Page 5 of I Think Olive You
In smoking hot situation with Senator’s daughter
Well, well, well.
If it isn’t the consequences of my own fucking actions.
And far worse than I expected after Alan mentioned the property opportunity. I lowered my guard—my relief too quick.
“But not nothing. The suits aren’t happy at all. These are only a few of the articles out this month—some of the more savory ones. There’s talk of a vote to remove you from the board before the one-year deadline. Because of your little stunts, we’re down ten points and it’s a shitshow downstairs.”
There it is—the real reason. Alan doesn’t have my interests at heart. Not directly, especially not when he lives and breathes this company and I’m messing with it.
“So, this is you unofficially telling me I have no choice?” I ask, wanting it confirmed.
“You pissed off the wrong person. Senator Bridges wants your head on a platter for last night and will take us on to get it. You don’t have the experience to deal with someone in power trying to tear this company down—him pushing for certain regulations can make billions of dollars of difference.”
So, I fuck the wrong girl and the company eats shit?
“You need to lie low. I’ve convinced the board to let you tackle this part of your inheritance while things blow over. This acquisition will be the way to prove you have what it takes to run this business. If you don’t manage it by the twelve-month deadline, there will be no Palmer in Palmer Enterprises.”
Rage climbs up my ribcage, burning up every rung of my ribs.
“This is bullshit. Don’t look me in the eye and pretend you’re doing this for me.”
Alan’s eyes narrow and he shakes his head, “Of course I’m not doing it for you. If you had your way, you’d be drinking and fucking your way through the company funds. Mark my words. If you can’t get yourself under control in time, you’ll lose everything.”
I don’t have to sit here and take this.
Even if he’s right about you? Even if they’re all right about you?
The chair groans as I shove it back to stand, eager to escape.
“I do think this would be good for you. Get away for a bit and breathe some new air. Straighten yourself out, for god’s sake.” Alan’s suggestion cools some of my animosity.
It doesn’t sound too unappealing. The party scene is wearing me down. If I fuck it up, then the other owner gets it all; a win for them anyway. Palmer Enterprises would be better off, but I won’t let Alan have the satisfaction. Not without a fight.
“And where is this new air?”
Please don’t be Arkansas or some shit.
“Somewhere in the Puglia region.”
Puglia?
I must say it out loud because the incredulity of my question makes Alan's face break into a proper smile or whatever he has amounting to one.
“Italy. Your father’s homeland.”
Italy… Summer, wine, and food so divine I can gorge myself and still beg for more.
“Italy,” I repeat with anticipation replacing the anger—snatching the stack of papers and rolling them up to tuck under my arm. “When do I leave?”
“Whenever your ass is packed and ready to go. You figure out the contract. Then gather the evidence you need against the other owner. Prove they’re lacking and come up with your business plan to create something for yourself, and then get back to me. But this trip is on your dime. No using company funds, and if you pull shit like this over there”—Alan points at the tabloid shot—“we won’t wait until the deadline to remove you, got it?”
I give him a mock salute and put my sunglasses back on. “Capisce, boss.”
“Jesus Christ, kid. You realize that’s not even real Italian. They’re going to eat you alive. Just don’t piss anybody off. I don’t want the hassle of organizing an international extraction.”
“Not your problem. You’re not my lawyer, remember? For the next three months, I’ll be out of your hair.” Every fake strand. “And you can all carry on the better for it.”