Free Web NovelChapter 83: The Lady
Clarisse’s blouse was unbuttoned as she leaned into Mark, locked in a wild kiss while he sat on the edge of his desk. One hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her waist possessively. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm
Then—
Knock. Knock.
They froze.
Clarisse jerked back, fumbling with her blouse. "Someone’s at the door."
She straightened her skirt and hurried into the adjoining lounge, closing the door softly behind her.
Mark ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply, adjusting his tie until he looked every bit the composed executive.
"Come in," he said smoothly.
The door opened and Phyllis Hayes, his executive coordinator, entered with a clipboard in hand.
"Mr. Vaughn," she said briskly, glancing at the untouched coffee. "The investors are in Conference Room B, waiting for the meeting."
"Thank you, Phyllis. Tell them I’ll be there in five."
She nodded curtly and left, her heels clicking sharply on the floor.
As the door shut, Mark dragged a hand down his jaw, letting out a slow, frustrated sigh.
A second later, the side door opened and Clarisse stepped out, leaning against the doorframe with a teasing smile.
"Thankfully she didn’t just walk in," she said.
Mark shot her a look. "We need to be more careful."
She shrugged, swaying across the room. "Since when do you care."
He caught her wrist as she reached for his tie. "Not now. The investors are waiting."
Clarisse rolled her eyes. "I thought you had enough money from the... from the money you took."
"I don’t have enough. I still need more."
Clarisse arched a brow.
"Then get married to the bitch, get the money and then we can finally be together..."
"I already spoke to lady Glowen. We have set a date for next month."
"Will she agree?"
"She doesn’t have a choice. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a room full of investors to charm."
As the door clicked shut, Clarisse picked up the untouched coffee cup, swirling the liquid thoughtfully.
"Sorry Mark, but I have other plans," she murmured to herself, then she set the cup down with a soft clink and walked out.
Mark strode down the hallway toward the conference room.
Phyllis fell in step beside him with a tablet in her hand. "They’ve been waiting fifteen minutes sir," she said crisply. "Mr. Halvorsen’s growing impatient."
"Let him," Mark replied without breaking stride. "If he’s still here, it means he needs me more than I need him."
Phyllis didn’t argue — she’d long learned when to hold her tongue.
"Also, someone called," she added. "She said she wants to invest fifty million in your project. She asked you to call her back."
That got his attention. "Who is it?"
"She only left her number," Phyllis said.
Mark nodded. "Alright, we call her after the meeting."
In the conference Room, a half-dozen investors sat around the table, some leaning back with practiced arrogance, others scrolling through reports on their tablets.
Mark opened the door. "Gentlemen," he said smoothly. "Apologies for the delay. I appreciate your patience. A few urgent matters took longer than I expected"
A few nervous chuckles followed — the kind people make when unsure whether to laugh or stay quiet.
He took the seat at the head of the table. Phyllis handed him the tablet, which he barely glanced at before setting it aside.
"So," Mark began, resting his elbows lightly on the table. "You’ve all had time to review the proposal. What I’m offering is simple: a merger that cuts your losses in half and doubles your potential in under six months. Risk minimal. Reward... significant."
A silver-haired man at the end of the table — Halvorsen — leaned back, unimpressed. "You make it sound like a sure thing. Nothing in this business ever is."
Mark smiled, calm and confident. "That’s because most people play it safe, Mr. Halvorsen. I don’t."
A few of the investors exchanged glances. One of them chuckled under his breath.
Halvorsen’s eyes narrowed. "And what makes you so certain your plan won’t collapse in six months?"
Mark leaned forward slightly, his tone smooth but edged. "Because I don’t plan for six months. I plan for six years — and everything I’ve ever put my name on has paid off. You’ve all read the numbers. You know I deliver."
Halvorsen tapped his pen against the mahogany table, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
"The numbers are impressive, Mark. No one is denying that. But rumors travel faster than spreadsheets. People are talking about your liquidity."
Mark didn’t flinch. He knew exactly which "rumors" Halvorsen was fishing for.
"People talk when they’re jealous, Harold," Mark said, his voice dropping an octave. "If I had a liquidity problem, would I be offering you a seat at this table? I’m looking for partners, not a lifeline."
"You all know your current margins are shrinking. You’re working harder for less money every year. This merger cuts out the middleman and gives us the leverage to dictate terms to our competitors. You come with me, and we set the new rules. We won’t just follow the market, we will lead it."
The tension in the room shifted. The younger investors were already nodding, pulled in by his confidence. Even Halvorsen seemed to settle back into his chair, his defensive posture softening.
"I’ll give you forty-eight hours," Halvorsen finally said. "If the final audit looks as clean as this proposal, we’re in."
"I’ll have Phyllis send the files over by noon," Mark replied happily.
He stood up and walked around the table, shaking hands and thanking the investors.
After they left, Mark went into his office. He sat behind his desk and pressed the blinking button on his phone. The line clicked open.
"This is Mark Vaughn," he said, his voice deep and professional.
There was a moment of silence. Then, a man’s voice came through the speaker.
"Mr. Vaughn, my Lady would like to meet you for a private discussion."
"Who is your Lady, if I may ask?"
"She is someone with a lot of money and a strong interest in your company."
Mark frowned but remained polite. "Alright. Where does she want to meet?"
"The old shipyard. Pier 9. Tonight at 6:00 PM. It’s quiet there. We can talk without being interrupted."
The line went dead.
"Oh-k," Mark murmured to himself.
