Read Online Green Tea Won't Help You Now! by Dasha G. Logan - Free Book Online
Authors: Dasha G. Logan
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face was turning red beneath his greyish curls. He detested me! But I paid him several million dollars a year so he tried not to show it.
"No, you can't."
"Because I don't see why we should pay for Craig's business class ticket to Los Angeles and why planet Earth should pay for his carbon footprint."
"Those documents are important. A large amount of money hangs in there. Jobs too. It's a sensitive matter. We had problems with this asset before."
I stretched my legs under the cover and thought I could torture him a little more. "What do you mean?"
"One of the companies you own in part will be transformed from a private company into a public company in two months time."
"Does that mean the state will buy it?"
"No, it means everybody can buy its shares at the stock exchange. But in order for us to let it go public, we need to shift the capital and you are the only one who can authorise that."
"Ah, now I understand."
"That's good, because the last time we—" He broke of in mid sentence.
"The last time we?"
"Never mind."
"I do mind. What happened the last time?"
"The last time you told me I was to stop everything and set up your fund."
"Oh."
He cleared his throat. "So that's what I did."
"Oh. Ah. You were correct of course. Well, this time I shall not interfere."
"Great, because it was a bad blow to all of us when it happened, especially to the people at Hard Pack. I'm going to call Craig right away and he'll be there with the documents tomorrow. I think you can expect him in the early afternoon..."
His voice faded into the darkness. I did not listen any longer. The moment I heard the words "Hard Pack", my body convulsed into a knot.
"Laetitia, are you there? — Hello?"
"Hard Pack," I managed to say.
"Yes. They make sports equipment. They're coming out with a new brand, too, which was also scheduled to come out three years ago. I sent you the relevant papers back then. Don't know if you ever read them..."
"Maybe." Ragadabagadabooh!
"I thought so. Can I text you about Craig's arrival time?"
"Sure..."
"Thanks."
"Good night, Jacob."
"Good night."
This could not be true. It just could not be true! I could not be the co-owner of Alex's company! I did not want to be!
An even deeper feeling of trepidation got hold of me. I climbed out of bed and padded down the stairs.
I did not own a car, but I did own a garage. The garage was home to an army of cardboard boxes holding the documents Jacob Weinberg regularly sent me. I never actually looked at the stuff. I trusted him implicitly, but when I moved from London to Venice after my time in Berlin and before I went to India, I had repacked the papers for transport. I explicitly remembered a day when I had been sitting among a mountain of papers, trying to get some sort of order to them. I must have unconsciously seen it then.
I found the relevant box and opened it. I sifted through the papers until I lost patience and turned the box over.
And then there it was. It almost jumped at me. It was a logo: the word "InspYre" written in flowing letters of magenta.
"Ragadabagadabooh!"
Ten
I did not remember if it was Andy Warhol or Woody Allen who said women are at their most beautiful when they are on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Whoever it was, I hoped they were right.
It was 9.28 am and I was waiting for my breakfast date. Another night had gone by with very little sleep and I began to understand why sleep-deprivation was sometimes used as a therapy against depression. If I was anything at all but exhausted, it was light-headed. Also, I was certain there were large neon signs hovering all around me, pointing arrows at me, saying "Laetitia Corvera-Fabergé" and "Guilty!"
Would Alex have heard my real name? I could not kid myself there. He had.
Still. To the world at large, Laetitia Corvera-Fabergé was an intoxicated it-girl who spent her time partying at jet set locations all over the globe. She was no humble, hard-working,
"No, you can't."
"Because I don't see why we should pay for Craig's business class ticket to Los Angeles and why planet Earth should pay for his carbon footprint."
"Those documents are important. A large amount of money hangs in there. Jobs too. It's a sensitive matter. We had problems with this asset before."
I stretched my legs under the cover and thought I could torture him a little more. "What do you mean?"
"One of the companies you own in part will be transformed from a private company into a public company in two months time."
"Does that mean the state will buy it?"
"No, it means everybody can buy its shares at the stock exchange. But in order for us to let it go public, we need to shift the capital and you are the only one who can authorise that."
"Ah, now I understand."
"That's good, because the last time we—" He broke of in mid sentence.
"The last time we?"
"Never mind."
"I do mind. What happened the last time?"
"The last time you told me I was to stop everything and set up your fund."
"Oh."
He cleared his throat. "So that's what I did."
"Oh. Ah. You were correct of course. Well, this time I shall not interfere."
"Great, because it was a bad blow to all of us when it happened, especially to the people at Hard Pack. I'm going to call Craig right away and he'll be there with the documents tomorrow. I think you can expect him in the early afternoon..."
His voice faded into the darkness. I did not listen any longer. The moment I heard the words "Hard Pack", my body convulsed into a knot.
"Laetitia, are you there? — Hello?"
"Hard Pack," I managed to say.
"Yes. They make sports equipment. They're coming out with a new brand, too, which was also scheduled to come out three years ago. I sent you the relevant papers back then. Don't know if you ever read them..."
"Maybe." Ragadabagadabooh!
"I thought so. Can I text you about Craig's arrival time?"
"Sure..."
"Thanks."
"Good night, Jacob."
"Good night."
This could not be true. It just could not be true! I could not be the co-owner of Alex's company! I did not want to be!
An even deeper feeling of trepidation got hold of me. I climbed out of bed and padded down the stairs.
I did not own a car, but I did own a garage. The garage was home to an army of cardboard boxes holding the documents Jacob Weinberg regularly sent me. I never actually looked at the stuff. I trusted him implicitly, but when I moved from London to Venice after my time in Berlin and before I went to India, I had repacked the papers for transport. I explicitly remembered a day when I had been sitting among a mountain of papers, trying to get some sort of order to them. I must have unconsciously seen it then.
I found the relevant box and opened it. I sifted through the papers until I lost patience and turned the box over.
And then there it was. It almost jumped at me. It was a logo: the word "InspYre" written in flowing letters of magenta.
"Ragadabagadabooh!"
Ten
I did not remember if it was Andy Warhol or Woody Allen who said women are at their most beautiful when they are on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Whoever it was, I hoped they were right.
It was 9.28 am and I was waiting for my breakfast date. Another night had gone by with very little sleep and I began to understand why sleep-deprivation was sometimes used as a therapy against depression. If I was anything at all but exhausted, it was light-headed. Also, I was certain there were large neon signs hovering all around me, pointing arrows at me, saying "Laetitia Corvera-Fabergé" and "Guilty!"
Would Alex have heard my real name? I could not kid myself there. He had.
Still. To the world at large, Laetitia Corvera-Fabergé was an intoxicated it-girl who spent her time partying at jet set locations all over the globe. She was no humble, hard-working,
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