Not the Boss's Baby

Her. He was talking about her.

Chadwick went on, “It’s my duty to make sure that the people who choose to work for Beaumont Brewery also get to realize the American dream. Some in management will get to cash out their stock options. They’ll get a couple of thousand, maybe. Not enough to retire on. But the rest? The men and women who actually make this company work? They won’t. AllBev will walk in, fire them all, and reduce our proud history to nothing more than a brand name. No matter how you look at it, Mr. Harper, that’s not the American dream. I take care of those who work for me. I reward loyalty. I do not dump it by the side of the road the moment it becomes slightly inconvenient. I cannot be bought off at the expense of those who willingly give me their time and energy. I expect nothing less from this board.”

Then, abruptly, he sat. Head up, shoulders back, he didn’t look like a man who had just lost. If anything, he looked like a man ready to take all comers. Chadwick had never struck her as a physical force to be reckoned with—but right now? Yeah, he looked like he could fight for his company. To the death.

The room broke out into a cacophony of arguments—the old guard arguing with the new guard, both arguing with Harper’s faction. After about fifteen minutes, Harper demanded they call a vote.

For a moment, Serena thought Chadwick had won. Only four people voted to accept AllBev’s offer of $52 a share. A clear defeat. Serena breathed a sigh of relief. At least something this week was going right. Her job was safe—which meant her future was safe. She could keep working for Chadwick. Things could continue just as they were. There was comfort in the familiar, and she clung to it.

But then Harper called a second vote. “What should our counteroffer be? I believe Mr. Beaumont said $62 a share wasn’t enough. Shall we put $65 to a vote?”

Chadwick jolted in his seat, looking far more than murderous. They voted.

Thirteen people voted for the counteroffer of $65 a share. Chadwick looked as if someone had stabbed him in the gut. It hurt to see him look so hollow—to know this was another fight he was losing, on top of the fight with Helen.

She felt nauseous, and she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with morning sickness. Surely AllBev wouldn’t want to spend that much on the brewery, Serena hoped as she wrote everything down. Maybe they’d look for a cheaper, easier target.

Everything Chadwick had spoken of—taking care of his workers, helping them all, not just the privileged few, reach for the American dream—that was why she worked for him. He had given her a chance to earn her way out of abject poverty. Because of him, she had a chance to raise her baby in better circumstances than those in which she’d been raised.

All of that could be taken away from her because Mr. Harper was grinding a forty-year-old ax.

It wasn’t fair. She didn’t know when she’d started to think that life was fair—it certainly hadn’t been during her childhood. But the rules of Beaumont Brewery had been more than fair. Work hard, get promoted, get benefits. Work harder, get a raise, get out of a cube and into an office. Work even harder, get a big bonus. Get to go to galas. Get to dream about retirement plans.

Get to feel secure.

All of that was for sale at $65 a share.

The meeting broke up, everyone going off with their respective cliques. A few of the old-timers came up to Chadwick and appeared to offer their support. Or their condolences. She couldn’t tell from her unobtrusive spot off to the side.

Chadwick stood stiffly and, eyes facing forward, stalked out of the room. Serena quickly gathered her things and went after him. He seemed to be in such a fog that she didn’t want him to accidentally leave her behind.

She didn’t need to worry. Chadwick was standing just outside the ballroom doors, still staring straight ahead.

She needed to get him out of there. If he was going to have another moment like he’d had yesterday—a moment when his self-control slipped, a moment where he would allow himself to be lost—by no means should he have that moment in a hotel lobby.

She touched his arm. “I’ll call for the car.”

“Yes,” he said, in a weirdly blank voice. “Please do.” Then his head swung down and his eyes focused on her. Sadness washed over his expression so strongly that it brought tears to her eyes. “I tried, Serena. For you.”

What? She’d thought he was trying to save his company—the family business. The family name. What did he mean, he’d tried for her?

“I know,” she said, afraid to say anything else. “I’ll go get the car. Stay here.” The driver stayed with the car. The valet just had to go find him.

It took several minutes. During that time, board members trickled out of the ballroom. Some were heading to dinner at the restaurant up the street, no doubt to celebrate their brilliant move to make themselves richer. A few shook Chadwick’s hand. No one else seemed to realize what a state of shock he was in. No one but her.

Finally, after what felt like a small eternity, the company car pulled up. It wasn’t really a car in the true sense of the word. Oh, it was a Cadillac, but it was the limo version. It was impressive without being ostentatious. Much like Chadwick.

The doorman opened the door for them. Absent-mindedly, Chadwick fished a bill out of his wallet and shoved it at the man. Then they climbed into the car.

When the door shut behind them, a cold silence seemed to grip the car. It wasn’t just her security on the line.

How did one comfort a multi-millionaire on the verge of becoming an unwilling billionaire? Once again, she was out of her league. She kept her mouth shut and her eyes focused on the passing Denver cityscape. The journey to the brewery on the south side of the city would take thirty minutes if traffic was smooth.

When she got back to the office, she’d have to open up her resume—that was all. If Chadwick lost the company, she didn’t think she could wait around until she got personally fired by the new management. She needed uninterrupted health benefits—prenatal care trumped any thought of retirement. Chadwick would understand that, wouldn’t he?

When Chadwick spoke, it made her jump. “What do you want?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Out of life.” He was staring out his own window. “Is this what you thought you’d be doing with your life? Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes.” Mostly. She’d thought that she and Neil would be married by now, maybe with a few cute kids. Being single and pregnant wasn’t exactly how she’d dreamed she’d start a family.

But the job? That was exactly what she’d wanted.

So she wasn’t breaking through the glass ceiling. She didn’t care. She was able to provide for herself. Or had been, anyway. That was the most important thing.

“Really?”

“Working for you has been very...stable. That’s not something I had growing up.”

“Parents got divorced too, huh?”

She swallowed. “No, actually. Still wildly in love. But love doesn’t pay the rent or put food on the table. Love doesn’t pay the doctor’s bills.”

His head snapped away from the window so fast she thought she’d heard his neck pop. “I...I had no idea.”

“I don’t talk about it.” Neil knew, of course. He’d met her when she was still living on ramen noodles and working two part-time jobs to pay for college. Moving in with him had been a blessing—he’d covered the rent for the first year while she’d interned at Beaumont. But once she’d been able to contribute, she had. She’d put all her emphasis on making ends meet, then making a nest egg.

Perhaps too much emphasis. Maybe she’d been so focused on making sure that she was an equal contributor to the relationship—that money would never drive them apart—that she’d forgotten a relationship was more than a bank account. After all, her parents had nothing but each other. They were horrid with money, but they loved each other fiercely.

Once, she’d loved Neil like that—passionately. But somewhere along the way that had mellowed into a balanced checkbook. As if love could be measured in dollars and cents.

Chadwick was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. She didn’t like it—even though he no longer seemed focused on the sale of the company, she didn’t want to see pity creep into his eyes. She hated pity.

So she redirected. “What about you?”

“Me?” He seemed confused by the question.

“Did you always want to run the brewery?”

Her question worked; it distracted Chadwick from her dirt-poor life. But it failed in that it created another weary wave that washed over his expression. “I was never given a choice.”

The way he said it sounded so...cold. Detached, even. “Never?”

“No.” He cut the word off, turning his attention back to the window. Ah. Her childhood wasn’t the only thing they didn’t talk about.

“So, what would you want—if you had the choice?” Which he very well might have after the next round of negotiations.