CEO's Secret Babies

Chapter Seven: The Gala Waitress

Damian didn’t look up from his tablet.

“If I wanted to ruin the Stevens, I wouldn’t need a USB. I have many ways to make it happen. Those dirty tricks are below me.”

He scoffed at the thought of him doing something shady. As if he needed to stoop to planting evidence in a girl’s bag.

Kiera didn’t know whether to feel relieved or not. This made her more confused.

Was he good or bad?

Wasn’t it just the Blackwood family? Or was there some other force involved?

Going toe-toe against the Stevens family would be like a warranted death sentence for both families. Unless someone was pulling strings behind the scenes. With evil intentions and schemes too.

But this was all her dad’s fault too, so she shouldn’t think much of it. If someone threw in the hook and he still went after the bait, it showed he was not smart enough to be president of Stevens Group.

She sighed in relief.

Before a call came through.

It was her phone this time.

“Steph? What happened, was the surgery successful?” Kiera asked as soon as the call connected. Concern was evident in her voice.

“Come on babe, take a chill pill. I told you everything is going to be alright,” Stephanie replied with an amused tone.

Kiera breathed another huge sigh of relief. When she saw Stephanie’s call, it felt like a pillow was stuffed in her lungs, depriving her of the oxygen she needed.

“So where are you now?”

“Bae, I never knew you were so generous! You actually got a whooping $20,000 from tips last night! That wasn’t even the only payment. But I heard you left early after delivering black sugarless coffee to some man. Did you guys…”

“Shut up Steph, when did you become so naughty? I only went to be a waitress at the charity gala last night in the middle of New York with the intention to make money, okay? Don’t slander me!”

Kiera’s reply was quick and unnatural. Her eyes darted back and forth in guilt.

Damian’s ears perked up.

There was only one charity gala last night. The Blackwood Foundation Gala at the Met. It was very important to him. No one wanted to have a head-on clash with him over such a "trivial" event.

Though the gala did little to nothing in improving the situation. Stocks still crashed. Like someone was pulling the strings from behind the scenes.

So what a coincidence that Kiera was there too. As a waitress, no less.

“Girl, I know that shifty voice of yours,” Steph laughed. “I’m sure your eyes are all over the place right now. Liar, you—”

“I’m sorry Steph, okay? I didn’t mean to,” Kiera apologized, feeling extremely guilty.

“So where were you off to without finishing the work properly? Huh? Was that a way to get revenge on me for reading your diary last time? I told you I was sorry! Maybe if you stayed till the end, we’d have become rich overnight!”

“No, I didn’t hold a grudge against you reading my diary last time…” Kiera’s voice dropped. “I was drugged. I don’t know who the d**g was meant for. But I was told to get a cup of black coffee for a man in room 36 something. While brewing the coffee, I decided to pour some for myself. I drank it to feel more awake. I’m really sorry Steph…”

Damian’s ear perked up fully now.

He had sent for coffee that night. Room 364. Black. No sugar.

And a waitress had brought it to him.

He took out his phone immediately and typed to Mark.

“Any leads on the woman from last night?”

But the next sentences from Kiera’s call made him feel like a bucket of cold water was doused over him.

“So where did you go after delivering the coffee?” Steph asked.

“Uhm, I… I went home after that. I… I really went home.”

So it really wasn’t Kiera?

Though he didn’t want to admit it, he felt disappointed. Like something good was finally in his hands and now it was slipping away.

His phone buzzed.

“No sir, no leads. But there were a few waitresses on the bottom level who wore only black and white. About five of them. Upon further investigation, four of them were in different places at that time. Leaving only one person: Stephanie Grayson.”

Whatever. Damian wasn’t concerned about it anymore. So be it. Maybe it was his imagination.

Another message popped up.

“This Stephanie Grayson was confirmed not present at the gala. It seems someone swapped places with her. Should I continue to dig further to find her? But sir, are you sure you weren’t imagining things?”

Damian frowned and quickly typed back.

"Why would you say so?”

Mark was thrilled on the other end, eager to prove once more that he was reliable.

“Sir, upon checking this morning with the head waitress, it seems the person that swapped places with Stephanie allegedly left early and didn’t get the full payment. It seems unlikely that it was her.”

Mark hit send.

Right as he sent it, Kiera’s voice floated back into his ears from her call.

“Would you like to take him, Mr. Thomas Carter, your beloved husband, in life and in death, in sorrow and in happiness, in poverty and in riches, Miss Stephanie Grayson?”

Kiera was practicing wedding vows with Steph. The person on the other end seemed shy and speechless.

Stephanie Grayson?

Was this a coincidence?

He couldn’t help but remember what Kiera said earlier. That she left while drugged?

He was about to type back to Mark when a voice from his earbuds came through.

“Sir, we’ve spotted your car, and we’re parked right at the corner sir. Waiting for your instructions.”

“Don’t bother. Just focus on the main task,” Damian said. He changed what he was about to type and put his phone down.

“Okay then, I’ll meet you at the hospital. I’ll take a cab right now. I need to see Aunt Eloisa,” Kiera said into her phone.

“Waiting for you. See you soon,” Steph replied, and the call disconnected with a click.

“Uhm, Mr. Blackwood, I wanna—”

“Do as you please,” the man coldly tossed out at her and stepped out of the car.

Kiera was left dumbfounded. What just happened?

She watched as he got into the other black SUV parked in front of them. It zoomed off.

She was so engrossed in her call that she didn’t notice when they pulled over.

She breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the driver who was waiting.

“To Central Hospital, please,” she instructed, and he nodded.

:-(

_Tap, tap, tap._

Long, slender, elegant fingers tapped on the expensive brown mahogany table. Stretched out in front of him were a bunch of old-looking geezers looking thoroughly unsatisfied.

“How can you even have the cheek to come sit amongst us?” One shareholder, probably the one with the most shares, bellowed. Spittle flying in all directions. “Look, there is a buyer that wants to buy off my shares and I am more than willing to do so if this company declares bankruptcy after 90 days! Humph!”

“90 days is the ultimatum, right?” Damian asked. His expression was nonchalant and bored, as if he were watching clowns do a boring performance at a concert.

The shareholder, Mr. Nathan, hesitated before yelling his response.

“Yes! Why not? By 90 days, this company would have completely gone under. What’s the point of being so cocky and confident now?” He asked, pointing an accusing finger at Damian.

Damian chuckled. A low rattle that held little emotion. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, sending shivers down their spines.

“So this is the board meeting you guys called for? Well, I’m in for a good treat. Someone get me popcorn. No good show deserves to go unwatched!”

With a light snap of his fingers, a popcorn bowl was placed in front of him. As if it was pre-planned.

“What’s the meaning of this, young man! Don’t you know all of us here are old enough to be your grandfather, father, and at least your eldest brother?”

“Yes, how dare you belittle us!”

“This is utter disrespect!”

“Didn’t your elders teach you properly?”

“Our profits are at stake and you call for popcorn. Are you even human?”

Damian took slow, deliberate crunches of the buttery popcorn in front of him. Letting the silence sink in. Savouring every bite.

“So does that mean you all are on our dear Nathan’s side?” He asked dismissively.

“Yes, of course! Why shouldn’t we support him?!”

“If we’re not on his side, should we stay and watch our profits dwindle?”

“It’s better to sell off our shares now!”

Damian didn’t mind playing these little games with headless chickens like them.

“Then how about I propose my own deal? I don’t want to be on the losing end, do you?”

He leaned back. Popcorn in one hand. Power in the other.