Not the Boss's Baby. Sarah M. Anderson

her children.

      “I’m...that was uncalled for.” Nearly a lifetime of blaming Matthew had made it damn hard to apologize to the man. So he changed the subject. “Everything ready for the gala?”

      Matthew gave him a look Chadwick couldn’t quite make out. It was almost as if Matthew was going to challenge him to an old-fashioned duel over honor, right here in the office.

      But the moment passed. “We’re ready. As usual, Ms. Chase has proven to be worth far more than her weight in gold.”

      As Matthew talked, that phrase echoed in Chadwick’s head.

      Everyone did have a price, he realized.

      Even Helen Beaumont. Even Serena Chase.

      He just didn’t know what that price was.

       Three

      “The Beaumont Brewery has been run by a Beaumont for one hundred and thirty-three years,” Chadwick thundered, smacking the tabletop with his hand to emphasize his point.

      Serena jumped at the sudden noise. Chadwick didn’t normally get this worked up at board meetings. Then again, he’d been more agitated—more abnormal—this entire week. Her hormones might be off, but he wasn’t behaving in a typical fashion, either.

      “The Beaumont name is worth more than $52 dollars a share,” Chadwick went on. “It’s worth more than $62 a share. We’ve got one of the last family-owned, family-operated breweries left in America. We have the pleasure of working for a piece of American history. The Percherons? The beer? That’s the result of hard American work.”

      There was an unsettled pause as Serena took notes. Of course there was a secretary at the meeting, but Chadwick liked to have a separate version against which he could cross-check the minutes.

      She glanced up from her seat off to the side of the hotel ballroom. The Beaumont family owned fifty-one percent of the Beaumont Brewery. They’d kept a firm hand on the business for, well, forever—easily fending off hostile takeovers and not-so-hostile mergers. Chadwick was in charge, though. The rest of the Beaumonts just collected checks like any other stockholders.

      She could see that some people were really listening to Chadwick—nodding in agreement, whispering to their neighbors. This meeting wasn’t a full shareholders’ meeting, so only about twenty people were in the room. Some of them were holdovers from Hardwick’s era—handpicked back in the day. They didn’t have much power beyond their vote, but they were fiercely loyal to the company.

      Those were the people nodding now—the ones who had a personal stake in the company’s version of American history.

      There were some members—younger, more corporate types that had been brought in to provide balance against the old-boys board of Hardwick’s era. Chadwick had selected a few of them, but they weren’t the loyal employees that worked with him on a day-to-day basis.

      Then there were the others—members brought in by other members. Those, like Harper and his two protégées, had absolutely no interest in Beaumont beer, and they did nothing to hide it.

      It was Harper who broke the tense silence. “Odd, Mr. Beaumont. In my version of the American dream, hard work is rewarded with money. The buyout will make you a billionaire. Isn’t that the American dream?”

      Other heads—the younger ones—nodded in agreement.

      Serena could see Chadwick struggling to control his emotions. It hurt to watch. He was normally above this, normally so much more intimidating. But after the week he’d had, she couldn’t blame him for looking like he wanted to personally wring Harper’s neck. Harper owned almost ten percent of this company, though. Strangling him would be frowned upon.

      “The Beaumont Brewery has already provided for my needs,” he said, his voice tight. “It’s my duty to my company, my employees....” At this, he glanced up. His gaze met Serena’s, sending a heated charge between them.

      Her. He was talking about her.

      Chadwick went on, “It’s my duty to make sure that the people who choose to work for Beaumont Brewery also get to realize the American dream. Some in management will get to cash out their stock options. They’ll get a couple of thousand, maybe. Not enough to retire on. But the rest? The men and women who actually make this company work? They won’t. AllBev will walk in, fire them all, and reduce our proud history to nothing more than a brand name. No matter how you look at it, Mr. Harper, that’s not the American dream. I take care of those who work for me. I reward loyalty. I do not dump it by the side of the road the moment it becomes slightly inconvenient. I cannot be bought off at the expense of those who willingly give me their time and energy. I expect nothing less from this board.”

      Then, abruptly, he sat. Head up, shoulders back, he didn’t look like a man who had just lost. If anything, he looked like a man ready to take all comers. Chadwick had never struck her as a physical force to be reckoned with—but right now? Yeah, he looked like he could fight for his company. To the death.

      The room broke out into a cacophony of arguments—the old guard arguing with the new guard, both arguing with Harper’s faction. After about fifteen minutes, Harper demanded they call a vote.

      For a moment, Serena thought Chadwick had won. Only four people voted to accept AllBev’s offer of $52 a share. A clear defeat. Serena breathed a sigh of relief. At least something this week was going right. Her job was safe—which meant her future was safe. She could keep working for Chadwick. Things could continue just as they were. There was comfort in the familiar, and she clung to it.

      But then Harper called a second vote. “What should our counteroffer be? I believe Mr. Beaumont said $62 a share wasn’t enough. Shall we put $65 to a vote?”

      Chadwick jolted in his seat, looking far more than murderous. They voted.

      Thirteen people voted for the counteroffer of $65 a share. Chadwick looked as if someone had stabbed him in the gut. It hurt to see him look so hollow—to know this was another fight he was losing, on top of the fight with Helen.

      She felt nauseous, and she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with morning sickness. Surely AllBev wouldn’t want to spend that much on the brewery, Serena hoped as she wrote everything down. Maybe they’d look for a cheaper, easier target.

      Everything Chadwick had spoken of—taking care of his workers, helping them all, not just the privileged few, reach for the American dream—that was why she worked for him. He had given her a chance to earn her way out of abject poverty. Because of him, she had a chance to raise her baby in better circumstances than those in which she’d been raised.

      All of that could be taken away from her because Mr. Harper was grinding a forty-year-old ax.

      It wasn’t fair. She didn’t know when she’d started to think that life was fair—it certainly hadn’t been during her childhood. But the rules of Beaumont Brewery had been more than fair. Work hard, get promoted, get benefits. Work harder, get a raise, get out of a cube and into an office. Work even harder, get a big bonus. Get to go to galas. Get to dream about retirement plans.

      Get to feel secure.

      All of that was for sale at $65 a share.

      The meeting broke up, everyone going off with their respective cliques. A few of the old-timers came up to Chadwick and appeared to offer their support. Or their condolences. She couldn’t tell from her unobtrusive spot off to the side.

      Chadwick stood stiffly and, eyes facing forward, stalked out of the room. Serena quickly gathered her things and went after him. He seemed to be in such a fog that she didn’t want him to accidentally leave her behind.

      She didn’t need to worry. Chadwick was standing just outside the ballroom doors, still staring straight ahead.

      She needed to get him out of there. If he was going to have another moment like he’d had yesterday—a moment when his self-control