One Weekend with the Billionaire

Meeting Mr. Merriweather

Braxton

I am a hands-on supervisor. That’s how my father ran this company, and that’s how I’ve always ran it, too, since I took over as Chief Executive Officer five years ago. At twenty-seven, I was the youngest CEO in the history of our company, which my great-great-grandfather started over a hundred years ago, but my degrees in finance and business from major universities, as well as my tutelage under my father, had more than prepared me to take over. And I’ve done an outstanding job, increasing our revenue and taking on new clients at a quick rate.

That’s why I hate failure.

As I gaze out through my glass windows at the crowd of employees moving quickly between offices and cubicles, my eyes fall on one face. Jeff Thompson, Vice-President of Finance for our largest branch. How he came to be a VP, I am not sure. In the two years that he has worked here, he has done nothing to impress me. In fact, he fails at almost every task I assign him. I should probably fire him.

The only reason I haven’t is because I have a memory from the Christmas party I cannot shake. Jeff Thompson, standing off to the side of the crowd, next to a stunning woman in a long red gown. She was probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and ever since that night, five months ago, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head.

I can only assume she was his wife. He never introduced me to her. She looked… uncomfortable. Out of place. Like she didn’t want to be there. Maybe she didn’t want to be with him. I wanted to go to her then, to see if there was a way I could make her more comfortable, as the host, of course. But I was constantly bombarded with other people needing my attention, and I never did make it over to her. I never got a chance to introduce myself or meet her.

Over the weeks and months that followed, I assured myself it was just as well. She was likely his wife, after all. Jeff does wear a wedding ring. He has no pictures in his office that would clue me in as to whether or not the gorgeous woman with the caramel colored hair and the olive skin, with bright green eyes and full red lips was his wife. Since I have been doing my damndest to put her out of my mind, I saw no point in bringing it up to him either.

And then… there was the Earst and Hanks account. It had been assigned to Thompson to try and acquire it. How such an important acquisition came to be assigned to him is unbeknownst to me. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on this huge account for many years. I checked in on it yesterday to find it was about to slip through Thomspon’s fingers. Luckily, I was able to rearrange my schedule to work on the account myself, and through some miracle, I was able to salvage it. In looking over the work Thompson put into it, I was appalled at what he’d done, or really, what he hadn’t done. It was absolutely grounds for firing him.

But I had something else in mind instead. I know how much this job means to him, and I want to know how far he’ll go to keep it.

I’ve already announced to the company earlier that morning that we will be having a party at Merriweather Towers this evening to celebrate the acquisition. I’ll been sure to have my assistant, Cindy Garza, tell Thompson to bring his wife along. She has reported he’d arched an eyebrow when she’d delivered the message, but he’d nodded and reached for his phone. Cindy didn’t question what I was up to. One of the reasons she’s been my assistant all of these years is because she never questions me. My guess would be she already knows, though, why I am handling the situation the way that I am. She is usually a step ahead of even me.

I try to go about my work, but it’s difficult. I have one eye on Thompson as he slacks off, watching something on his phone. I have heard from others that he is a porn addict. I’m guessing if I did a search on his work computer, I’d have enough proof to fire him over just that. But I don’t ask for the search. Not yet. He does very little work throughout the day while I am constantly answering my phone working with clients and helping my assistants handle their accounts. It irritates me to see a man do next to nothing and earn what I know he is earning.

He deserves to be fired, and I am all about handing out people’s just deserts.

Unless, of course, he’s willing to bargain with me. Then, he might get one more chance.

His wife has to be willing, too, though, because I don’t view her as his property. If she is also willing, he might have a chance to save his job. Otherwise, Jeff Thompson will be packing up his items from his office tomorrow, and my dreams of a beautiful woman dressed in red will remain only dreams.

It is getting late in the afternoon, and I need to get heading to the towers to make sure everything is in order for the celebration. I have watched Thompson do next to nothing all day, and I am seething as I grab my jacket and my attaché case to leave for the evening. It’s almost five o’clock, and I have been in the office since before 8:00.

“Cindy, send for my car,” I say as I head out of my office.

“Yes, sir.”

“You are coming tonight?” I ask her.

“Of course, sir,” she says. “I’ll need to head home and get changed. I can hardly wear this.” Cindy laughs. It is a running joke between us that it isn’t fair that I expect women to wear nice gowns to my get-togethers while most of the men can get by in their office attire. “I’ll be changing, too,” I assure her.

“I know you will be, sir,” she says. No matter how many times I tell her she doesn’t need to call me sir, she does it anyway.

“See you there, Cindy. Thank you for your hard work today.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she says with a smile that tells me she means it. I believe in treating my employees well so they work hard. That’s how Cindy sees it. She works hard so that she can be rewarded and help the company. My eyes travel to Thompson. He has done next to nothing and is making a lot more money than a lot of the people that work here. That has to change.

He looks up from his phone and is startled to see me staring at him. He fumbles with the device and sets it down then begins to type on his computer, looking at me from time to time. I continue to stare at him, hoping he understands that I see him. I see everything he is doing, and everything he is not doing, and it’s time to answer for his actions.