The Billionaire Bargain #3(22)
“Babe.” I tugged at his arms until he looked me in the eye. “Okay, she got a head start. But I know you can turn it around.”
He shook his head, defeat creeping into his posture. “I wish I shared your faith.”
“Hey!” I said. “Listen to me. You are Grant Fucking Devlin. You’ve got a smile that could sell every brand of toothpaste in America, a head of hair that could let a politician get away with slapping a baby, an ass that could make an entire convent of nuns reconsider their life choices—”
Grant was trying not to laugh. “I’m not sure those are the qualities the shareholders are looking for, Lacey.”
“You’re likeable and persuasive, was the point I was making,” I said with a little glare to make the ‘Lacey is giving you a motivational speech, so shut up’ subtext more apparent.
“More importantly, you have two other qualities: a head and a heart. All this research we’ve been doing, you know this company backwards and forwards, not just the flashy surface stuff like Portia does. And you love this company—which is something Portia the Robot From Planet Cut-Throat will never understand. And that’s why she’ll lose, because she’s fighting for money, but you…you’re fighting what you believe in. And that makes you stronger than she could ever dream of.”
Grant reached out and gently stroked a strand of hair over my ear. My breath caught in my throat.
“Thank you, Lacey,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
For a second, time seemed to stand still. There was only him, and me, and the look that passed between us.
Then I couldn’t resist making one more point.
“Plus, you have an accent,” I added. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Americans? We go crazy for accents. Especially if they’re vaguely British.”
Grant got a pained look on his face. “I’m Australian, it’s entirely different—”
“I know, I know, you’re a former penal colony, you’re all descended from convicts, it’s very sexy, now go! They’re calling your name!” I gave him a little push towards the stage where the moderator was announcing the next presentation.
Grant leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my lips, passionate and full of the promise of more to come.
And then he was striding onstage, all nervousness shed like an ill-fitting coat, and my heart began to beat so rapidly I could have been mistaken for a hummingbird.
This was it. Everything that happened from here on out would be riding on this moment.
The crowd knew it too, and a hush greeted his arrival.
Grant looked out over the soaring crowd that controlled his destiny, and that of his company, tonight—and gave a sheepish grin.
“Hey, guys?” he called up to the tech booth. “Can you kill the feed to the screens? I’ve changed my mind about what I want to say.”
Wait, what? We had been working on this speech up to the last minute—if he just chucked it and—
Breathe, Lacey. You love this man. Now, you have to trust him too.
The screen behind Grant went dark, and the only light was the spotlight shining down on him. It should have made him look small. But somehow, Grant seemed to absorb the light and radiate it out from himself even stronger, as if an angel had descended from the heavens to walk among mere mortals.
Grant strolled to the edge of the stage. All eyes were on him, wondering what his next move would be. He spoke conversationally, barely raising his voice, and yet it rang clearly through the complete silence as his audience listened, rapt.
“Ms. Smith’s done some pretty fancy talking just now about the numbers. And you know, I originally planned to come out here and explain to you just how misleading and wrong her numbers are. But the plain fact is, well, I’ve already explained to most of you about the different equations Ms. Smith and I are using, and if you aren’t convinced that she’s feeding you a pack of lies yet, well, I’m not sure you’ll ever be.
“So instead, let me tell you a story.”
Grant flashed a winning smile at the crowd, and though they were in darkness, I was pretty sure a goodly portion of them were melting into their seats in response.
“This story begins with a young, spoiled prince, set loose by his parents to wander about his kingdom in search of adventures. Picture, if you will, a towheaded boy of six, wearing a sailor suit two sizes too big for him and an ego it would take him the rest of his life to grow into.”
Polite chuckles followed his description. Mine was one of them.
“His kingdom? The headquarters of Devlin Media Corp. Now, when I said that his parents set him loose in search of adventure, I should have mentioned that he wasn’t supposed to venture beyond the floor where his parents’ offices were. Soon enough, however, the foolhardy and arrogant prince discovered the stairwell, and before you could say ‘once upon a time,’ he was irrevocably lost.
“But just when the young prince was about to give up all hope and start blubbering like a faulty fire hose, he came upon that staple and savior of all fairy tales: a wise and wonderful wizard.” Grant’s eyes misted over with nostalgia, and I swear I could hear the audience sigh along with him. “His name was Louis.
“Like all kindly wizards, Louis wiped my tears and became my guide. He showed me the magic of his work, the secret potions he used to wipe out stains, the secret passageways he took from place to place so as to appear from nowhere as if by magic, in the halls of the great and powerful. That day, I saw the countless ways in which his housekeeping work, though silent and unsung, benefitted the company enormously. That day, I learned the value that each member of Devlin Media Corp holds.