so.

“This is Cameron Bolton, the new Kristoffer Gilbert, and a star in the making,” the eccentric manager introduced the good-looking man/boy beside him.

Devon resisted the urge to smile and laugh at the shenanigans of Gregg Hockenheim, he was clearly a character.

“Devon Boaz,” Devon quietly introduced himself to the MC, before he ran the gauntlet of the red carpet, being asked the same mundane questions by each of the reporters gathered.

“Who are you wearing? What do you think about the event?” Devon answered politely, but kept his interactions down to a minimum, before finally reaching the doors that led inside. Posing in front of the large backdrop that had the event’s logo all over, along with the companies who sponsored the event, his being one of them, Devon thanked the photographers and walked inside the hotel, grabbing a glass of water on his way in. If he did drink alcohol, this would be the time he would have had more than a few glasses, to use a crutch to get through the evening.

The night wore on, and as predicted, Devon had to avoid the attention of models, actresses, and socialites for most of the evening. He could not wait to get out of the place. He felt more than a little uncomfortable around the copious amounts of drinking that was going on. Even though he had no memory of his father, the tales his mother told him, when he was old enough to understand why he did not have a dad, like the other kids his age at school, had made him weary of people who were bordering on being drunk. He watched from the sidelines as people staggered to the dancefloor, tripping over their feet as they slurred and stumbled all in the name of charity. He gathered most of them would sleep for a week after the event, and wasting time getting over a hangover, felt counterproductive to Devon.

Finally, after what had felt like an eternity, his security detail tapped him on the shoulder, an indication that he had remained long enough to not cause offense, and he could now go, and head off to the airport. Devon left through the rear exit of the hotel, avoiding more press intrusion, and climbed into the black SUV, to find Demi sitting in the back seat, in a dress that was little more than a belt. He sighed in frustration, she seemed to be doing stuff like this more and more, and it felt very uncomfortable.

“Here is your passport and documents,” She smiled at him.

Devon had long suspected the woman had a crush on him, but it was never going to happen. She worked for him, and although he liked her as a person when she was not pulling stunts like this one, he was just not interested in her romantically at all.

“Are you sure I cannot come with you?” Demi offered, not for the first time, since he had announced his trip.

“Certain. You could have left these with my security team,” Devon stated, taking the Passport from her hand.

“Oh, it was no trouble. You look very handsome in your tux,” she eyed him up and down, lust swirling in her light green eyes.

“Thanks, right well, you can get yourself home, now, I have it from here,” Devon cut her off, letting her know that she was his PA and nothing more than that, in the politest way possible. His tone was such that it bore no argument from her. Demi was the best at her job, but he was starting to think that if she did not get over her little fixation soon, he would need to find a replacement.

“Oh, okay. I was thinking we could grab breakfast before you leave,” Demi persisted, clearly attempting to flirt again.

Devon inwardly sighed, this was beginning to become a problem.

“I will eat on the flight. See you when I get back Demi,” Devon answered, and watched as the woman left the SUV and climbed into one behind, letting out a sigh of relief that she had gone.

As the jet climbed above the New York Skyscrapers, Deven looked out the window of the jet, as it banked right, then passed the Statue of Liberty. He remembered when he first arrived in America, passing the Statue, and the excitement it had brought him. But today, as he jetted off back to England, all he felt was a small sense of relief, that he was heading home.