Page 9 of Sweet Sinners

Chapter seven

Cali

T he boardroom felt exactly as I’d anticipated, cold and unwelcoming. The air conditioning whispered overhead, but the chill crawling along my skin had nothing to do with the temperature.

Several pairs of eyes tracked my every move, their expressions carefully neutral, though I could practically hear their silent wagers on how long it would take me to crumble. How long until I ran, screaming from this glass cage.

“Miss Stavros,” an older board member began, his tone clipped, formal, and utterly devoid of warmth. “Shall we begin?”

The name felt strange, foreign even. Miss Stavros, not Calliope. Not Cali. Just a distant echo of someone else’s legacy. A title I wasn’t sure belonged to me at all .

“Of course,” I answered, forcing confidence into my voice even as my fingers trembled slightly beneath the table.

The agenda lay neatly in front of me—typed, bound, and color-coded. Hours spent poring over market analyses, vendor contracts, and upcoming initiatives had burned the details into my memory. Papou had left nothing to chance, determined to equip me with every possible tool.

Yet it didn’t matter.

The meeting unfolded like a well-choreographed dance, with each board member effortlessly tossing figures and forecasts between one another.

They navigated vendor negotiations, supply chains, and international partnerships with practiced ease.

I’d studied at the best universities, attended every lecture, absorbed every nuance from professors who breathed corporate strategy.

My father had made sure of it.

But here, now, none of that counted.

When I spoke, their replies were polite but hollow, their nods too brief to carry meaning. I presented quarterly projections I’d reviewed in painstaking detail, only for a board member to brush it off with a dismissive, “We’re already on top of that.”

I proposed revisiting vendor contracts, believing fresh negotiations might secure better terms, but another member simply flashed a thin smile and replied, “We’ve handled that for years.”

Every attempt I made was met with dismissal, cloaked in a veneer of civility that only sharpened the sting.

My chest tightened painfully, anger and insecurity tangling together. Would they dismiss me like this if I were a man? Would they nod politely and disregard my ideas with that same indifferent, patronizing ease ?

The thought simmered inside me, bitter and sharp. My gaze drifted across the table, settling on the men opposite—tailored suits, commanding postures, radiating effortless authority. They didn’t need to prove a thing; their power was assumed, automatic.

Unbidden, my mind flickered to Connor.

A man who could walk into a room and own it without even trying. He wouldn’t have let them dismiss him, he’d have made his voice heard, forced them to pay attention. Hell, he might’ve even earned their respect just by existing.

The idea made my blood boil.

Connor, with his infuriating confidence and reckless charm, could handle this room in ways I couldn't, despite all my meticulous preparation. It wasn’t just frustrating; it was infuriating. The notion that being a man could make this whole damn thing easier gnawed at me relentlessly.

The meeting crawled on, minutes blurring into hours. Conversations flowed around me like I wasn’t even there, as though my presence was just an inconvenient afterthought. They discussed mergers and acquisitions I’d meticulously reviewed just days ago, yet no one paused to ask my opinion.

I forced myself to stay focused, scribbling notes in a notebook I doubted anyone cared about. My voice was nothing more than static, drowned out by men who saw me as temporary—a shadow of the man who’d occupied this seat before.

The sting of invisibility cut deeper than any outright rejection. At least rejection told you exactly where you stood. This quiet disregard, this silent dismissal without words, was worse.

It told me I didn’t belong here.

When the meeting finally ended, the board members stood, their polite smiles and murmured goodbyes echoing emptily around the room as they filed out. I stayed seated, fingers gripping the chair's armrests, gaze locked on the empty table in front of me.

The long, polished surface gleamed under the harsh overhead lights, reflecting back someone I didn’t recognize. A girl who wasn’t ready—a shadow trying desperately to fill a role she never asked for.

I was supposed to be their leader. The CEO. Head of an empire my father had built piece by piece.

But they didn’t see me that way. Not even close.

Back in my office, I collapsed against my desk, forehead pressing into the smooth, cool wood with a quiet thud.

“I was a disaster, wasn’t I?” My voice came out muffled, defeated.

“You weren’t a disaster,” Anna said softly from the chair opposite, gentle but firm.

Kind words, but empty. We both knew what happened in there.

I lifted my head, frustration tightening my chest. “I’ve spent my whole life preparing for this.

The schools he chose. The internships he arranged.

Hours spent memorizing every damn report my grandfather left behind.

” My voice shook slightly. “I know this company inside and out, Anna. But none of that matters, does it?”

Anna nodded slowly, understanding etched into her features. “It will matter. They’ll see it eventually.”

“When?” I demanded sharply, anger flaring to life. “After months of being ignored? After they've made up their minds that I’m just warming a chair until someone else steps in?”

Anna stood, crossing over to set a steaming cup of coffee in front of me, the aroma rich and comforting, an offer of support. “It’ll take time,” she said steadily. “You’re stepping into shoes they think you can’t fill. They’re wrong, Cali. They’ll realize it soon enough.”

I stared down into the coffee, its bitter warmth settling in my chest. “Maybe,” I murmured softly .

But as I raised the cup to my lips, one truth solidified in my gut. Time wasn’t what I needed. Respect was. And if they refused to give it willingly, I’d find a way to take it, one way or another.

“Coffee’s not gonna cut it,” I mutter, pushing the steaming mug away, porcelain scraping harshly against the polished desk.

My chair scrapes across the floor as I stand abruptly, the sound loud and grating in the silence.

“I need something stronger. Something that burns going down and drowns out the chill of that goddamn boardroom.”

I move toward the cabinet in the corner, already knowing exactly what I’ll find—a leftover relic of my father’s demons. I yank the door open, and sure enough, the familiar amber glow of bourbon stares back at me, waiting patiently like an old friend I shouldn’t trust.

The liquid pours smoothly, filling my glass halfway before I hesitate, breathing in the sharp, oaky scent. It promises comfort—warmth, oblivion—anything to blot out the dismissive glances from that table full of men who already decided I don’t belong.

But the first sip doesn’t soothe. Instead, it scalds, burning a trail down my throat that feels like punishment. I stare at the glass, tempted to drain the whole damn thing just to spite myself, when Anna’s voice slices through my thoughts.

“You sure that’s the answer?” she asks carefully from behind me.

I’d forgotten she was still there, an unwanted witness to my unraveling. Turning slowly, I lift my chin in challenge. “You got a better one?”

Anna watches me, unflinching. “Maybe.”

I take another swallow, deeper this time, embracing the burn as it settles in my chest. It tastes bitter now, like defeat. “I’m listening.”

She crosses the room, bridging the distance between us in steady strides, her hand gently squeezing my shoulder. “I know today sucked. But you’re stronger than this, Cali. You’ll prove them wrong—give it time.”

I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “It’s not about time, Anna. It’s about respect. And they decided I didn’t deserve it before I ever walked through those doors.”

Her grip tightens, determination flashing in her eyes. “Then don’t wait for them to give it. Take it. You know this company inside and out—better than they ever will. Make them see that.”

The intensity in her voice is both a lifeline and a dare, and I hate how much I need it. My eyes fall to the half-empty glass, watching the bourbon swirl mockingly.

I sigh, my shoulders sagging. Anna’s right, and fighting her feels pointless.

“Thanks,” I whisper, the word strained and barely audible.

Her smile softens, understanding flickering through her expression. She gently takes the glass from my hand, her fingertips brushing mine in quiet reassurance.

“This isn’t your answer,” she says softly, but with a conviction that cuts deeper than the bourbon ever could. “Not for what you’re facing.”

Her words break through the haze, offering clarity I’d rather ignore, but can’t.

Because she’s right.