A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(146)

There was a sharp knock on the door before the handle turned and a tall blond man in a fabulous gray Gucci suit walked confidently into the office. Austin was a little taken aback by the obvious ease with which he entered, but he covered it with a commanding smile and an outstretched hand.

“Mr. Thomas,” he crooned. “Welcome.”

“Mr. Ford,” Ben replied.

*

Ben took Ford’s hand and shook it firmly, keeping eye contact the entire time. He wasn’t a * by any stretch of the imagination; he’d been in offices like this many times, and dealt with *s like Ford on a regular basis, but what he was about to do was nothing he’d ever been involved in and, if handled badly, could be a complete and utter catastrophe. People he cared about were counting on him to keep his cool.

He swallowed and placed himself in one of the ridiculously luxurious chairs next to a huge glass table.

“Water?” Ford asked as he, too, sat down.

Ben’s mouth was dryer than the Sahara, but he wasn’t about to give Ford the satisfaction of seeing how uncomfortable he was. “No,” he replied casually. He opened his briefcase, keeping his eyes fixed on what he was doing. “I’m good. This won’t take long.”

He ignored the derisive snort that came from Ford. “Yes, I’m sure it won’t. But, alas, you were a little vague on the details when we spoke and arranged this meeting. Would you be so kind as to explain just exactly why you are here?”

“I am here on behalf of my client. Mr. Wesley Carter.” Ben’s gaze nailed Ford to his chair. He placed a folder on the glass table and watched as the color of arrogance and control slowly seeped from Ford’s face. “The reason I was vague about this meeting, Mr. Ford,” Ben began, while calmly steepling his hands on the table, “is because, as you can surmise, the situation is a delicate one.”

Ford remained stock-still. “How so?”

Ben smirked at the attempt at nonchalance and opened Carter’s file. “As you’re aware, your largest shareholder is Mr. W. Carter of New York, as was directed by his”—Ben looked up with a sparkle in his eyes—“your grandmother’s will.”

Ford sat back in his seat and crossed his right leg over his left, ready to pounce. “I’m very well aware of that, Mr. Thomas. What’s your point?”

“My point is that my client has on several occasions asked for his share within the company to be acknowledged with an appropriate salary and input on all company decisions, including those at board level.” Ben waited. He was met with nothing but stern, unforgiving eyes and silence. “He hasn’t been granted either.”

“Mr. Thomas,” Ford began in a careful tone. “Your client has been in and out of prison for the past twelve years on charges ranging from drug dealing to carjacking. As I’m sure you can appreciate, it isn’t in the company’s best interest to advertise such unsavory behavior.”

Ben smiled stiffly. “Of course, but still, regardless of the other shareholders knowing—more of which I’ll come to in a moment—do you not think it important to pay my client accordingly or at least offer a gesture of goodwill?”

Ford shifted in his seat. “And what exactly would a gesture of goodwill look like?”

“A sixty-percent increase on his current yearly income, input on all decisions at board level, and an assurance that his shares will not be diluted with or without the threat of blackmail.”

The air around the two men became stifling. One of the suits standing at the back of the room twitched uneasily. There was the sound of a throat being cleared.