The Billionaire Next Door(35)

They were going to meet his demands. He could feel it. And as Mick Rhodes chuckled a little in the seat next to him, it was clear his buddy knew it, too.



In the aftermath of the drama bomb, Sean eased down into his chair.



As silence reigned, the two young guys he’d picked up from that gala, Freddie Wilcox and Andrew Frick, were frozen-statue speechless.



“Do we leave now?” Freddie asked.



“Nope,” Mick replied. The lawyer’s sardonic grin, which was as sharp as his Brioni suit, made a quick appearance. “Twenty-seven, SOB. Don’t you think?”



Sean rubbed his face and played along out of habit, not because he was interested in the game. “Thirty-nine. Because I balled their—what did I throw?”



Andrew spoke up. “I believe it was their financial projections for the coming fiscal year.”



“Ah, then I put them in the right place.” Sean leaned back in his chair and rolled his Montblanc between his thumb and forefinger. The fountain pen was one of his signature props, a big black cigar of a writing instrument known on Wall Street as the Club for all the damage he’d done with it.



Usually at this point, when he knew in his gut he was going to get what he wanted, he’d feel a simmering triumph. After all, making the other side break and submit was the goal, and sure as hell, those highfliers who’d just fluffed out of here were going to call back within the hour with a reasonable offer that he could recommend to the Condi-Foods board.



He’d been through this countless times. It was the cycle of challenge that had kept him juiced for years.



But the problem was, on this particular walk through the minefield, he really had lost his temper. Unlike the other side, his anger hadn’t been for show. His frustration level had been on hard-boil since he’d come back to the city and now he was stretched as thin as a hair. The three-ring circus of these negotiations, coupled with that grossly inadequate offer, had just pushed him over the edge.



And there was nothing more dangerous in a multibillion-dollar negotiation than one of the principals getting truly emotional.



He told himself he was just strung out. Hell, he’d been working until three in the morning every night since he’d come back, and although that wasn’t unprecedented, it certainly didn’t put him in his happy place. Plus the fact that these negotiations had been going so slowly made it all worse—



Oh, who was he kidding. It wasn’t business that was razoring him up.



His conscience was wearing on him. Badly.



Lizzie Bond was wearing on him.



He got to his feet and started to pack up his briefcase.



“You’re leaving?” Mick said.



“I already know what they’re going to do.” Sean slipped the Club into his breast pocket then text messaged his limo driver. “They’re going to come up twenty-five cents a share and get real on the interest payments before the balloon five years out of closing. And I will accept that. Call me when the new offer comes through.”



Andrew cleared his throat. “But how do you know that’s what they’re going to counter with?”



Sean picked up his leather document holder. “Because it’s the only move they have. If they back out after getting this close, everyone on the Street will think it’s because they don’t have the corporate will to be a player and that lack of confidence would be bad news for their stock. As usual it all comes down to pride and math.”



The hero worship that flared in the kid’s eyes was hard to bear so Sean looked around the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been real. Mick, I’ll be hearing from you shortly.”



On his way out, he checked in with his assistants and picked up a stack of phone messages as well as the schedule for the next week and the so-called social file. When he told his staff he was going home, they looked relieved, as if they needed a break from him.



He didn’t blame them in the slightest.



He hit the elevators and exited the building. His limousine was waiting out front in the sweltering heat and he slid into the air-conditioned backseat with relief. As the Lincoln eased into traffic, he opened the social file with no enthusiasm. The thing was stuffed with invitations to galas and messages from women and favors he was being asked. Typically he would run through the morass in about ten minutes, turf the RSVPs to his assistants and call back a couple of the ladies.#p#分页标题#e#



Instead, he closed the cover and took out his BlackBerry.



Lizzie’s face came to him, as it had on a regular basis, and he rubbed the center of his chest.