Читать книгу: «The Magnate's Manifesto»

A big thanks to Rebecca Avalon of Strip and Grow Rich, the original stripper school, for taking me inside the life and mind of a dancer and helping me bring Bailey to life. I can’t thank you enough!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE DAY THAT Jared Stone’s manifesto sparked an incident of international female outrage happened to be, unfortunately for Stone, a slow news day. By 5:00 a.m. on Thursday, when the sexy Silicon Valley billionaire was reputed to be running the trails of San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park, as he did every morning in his connected-free beginning to the day, his manifesto was dinner conversation in Moscow. In London, as chicly dressed female office workers escaped brick and steel buildings to chase down lunch, his outrageous state of the union on twenty-first-century women was on the tip of every tongue, spoken in hushed, disbelieving tones on elevator trips down to ground level.

And in America, where the outrage was about to hit hardest, women who had spent their entire careers seeking out the C-suite only to find themselves blocked by a glass ceiling that seemed impossible to penetrate stared in disbelief at their smartphones. Maybe it was a joke, some said. Someone must have hacked into Stone’s email, said others. Doesn’t surprise me at all, interjected a final contingent, many of whom had dated Stone in an elusive quest to pin down the world’s most sought-after bachelor. He’s a cold bastard. I’m only surprised his true stripes didn’t appear sooner.

* * *

At her desk at 7:00 a.m. at the Stone Industries building in San Jose, Bailey St. John was oblivious to the firestorm her boss was creating. Intent on hacking her way through her own glass ceiling and armed with a steaming Americano with which to do so, she slid into her chair with as much grace as her pencil skirt would allow, harnessed a morning dose of optimism that today would be different, and flicked on her PC.

She stared sleepily at the screen as her computer booted up. Took a sip of the strong, acrid brew that inevitably kicked her brain into working order as she clicked on her mail program. Her girlfriend Aria’s email, titled “OMG,” made her lift a recently plucked and perfected brow.

She clicked it open. The hot sip of coffee she’d just taken lodged somewhere in her windpipe. Billionaire Playboy Ignites International Incident With His Manifesto on Women, blared the headline of the variety news site everyone in Silicon Valley frequented. Leaked Tongue-in-Cheek Manifesto to His Fellow Mates Makes Stone’s Views on Women in the Boardroom and Bedroom Blatantly Clear.

Bailey put down her coffee with a jerky movement and clicked through to the manifesto that had already generated two million views. The Truth About Women, which apparently had never been meant for anyone other than Jared Stone’s inner circle, was now the salacious entertainment of the entire male population. As she started reading what was unmistakably her boss’s bold, eloquent tone, she nearly fell off her chair.

Having dated and worked with a cross-section of women from around the globe, and having reached the age where I feel I can make a definitive opinion on the subject matter, I have come to a conclusion. Women lie.

* * *

They say they want to be equals in the boardroom, when in reality nothing has changed over the past fifty years. Despite all their pleas to the contrary, despite their outrage at the limits the “so-called” glass ceiling puts on them, they don’t really want to be hammering out a deal, and they don’t want to be orchestrating a merger. They want to be home in the house we provide, living the lifestyle to which they’ve become accustomed. They want a man who will take care of them, who gives them a hot night between the sheets and diamond jewelry at appropriate intervals. Who will prevent them from drifting aimlessly through life without a compass…

Drifting aimlessly through life without a compass? Bailey’s cheeks flamed. If there was any way in which her life couldn’t be described, it was that. She’d spent the last twelve years putting as much mileage between her and her depressing low-income roots as she could, doing the impossible and obtaining an MBA before working herself up the corporate ladder. First at a smaller Silicon Valley start-up, then for the last three years at Jared Stone’s industry darling of a consumer electronics company.

And that was where her rapid progression had stopped. As director of North American sales for Stone Industries, she’d spent the last eighteen months chasing a vice president position Stone seemed determined not to give her. She’d worked harder and more impressively than any of her male colleagues, and it was generally acknowledged the VP job should have been hers. Except Jared Stone didn’t seem to think so—he’d given the job to someone else. And that hurt coming from the man she’d been dying to work for—the resident genius of Silicon Valley.

Why didn’t he respect her as everyone else did?

Her blood heated to a furious level; bubbled and boiled and threatened to spill over into an expression of uncontrolled rage. Now she knew why. Because Jared Stone was a male chauvinist pig. The worst of a Silicon Valley breed.

He was…horrific.

She forced a sip of the excessively strong java into her mouth before she lost it completely and slammed the cup back down on her desk. Flicked her gaze back to her computer screen and the “rules” on women Jared had also gifted the male population with.

Rule Number 1—All women are crazy. And by that I mean they think in a completely foreign way from us that might as well come from another planet. You need to find the least crazy one you can live with. If you elect to settle down, which I’m not advocating, mind you.

Rule Number 2—Every woman wants a ring on her finger and the white picket fence. No matter what she says. Not a bad thing for the state of the nuclear family or for you if you’re already on that trajectory. But for God’s sake know what you’re getting yourself into.

Rule Number 3—Every woman wants a lion in the bedroom. She wants to be dominated. She wants you to be in complete control. She doesn’t want you to listen to her “needs.” So stop making that mistake. Be a man.

Rule Number 4—Every woman starts the day with an agenda. A cause, an item to strike off her list, the inescapable conclusion of a campaign she’s been running. It could be a diamond ring, more of your time, your acknowledgment that you will indeed agree to meet her mother… Whatever it is, take it from me, just say yes or say goodbye. And know that saying goodbye might be a whole hell of a lot cheaper in the long run.

Bailey stopped reading for the sake of her blood pressure. Here she’d been worrying that the personality conflict she and Jared shared, which admittedly was intense, was the problem. The thing that had been holding her back. Their desire to rip each other apart every time they stepped foot in a boardroom together was legendary within the company, but that hadn’t been it. No—in actual fact, he disrespected the entire female race.

She’d never even had a chance.

Three years, she fumed, scowling at her computer screen as she pulled up a blank document. Three years she’d worked for that egocentric jerk, racking up domestic sales of his wildly popular cell phones and computers… For what? It had all been a complete waste of time in a career in which the clock was ticking. A CEO by thirty-five, she’d vowed. Although that vision seemed to be fading fast….

She pressed her lips together and started typing. To whom it may concern: I can no longer work in an organization with that pig at the helm. It goes against every guiding principle I’ve ever had. She kept going, wrote the letter without holding back, until her blood had cooled and her rage was spent. Then she did a second version she could hand in to HR.

She wasn’t working for Jared Stone. For that beautiful, arrogant piece of work. Not one minute longer. No matter how brilliant he was.

* * *

Jared Stone was in a whistling kind of mood as he parked in the Stone Industries lot, collected his briefcase and made his way through the sparkling glass doors. A five-mile run through the park, a long hot shower, a power shake and a relatively smooth commute could do that for a man.

He hummed a bad version of a song he’d just heard on the radio as he strode toward the bank of elevators that ran up the center of the elegant, architecturally brilliant building. When life was this good, when he was on top of his game, about to land the contract that would silence all his critics, cement his control of his company, he felt impermeable, impenetrable, unbeatable, as if he could leap tall buildings in a single bound, solve all the world’s problems, bring about world peace even, if given the material to work with.

A gilded ray of brilliance for all to follow.

He stuck his hand between the closing elevator doors and gained himself admittance on a half-filled car. Greeted the half dozen employees inside with the megawatt smile the press loved to capture and made a mental note of who was putting in the extra effort coming in early. Gerald from finance flashed him a swaggering grin as if they shared an inside joke. Jennifer Thomas, PA to one of the vice presidents, who was normally a sucker for his charm, did a double take at his friendly “good morning” and muttered something unintelligible back. The woman from legal, what was her name, turned her back on him.

Strange.

The weird vibe only got worse as the doors opened on the executive floors and he made his way through the still-quiet space to his office. Another PA gave him the oddest look. He looked down. Did he have power shake on the front of his shirt? Toothpaste on his face?

Power shake stains ruled out, he frowned at his fifty-something PA, Mary, as she handed him his messages. “What is wrong with everyone today? The sun is shining, sales are up…”

Mary blinked. “You haven’t been online, have you?”

“You know my theory on that,” he returned patiently. “I spend the first couple hours of my day finding my center. Seven-thirty is soon enough to discover what craziness has befallen the world.”

“Right,” she muttered. “Well, you might want to leave your Buddhist sojourn by the wayside and plug in quickly before Sam Walters arrives. He’ll be here at eleven.”

Jared brought his brows together at the mention of the chairman of the Stone Industries board. “I have nothing scheduled with him.”

“You do now,” she said. “Jared—I—” She set down her pen and gave him a direct look. “Your document, your manifesto, was leaked on the internet last night.”

He felt the blood drain from his face. He’d only ever written two manifestos in his life. One when he’d started Stone Industries and put down his vision for the company, and the second, the private joke he’d shared with his closest friends last night after a particularly amusing guys’ night out on the town.

It had not been intended for public consumption.

From the look on Mary’s face, she was not talking about the Stone Industries manifesto.

“What do you mean leaked?” he asked slowly.

She cleared her throat. “The document…the whole document is all over the Net. My mother emailed it to me this morning. She asked what I was doing working for you.”

The thought crossed his mind that this was all impossible because his buddies would never do that to him. Not over a joke intended for their eyes only…. Had someone hacked into his email?

He looked down at the wad of messages in his hand, his chest tightening. “How bad is it?”

Her lips pursed. “It’s everywhere.”

Thinking he might finally have taken his penchant for stirring things up too far, he knew it for the truth when his mentor and adviser Sam Walters walked into his office three hours later, Jared’s legal and PR teams behind him. The sixty-five-year-old financial genius did not look amused.

Jared waved them into chairs and attempted a preemptive strike. “Sam, this is all a huge misunderstanding. We’ll put out a statement that it was a joke and it’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

His vice president of PR, Julie Walcott, lifted a brow. “We’re at two million hits and climbing, Jared. Women are threatening to boycott our products. This is not going away.”

He leaned back against his desk, the abdomen he’d worked to the breaking point this morning contracting at his appalling lack of judgment in ever putting those words on paper. But one thing he never did was show weakness. Particularly not now when the world wanted to eat him alive. “What do you suggest I do?” he drawled, with his usual swagger. “Beg women for their forgiveness? Get down on my knees and swear I didn’t mean it?”

“Yes.”

He gave her a disbelieving look. “It was a joke between friends. Addressing it gives it credence.”

“It’s now a joke between you and the entire planet,” Julie said matter-of-factly. “Addressing it is the only thing that’s going to save you right about now.”

The sick feeling in his stomach intensified. Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “This has legal implications, Jared. Human rights implications… And furthermore, as I don’t need to remind you, Davide Gagnon’s daughter is a charter member of a woman’s organization. She will not be amused.”

Jared’s hands tightened around the wooden lip of his desk. He was well aware of Micheline Gagnon’s board memberships. The daughter of the CEO of Europe’s largest consumer electronics retailer, Maison Electronique—with whom Stone Industries was pursuing a groundbreaking five-year deal to expand its global presence—was an active social commentator. She would not be amused. But really…it had been a joke.

He let out a long breath. “Tell me what we need to do.”

“We need to issue an apology,” Julie said. “Position it as a private joke that was in bad taste. Say that it has nothing to do with your real view of women, which is actually one of the utmost respect.”

“I do respect women,” he interjected. “I just don’t think they’re always honest with their feelings.”

Julie gave him a long look. “When’s the last time you put a woman on the executive committee?”

Never. He raked a hand through his hair. “Give me a woman who belongs on it and I’ll put her there.”

“What about Bailey St. John?” Sam lifted his bushy brows. “You seem to be the only one who thinks she hasn’t earned her spot as a VP.”

Jared scowled. “Bailey St. John is a special case. She isn’t ready. She thinks she was born ready, but she isn’t.”

“You need to make a gesture,” Sam underscored, his tone taking on a steely edge. “You are on thin ice right now, Jared.” In all aspects, his mentor’s deeply lined face seemed to suggest. “Give her the job. Get her ready.”

“It’s not the right choice,” Jared rejected harshly. “She still needs to mature. She’s only twenty-nine, for God’s sake. Making her a VP would be like setting a firecracker loose.”

Sam lifted his brows again as if to remind him how sparse his support on the board was right now. As if he needed reminding that his control of the company he’d built from a tiny start-up into a world player was in jeopardy. His company.

“Give her the job, Jared.” Sam gave him an even look. “Smooth out her raw edges. Do not blow ten years of hard work on your penchant for self-ignition.”

Antagonism burned through him, singeing the tips of his ears. He’d stolen Bailey from a competitor three years ago for her incredibly sharp brain. For the potential he knew she had. And she hadn’t disappointed him. He had no doubt he’d one day make her into a VP, but right now, she was the rainbow-colored cookie in the pack. You never knew what you were going to bite into when she walked into a room. And he couldn’t have that around him. Not now.

Sam gave him a hard look. “Fine,” Jared rasped. He’d figure out a way to work the Bailey equation. “What else?”

“Cultural sensitivity training,” his head of legal interjected. “HR is going to set it up.”

“That,” Jared dismissed in a low voice, “is not happening. Next.”

Julie outlined her plan to rescue his reputation. It was solid, what he paid her for, and he agreed with it all, except for the cultural sensitivity training, and ended the meeting.

He had way bigger fish to fry. A board’s support to solidify. His own job to save.

He paced to the window as the door closed behind the group, attempting to digest how his perfect morning had turned into the day from hell. At the root of it all, the abrupt end to his “relationship” with his trustworthy 10:00 p.m. of late, Kimberly MacKenna. A logical accountant by trade, she’d sworn to him she wasn’t looking for anything permanent. So he’d let his guard down, let her in. Then last Saturday night, she’d plopped herself down on his sofa, declared he was breaking her heart and turned those baby blues on him in a look he’d have sworn he’d never see.

Get serious, Jared, they’d said. He had. By 10:00 a.m. on Monday she’d had his trademark diamond tennis bracelet on her arm and another one had bitten the dust.

He’d been sad and maybe a touch lonely when he’d written that manifesto. But those were the rules. No commitment. His mouth twisted as he pressed his palm against the glass. Maybe he should have given his PR team the official line on his parents’ marriage. How his mother had bled his father dry… How she’d turned him into half a man. It would have made him much more sympathetic.

Better yet, he thought, Julie could devote more of her time to controlling the industry media that wanted to lynch him before he’d even gotten his vision for Stone Industries’ next decade off the ground. When you’d parlayed a groundbreaking new personal computer created on your best friend’s dorm room floor into the most successful consumer electronics company in America, a NASDAQ gold mine, you didn’t expect the naysayers to start calling for the CEO’s head as soon as the waters got rough. You expected them to trust your vision, radically different though it might be from the rest of the industry, and assume you had a plan to revolutionize the connected home.

A harsh curse escaped his lips. They would rather tear him down than support him. They were carnivores waiting for the kill. Well, it wasn’t going to happen. He was going to go to France, tie up this exclusive partnership with Maison Electronique, cut his competitors off at the knees and deliver this deal signed and sealed to the board at his must-win executive committee meeting in two weeks.

All he had to do was present his marketing vision to Davide Gagnon and secure his buy-in, and it was a done deal.

Spinning away from the window, he stalked to the door and growled a command at Mary to get Bailey St. John in his office now. He would promote her all right. But he wasn’t a stupid man. He would leave himself a loophole so when she proved herself too inexperienced for the job, he could put things back where they belonged until she was ready.

His last call was to his head of IT. Whoever had hacked into his email was going to rue the day they’d crossed him. He promised them that.

* * *

Bailey had cooled her heels for fifteen minutes outside Jared Stone’s office, resignation in hand, when Mary finally motioned her in. Her ability to appear civil at an all-time low, she pushed the heavy wooden door open and moved into the intensely masculine space. Dominated by a massive marble-manteled fireplace and floor-to-ceiling windows, it was purposefully minimalistic; focused like its owner, who preferred to roam the hallways of Stone Industries and work alongside his engineers instead of sitting at a desk.

He turned as her heels tapped across the Italian marble, and as usual when she was within ten feet of him, her composure seemed to slide a notch or two. She might not pursue his assets like every other female in Silicon Valley, but that didn’t mean she could ignore them. The piercing blue gaze he turned on her now was legendary for divesting a woman of her clothes faster than she could say “only if you respect me in the morning.” And if that didn’t do it for you, then his superbly toned body in the exquisitely tailored suit and his razor-sharp brain would. He supplemented his daily running routine with martial arts, and there was a joke going around the Valley that it was no coincidence his name was Stone. As in All-Night Jared Stone.

Heat filled her cheeks as he waved her into a chair, his finely crafted gold cuff links glinting in the sunlight. She started to sink into the sofa, obeying him like his mindless disciples, before she checked herself and straightened. “I’m not here to socialize, Jared. I’m here to resign.”

“Resign?” His usual husky, raspy tone held an incredulous edge.

“Yes, resign.” She pushed her shoulders back and walked toward him, refusing to let the balance of power shift in his favor as it always did. When she was a few inches away from him, she stopped and lifted her chin, absorbing the impact of that penetrating blue gaze. “I’m tired of drifting aimlessly through this company with you lying to me about where I’m headed.”

His gaze darkened. “Oh, come on, Bailey. I would think you of all people could take a joke.”

She sank her hands into her hips. “You meant every word of that, Jared. And to think I thought it might be our personality conflict that’s been holding me back.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, the scar that sliced through his upper lip whitening as skin stretched over bone. “You mean the fact that every time we’re in a boardroom together we want to dismantle each other in a slow and painful manner?” His eyes took on a smoky, deadly hue. “That’s the kind of thing that gets me out of bed in the morning.”

The futility of it all sent her head into an exasperated shake. “I think I’ve always known what your opinion of women is, but stupid me, I thought you actually respected me.”

“I do respect you.”

“Then why has everything I’ve done over the past three years failed to impress you? I was a star at my last company, Jared. You recruited me because of it. Why give Tate Davidson the job I deserved?”

“You weren’t ready,” he stated matter-of-factly, as much in control as she was out of it.

“In what way?”

“Your maturity levels,” he elaborated, looking down his perfect nose at her. “Your knee-jerk reactions. Right now is a good example. You didn’t even think this through.”

Antagonism lanced through her, setting every limb of her body on fire. “Oh, I thought it through all right. I’ve had three years to think it through. And forgive me if I don’t take the maturity criticism too hard after your childish little stunt this morning. You wanted to make every male in California laugh and slap each other on the back? Well, you’ve succeeded. Good on you. Another ten steps backward for womankind.”

His hooded gaze narrowed. “I put women in the boardroom when they deserve it, Bailey. But I won’t do it for appearance’s sake. I think you’re immensely talented and if you’d get over this ever-present need to prove yourself, you’d go far.”

She refused to let the compliment derail her when he was never going to change. Pushing her hair out of her face, she glared at him. “I’ve outperformed every male in this company over the past couple of years, and that hasn’t been enough. I’m through trying to impress you, Jared. Apparently the only thing that would is if I was a D cup.”

His mouth tipped up on one side in that crooked smile women loved. “I don’t think there’s a man in Silicon Valley who would find you lacking in any department, Bailey. You just don’t take any of them up on it.”

The backhanded compliment made her draw in a breath. Sent a rush of color to her cheeks, heating her all over. She’d asked for it. She really had. And now she had to go.

“Here,” she said, shoving the letter at him. “Consider this my response to your manifesto. And believe me, this was draft two.”

He curled his long, elegant fingers around the paper and scanned it. Then deliberately, slowly, his eyes on hers, tore it in half. “I won’t accept it.”

“Be glad I’m not filing a human rights suit against you,” she bit out and turned on her heel. “HR has the other copy. I’m giving you two weeks.”

“I’m offering you the VP marketing job, Bailey.” His words stopped her in her tracks. “You’ve done a phenomenal job boosting domestic sales. You deserve the chance to spread your wings.”

Elation flashed through her, success after three long years of brutally hard work overwhelming her, followed almost immediately by the grounding notion of exactly what was happening here. She turned around slowly, pinning him to the spot with her gaze. “Which member of your team advised you to leverage me?”

If she’d blinked she would have missed the muscle that jumped in his jaw, but she didn’t, and it made the anger already coursing through her practically flammable. “You want me,” she stated slowly, “to be your poster child. Your token female executive you can throw in the spotlight to silence the furor.”

His jaw hardened, silencing the recalcitrant muscle. “I want you to become my vice president of marketing, Bailey. Full stop. You’ve earned the opportunity, now take it. Don’t be stupid. We’re due at Davide Gagnon’s house in the south of France the day after tomorrow to present our marketing plan, and I need you by my side.”

She wanted to say no. She desperately wanted to throw the offer back in his face and walk out of here, dignity intact. But two things stopped her. Jared Stone was offering her the one thing she’d sworn she’d never stop working for until she got it—the chance to sit on the executive committee of a Fortune 500 company. And despite everything that he was—an impossible, arrogant full-of-himself jerk—he was the most brilliant brain on the face of the planet. And everyone knew it. If she worked alongside him as his equal she could write her ticket. Ensure she never went back to the life she’d vowed to leave behind forever.

Survival was stronger than her pride. It always had been. And men having all the power in her world wasn’t anything unusual. She knew how to play them. How to beat them. And she could beat Jared Stone, too. She knew it.