“Yes there is! I can’t do this without you.”

“Look, finance is not something I really give a shit about and I don’t care to learn. As long as I have my board, I’m happy.”

“We’ve had that conversation before, B. It was bullshit then and it’s bullshit now.”

“Whatever. I’m traveling and I have to practice. I don’t have time for it. Do you still want me to introduce you or what?”

I push back tears and force myself to stay calm. “Yes, please.”

B goes, “Hey, Michael. Keatyn is on the line, so I’ll let you take it from here.”

Then there’s a little beep indicating that he left the call.

Michael is talking, listing his qualifications, but I’m looking at B. He gives me a sad smile, a little finger wave, and then logs off.

“So, a hostile takeover—how long will it take?” I ask Michael, trying to cut to the chase. I mean, I’m assuming it’s not really that hard to buy a company.

“Let’s talk about whether it’s even possible first.”

“What do you mean? Of course it’s possible. He’s, like, leveraged, right? And that’s bad.”

“Yes, he is. The company is ripe for a takeover, but you have to be able to make it happen.”

“And how do I do that?”

“You offer to buy his investors out. If enough people sell, then you end up with the majority of the stock, which means you control the company. That’s what you want, right?”

“Yes. Are there any other benefits?”

“Well, the obvious one would be that you vote the current Chairman of the Board out of office.”

“Is Vin, um, Mr. Sharpe the chairman?”

“Yes, he is.”

“That’s perfect. I want to do both. Buy them out and appoint someone else. What will it cost?”

“That all depends on what his stockholders want. I’m emailing you a simple document so you can follow along.” The way he says “simple” makes it sound like he thinks I don’t have a clue.

I mean, I don’t. But still, I’m not loving his attitude.

I don’t say anything, though, because I desperately need his help.

“I have the email,” I tell him, pulling the document up on my computer.

“His company isn’t publicly traded, so it’s hard to get financial information. The numbers you see are what I believe it to be worth. And, from the digging I did as a favor to Mr. Wright, I have a list of investors along with their initial investments. Those are below. Do you see them?”

“Yes.”

“The next document shows the company’s liabilities. And the next is Mr. Sharpe’s balance statement.”

I scroll through page after page of spreadsheets, trying to keep up. “Uh, huh.”

“As you can see, his asset to debt ratio is very high.”

“Okay. And why is that important?”

“That ratio refers to his liquidity. He’s borrowed money on all of his assets, meaning he won’t be able to personally fight a hostile takeover. From on-the-ground intel, he’s invested a lot of money in a single movie and is betting the farm that it’s going to be a blockbuster.”

Mom’s movie could financially ruin him?

Wouldn’t that be poetic justice?

“But, as you can see from the figures on the last page, acquiring this company will take a substantial amount of capital.”

I look at the very big number on the last page. One that would require more than my entire trust. I think about the scholarship check I just wrote.

For a second, I reconsider it.

I quickly shake my head, clearing the thought. I can’t take it back and I don’t want to.

Besides, B promised his trust to help.

I’ll be fine.

“How do you plan to raise these funds?”

“Well, I have my trust fund, and Brooklyn said we could use his for whatever I’m short.”

“That’s what I thought. Unfortunately, Brooklyn doesn’t have control of his trust, nor will his father authorize the early release of any funds. So, unless you can arrange financing, there’s nothing further to discuss.”

This is why B didn’t want to be on the call.

Freaking chicken shit.

“I can get the money,” I say quickly.

“And how is a seventeen-year-old going to do that?” he asks condescendingly.

“I don’t know exactly,” I admit quietly.

“That’s what I figured.”

I bite my tongue, thank him for his time, and hang up.

I set the phone down in my lap, feeling paralyzed, like I’m lost at sea with no land in sight.

How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to win without B’s help?

I can’t.

That means prong two of my attack is out, which blows my whole plan to smithereens.

Damnit!

He has to help me. He promised! This was his idea!

I call him.

He doesn’t answer.

I hang up and call again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

I keep punching the button over and over.

By the time he finally answers, I’m pissed and crying frustrated tears. 

“You should have told me yourself if you didn’t want to help me! I can’t believe you would bail on me like this! I need you!”

“This hasn’t exactly been easy on me. I’ve gotten shit from every direction for what I said about you. God, it was spur of the moment! I am grateful that you encouraged me! And I care about you. I wanted to help. My dad was willing to help, but he freaked the fuck out yesterday when he heard about the photo. Told me if I have anything to do with you it will jeopardize everything we’ve worked so hard for. My career. My future. He trashed the takeover idea. Said it was like poking the hornet’s nest. Said I can’t use my trust. So, I’m sorry, but my hands are tied. And, come on, don’t I get some credit for what I’ve already done? Michael did all sorts of research.”

“You should’ve had the guts to tell me yourself. And without your help I don’t have enough money to go through with it anyway! My plan—no, your plan—is ruined.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You just don’t get it!” I yell. And as soon as I say the words, I know they’re true. I realize that’s exactly the problem. Other than one horrible picture, B’s life hasn’t changed much. He’s not in hiding. He’s living his dream.

“What don’t I get?”

I calm down and use my bitch voice, hoping I can scare him into seeing how important this is. “Every move you make is on the internet, Brooklyn. The tour schedules. The photos. You might think you can just bow out, but you can’t. You screwed yourself when you thanked me. And that means she’s in danger too.”

“Don’t give me a guilt trip. I know you’re seeing someone too.”

“Yeah, but the difference is, I’m somewhere safe. You’re not.”

I hang up on him.

And feel very alone.

I sit in the cold stairwell staring at the floor until my phone buzzes, startling me.

Hottie God:  Dallas and Riley want to take me somewhere tonight. You up for that?

Me:  Uh, no. Not at all.

Hottie God:  Are you tired?

Me:  Yes, but I can’t sleep. 

Hottie God:  Then I’m coming over until you can.

Me:  I’m kind of crabby.

That’s an understatement.

I roll my eyes at myself. I’ll just tell him not to come. That I’ll see him tomorrow.

Hottie God:  I’ll rub your face like I did when you were sick.

Or not.

Me:  I’ll be waiting.

I sneak into my room, unlock the window, and get under my covers.

A few minutes later, Aiden has his arms wrapped tightly around me, and my face is snuggled into his neck.