Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(4)

“Which option is that?”

“You tell me.” There had to be an option three, because neither option one nor two were acceptable.

He was quiet for a long moment, and then said very, very grimly, “I assume you are considering the transfer of your shares to Caleb? A buyout?”

My gut response was, hell no. Not only was Caleb a terrible cousin, I was convinced he was a terrible human. For the last several months, whenever I visited Caravel headquarters and reviewed division earnings, I’d always left with a creeping notion that something wasn’t right. The numbers added up, but they were too good to be true.

Profits were soaring with Caleb as the CEO, which meant the board was ecstatic. Yet, the sudden sharp profit margin concerned me. We’d had no new properties come to market in five years, spending in drug development was down, and I’d identified obvious inefficiencies in our clinical trials subdivisions. Vague revenue reports from several of the most lucrative divisions culminated in a nebulous sense of anxiety about executive operations.

What would become of my grandfather’s company under Caleb’s tenure if left unchecked?

Whereas my brain and heart asked, Why not? Why not walk away?

I didn’t want the responsibility. I’d never wanted it. No one—especially not father when he was still fully cognizant—believed I was capable of it. Even on my best days, I doubted myself in the extreme.

Why not just wash my hands of it? Walk away. Live a normal life.

Eugene didn’t wait for me to respond. “I discussed that option with him, suggested a buyout of your shares. He . . . did not appreciate the suggestion. Firstly, he doesn’t have the money. As you know, the CEO’s compensation package is capped at five million, inclusive of pay-for-performance and share options. That puts him at far less than his contemporaries. Secondly, he said he wouldn’t pay you a single cent, that he’s taking what’s rightfully his. As he put it, ‘what I’m owed.’”

“Hypothetically speaking, not that I’m considering this,” I hesitated, choosing my words carefully, “couldn’t I just sign it all over? Free of charge? Just give it to him?”

“The bylaws disallow that. As the controlling shareholder, bylaws require you be compensated at least one hundred and ten percent the average stock price of the last two years, and current stock is at an all-time high.”

Well, there went that idea.

Despite the suffocating lump in my throat and tears pricking my eyes, I was able to whisper, “Eugene, there has to be another option. Talk to me. Give me some hope. What can I do?”

His chair creaked once more, this time giving me the impression he’d been struggling to find a comfortable position. “There is one more option.”

“What? What is it?”

“Do you have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?”

My eyes flickered over the neatly organized shelves of office supplies, my brain stuck on the word boyfriend. “What?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

I thought about retorting with, “Other than a string of enormously substandard first dates last year, which make me question the solvency and continued relevancy of the male portion of the human species, no. Not anyone of note.”

Or, “How the heck am I supposed to find someone to date when I have work, school, and flying to Boston twice a month for heiress lessons?”

Or, “Do you really think it’s wise or even possible for me to date anyone when I know eventually what I’ll become? What they’ll have to put up with?”

Instead, I replied, “No. Why?”

“You could get married.”

“Married?” Panic resurged, causing me to shriek, “Eugene! I can’t get—” I stopped myself, swallowing, endeavoring to breathe. Breathe. Breathe . . . Calm down. “Sorry for my outburst. I apologize.”

“Caleb could try to contest a marriage, this is true.” Now he sounded less like his grimly pragmatic self and more like he was trying to soothe and pacify; this alteration in his voice did not help my mood. “But his chances of success are minimal, especially if you marry immediately.”

“I am not irrational, Eugene. You do not need to use that tone of voice with me.”

“Fine.” He sighed, and when he spoke again he sounded like good old grim Eugene. “In the absence of a valid medical power of attorney by a mentally competent person, your spouse would be the default for all medical decisions. Therefore, it’s not as though you signed anything over or admitted—or even implied—mental incompetence. In the eyes of the law, the bond of marriage typically surpasses all other relationships, familial or otherwise.”