The CEO's Biggest Lie

Chapter 4

Ethan's POV

I hated board meetings.

Not because I disliked business.

Business was simple.

Numbers either added up or they didn't. Contracts were either profitable or they weren't. Employees either did their jobs or they didn't.

People, however, had an extraordinary talent for turning simple things into complicated ones.

Especially when they were afraid.

And the board had been afraid this morning.

I could see it in their faces.

Not fear of me.

Fear of change.

My father's name still carried weight in that room.

It always would.

Paul Black had spent decades building the Black Group into what it was today—a company that stretched across restaurants, hotels, and nightclubs throughout the country. He had eventually stepped away from the day-to-day operations, leaving the company in my hands.

I had been twenty-five when I took over.

Three years later, the company was more profitable than it had ever been.

Yet somehow, that wasn't enough.

Apparently, numbers weren't the only thing that mattered anymore.

"You're twenty-eight, Ethan."

I'd looked across the boardroom table at Richard Hale.

"Congratulations on knowing how old I am."

He hadn't laughed.

Neither had anyone else.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

He folded his hands on the table.

"The company is entering a different phase. Expansion. International partnerships. Public offerings. Investors are watching us more closely than ever."

"And?"

"And they want stability."

I'd almost laughed.

The Black Group had never been more stable.

But I knew what he meant.

He just didn't have the courage to say it.

"Say what you're actually trying to say, Richard."

The silence that followed told me I'd been right.

Another director cleared his throat.

"Your personal life—or lack thereof—is becoming a concern."

I stared at him.

"My personal life?"

"Your image."

"My image generated twelve percent more revenue this quarter."

"This isn't about revenue."

"Then what is it about?"

No one answered immediately.

Then Richard leaned back.

"You don't have a family of your own."

I felt my jaw tighten.

"Neither does half this board."

"You're missing the point."

"No. I'm trying to find it."

He sighed.

"You're young. Successful. Intelligent. But you're also..."

He paused.

"Private."

I almost smiled.

That was apparently a problem now.

"I'm supposed to apologize for not discussing my dating life during quarterly meetings?"

"That's not what we're asking."

"Then what are you asking?"

"A sense of permanence."

There it was.

The word they'd been circling around for nearly two hours.

Permanence.

They wanted a picture.

A story.

Something investors could look at and understand.

The successful young CEO with the beautiful girlfriend.

The family man.

The stable heir who had finally grown into the position his father had left him.

It was ridiculous.

And yet, I knew better than to dismiss it.

Perception mattered.

I simply hated that it did.

"I run a company," I said. "I don't run a dating show."

A few people shifted uncomfortably.

Richard's expression hardened.

"Your father understood the importance of relationships."

"My father also understood that results mattered."

"Your father had your mother."

I leaned back in my chair.

There was nothing I could say to that.

My parents were ridiculous.

Thirty years of marriage and they still looked at each other like they had just met.

My mother could call my father in the middle of a meeting and somehow he'd answer.

My father could disappear for three hours with her and return smiling like a man half his age.

They loved each other.

Completely.

Annoyingly.

And I had never once doubted it.

But I wasn't my father.

I didn't need someone beside me to prove I could run a company.

"I have no interest in discussing this any further."

Richard looked at the others.

Then back at me.

"Perhaps you should."

That was when I stood.

The meeting was over.

At least for me.

"Then perhaps you should find someone else to waste their morning."

I left before anyone could respond.

By the time I reached the elevator, my phone was already vibrating.

Warren.

I answered without checking the screen.

"What?"

"Good morning to you too."

"It's not a good morning."

"I gathered."

I pressed the elevator button.

"Why are you calling?"

"Because your assistant told me you walked out of a board meeting."

"Your point?"

"That you only walk out of meetings when you're pissed."

"I wasn't aware you were keeping statistics."

"I own a news company. Statistics are kind of my thing."

I stepped into the elevator.

"What do you want, Warren?"

"Lunch."

"No."

"Dinner."

"No."

"Drinks."

"No."

"Therapy?"

I ended the call.

The elevator doors closed.

For once, I enjoyed the silence.

---

By six-thirty, I'd given up on trying to salvage the day.

I drove to Blackstone Grill.

Not because I was hungry.

Because when everything else felt out of control, I liked being surrounded by things I could control.

My restaurants were supposed to run perfectly.

The staff knew the standards.

The managers knew the expectations.

The menus had been tested.

The suppliers were vetted.

There was no excuse for incompetence.

Unfortunately, the moment I stepped through the doors, I could already tell something was off.

The manager nearly sprinted toward me.

"Mr. Black."

I gave him a brief nod.

"Evening."

"Good evening, sir."

His smile was too wide.

Nervous.

I noticed.

I noticed everything.

"Table twelve."

"Of course."

He hurried away.

I followed him toward the dining room, ignoring the sudden change in atmosphere.

People straightened when they saw me.

A few employees disappeared toward the kitchen.

Someone whispered my name.

I sat at table twelve.

I didn't need an audience.

I needed dinner.

And perhaps, if I was lucky, thirty minutes without someone making a mistake.

It was an unrealistic expectation.

The first thing that arrived was water.

The second was an apology.

The third was a mistake.

By the time the wrong appetizer appeared in front of me, whatever patience I had left was gone.

"Take it back."

"Of course, sir."

The waiter reached for the plate.

"Did you even look at the order?"

She froze.

"I—"

"Because I specifically asked for the chef's selection."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't need you to be sorry."

My voice was colder than I intended.

She lowered her head.

"I'll fix it."

She walked away.

I watched her go.

For a second, guilt surfaced.

Then the anger swallowed it.

The board.

The investors.

The constant pressure.

Everyone expecting something from me.

Everyone deciding who I should be.

I was tired of it.

I wanted one evening where nobody needed anything from me.

Instead, I was sitting in one of my own restaurants watching employees make mistakes.

A glass shattered near the bar.

I closed my eyes.

One breath.

Two.

When I opened them, I saw the waitress that served me rushing into the kitchen.

She was crying.

I stared after her.

Something in my chest tightened.

I'd gone too far.

I knew it.

But knowing didn't make the anger disappear.

Then someone approached my table.

I expected another apology.

Instead, I heard:

"You're Mr. Black, right?"

I looked up.

She wasn't smiling nervously.

She wasn't fidgeting.

She wasn't avoiding my eyes.

She simply stood there.

Calm.

Confident.

Almost annoyingly comfortable.

"Yes."

She nodded.

She placed the order pad on the table.

"Good."

She folded her arms.

"Then I'm going to assume you know exactly what you're doing."

My eyebrows pulled together.

"Excuse me?"

"You've been snapping at everyone since you walked in."

I stared at her.

She continued before I could respond.

"One waitress went into the kitchen crying. Another nearly dropped a tray because she was so nervous around you. Another literally shattered a glass. And you've spent the last twenty minutes treating everyone here like they're personally responsible for whatever put you in a bad mood."

My jaw tightened.

"Watch your tone."

"No."

The answer came so quickly that it caught me off guard.

She leaned slightly closer.

"Because you're having a bad day doesn't mean you get to ruin everyone else's."

The restaurant had gone completely silent.

I could feel every pair of eyes on us.

"You have every right to be angry about your meal," she continued. "You have every right to complain if something isn't done properly. But you don't have the right to make people feel small just because you're unhappy."

I stared at her.

No one spoke to me like that.

Not employees.

Not executives.

Not even my siblings.

She picked up the order pad again.

"So either tell me what you'd like fixed, and I'll fix it, or keep glaring at the table until closing."

Her expression remained perfectly calm.

"Either way, I'm not going to stand here and let you bully people who are just trying to do their jobs."

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

Then she turned away.

"Good evening, Mr. Black."

And walked off.

I watched her disappear toward the kitchen.

For the first time that evening, I forgot about the board.

Forgot about the investors.

Forgot about the ruined steak.

All I could think about was one thing.

Who the hell was she?