Page 75 of Cameron's Contract

A lifetime came and went.

A series of memories unfolded and all of them led to this moment.

“That’s the only good thing about a rumor of a hostile takeover,” said Richard. “People dump their shares.”

“What does that mean?” whispered Mia.

“Boom bitches!” shouted Richard.

My heart thundered. “Speak to me.”

“You just became the proud owner of Cole Tea. Well, 90% anyway. Not bad for a day’s work.”

I stared at the phone as though it was the only thing that would save me.

Time sped up. Slowed down. Realization dawned.

“Richard, you’re a genius,” shouted Mia, jumping up and down.

“Well, we know that.” He laughed.

“I have to get back to the tower.” I ran out of the office, through the sitting room, and headed for the door.

“Cameron!” Mia ran after me. “Your clothes.”

I ran back to her. “Phone.” I took it from her. “Richard?”

“Still here.”

Mia handed me a sock and I hopped into it with one hand and held the phone with the other. “Richard! Thank you.”

“What are you waiting for?” he said. “Go.”

CHAPTER 21

RUSH HOUR.

A ridiculously bad time to choose to save an empire.

Outside on the curb with my phone pressed to my ear, I tried to hail a cab while I scanned the chaos around me.

My dad was minutes away from signing over Cole Tea and he wasn’t answering his phone. His assistant wasn’t answering his either. No one was. Because everyone was probably in the conference room about to witness the dark deed.

Traffic was stationary. Horns blasted. The hustle and bustle of New York surrounded me. Pedestrian’s made their way to work and tourists were trickling onto the streets ready to explore.

The futility of frustration. I’d never get there.

I took off, sprinting faster than I ever had, and something told me I was besting my five minute mile.

Passing shops and buildings, I weaved my way through.

Richard had pulled off a miracle. He’d quietly purchased enough stock known as a creeping tender offer to change the face of Cole Tea, and no matter how the board resisted we had full power to deliver the death stroke. Prescribe that poison pill to the men who’d betrayed us.

I crashed through the revolving door and my coat caught. I twisted out of it, leaving it behind and staggering forward, almost tripping as I bolted toward the elevator.

A guard lunged toward me.

“It’s Dr. Cole,” another shouted, and the guard stood down.