Page 72 of Third Time’s a Charm

She isn’t picking up, or answering texts, which is unsurprising.

For lack of any other ideas, I drive to her apartment. Maybe I should give her more time to calm down. Maybe she won’t even be there. But I have to try. I can’t let her go on thinking what she’s thinking.

By the time I’m ringing the buzzer for her apartment, she’s blocked my number, and after twenty minutes of buzzing and knocking, I finally admit defeat and leave.

My plans to explain may have been thwarted, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a shit tonne I can do to rectify the situation we’re in.

If phones still had hooks, my phone would be ringing off it. Unfortunately, they’re all from Tate. I don’t even bother listening to them after the first one, which was full of threats and vitriol. Turning off my phone isn’t an option, in case Louise does, by some miracle, decide to call. So I silence his number and get to work.

Firstly, I need to get myself ready for the inevitable fallout of losing my job.

Every piece of technology I use belongs to Cellar Road International. So I take myself off to the nearest technology retailer and sort myself out with a new phone and laptop, then copy across everything I need.

Which is just as well, because no sooner have I finished than an email from John Mackelden’s assistant, who I guess is now also working for Tate, arrives, advising me to return all equipment—including my car and company credit card—to the office immediately. And to be out of the serviced apartment by close of business. Spite works fast, it seems.

It doesn’t take me long to pack my suitcase and suit bag, load everything into the car and drive it to the office. I hand over the keys, cards and access passes to the security guy in the basement. No need to make it easy for them by delivering them upstairs.

I wheel my case out the front door onto the pavement, feeling lighter already for having disposed of anything tying me to Cellar Road.

I use my shiny new phone to find another serviced apartment nearby and head off down the street to check in, and get the ball rolling on a plan I hope will protect Louise. Because there’s no way in hell I’ll let those bastards take advantage of all her hard work and leave her jobless.

I now have a Plan B.

There are two priorities. Work out how I can use what I know to get Tate and Cellar Road to agree to release the intellectual property for Louise’s idea to her. Which means I have to prove I have enough on them to cause a shitshow they won’t be able to weasel out of.

That achieved, I have to find a way for Louise to implement her ideas without the backing of the company. Which means she’ll need an investor. Because setting up the kind of operational and marketing infrastructure she’ll need, not to mention an efficient database and distribution centre, will require capital.

I’m torn. On the one hand, I want to charge in, sword drawn, and sort this out for Louise. Show her what I really think of her ideas by championing them, prove to her I believe in this proposal. In her. On the other, she’s a grown woman. Strong. Smart. Determined. I don’t want to take agency for the success of this venture out of her hands.

She’s made it clear she doesn’t want to speak to me. But there’s one person I know she will speak to.

It takes every ounce of my negotiating skills to get Colin to agree to meet for breakfast before he goes to work tomorrow. In the end, I suspect he only agrees because he wants all the tea before anyone else gets it. But I don’t care. If I can convince him to intercede with Louise, get her to at least hear me out, he can have as much tea as he wants.

In the meantime, I can get all the pieces of my Plan B on the board, ready for her approval.

The work I did on Louise’s proposal for Tate makes it perfect to take to potential investors. I can’t do that till we’ve secured the rights, but in the meantime, I already have Edward researching, compiling and vetting a list of companies that might be interested in this kind of venture.

The seemingly obvious option is a bank, but that won’t give her enough business support. And I suspect their lending criteria might struggle to get her across the line, given her age and relative inexperience. So the brief is to find investors. Not big venture capitalists but maybe smaller, bespoke investors.

Even though he’s technically no longer my EA, I have no doubt I can continue to count on Edward.

“Well, none of that comes as any surprise,” he says when I tell him what’s happened. “And no prizes for guessing the kind of dirt Mackelden has on Tate. In better news, check your inbox. I’ve sent you some info on potential investors.” I can hear the smug smile from half a world away.

“Already? That was quick, even for you.”

Edward laughs. “Well, you know how much I enjoy a quickie. Also, I know a red flag when I see one. I’ve been on this since before you asked.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “Thank God you’re on my side.”

“Don’t you forget it. Anyway, I’ll keep my ear to the ground around here. At least until they fire my gorgeous arse.”

“I hope it won’t come to that. I’d hate you to lose your job on my account.”

“Pfft,” he snorts down the line. “If you think I’ll stay working in this den of vipers a minute longer than you need me to, you’re sadly mistaken. I quite fancy a trip to Australia, actually. I can see myself with one of those lovely surf rescue hotties.”

It’s good to laugh. However briefly.

“Well, let’s see if we can make that happen for you.”