The echo of their footsteps filled the quiet hallway as Xander and Erin walked side by side toward the boardroom. Neither had spoken much since the almost-kiss in the parking lot yesterday, and the air between them felt… different.
They didn't elaborate. The heavy glass doors loomed in front of them, and whatever unspoken tension lingered was neatly shoved aside as they stepped into the meeting.
Inside, the atmosphere was tense. The shareholders sat stiffly around the table, papers and tablets scattered before them.
"As you all know," one of the directors began, "GreenTech Solutions has already released their eco-friendly water heater ahead of us. They've taken the market by surprise."
Clara Wentworth an elegant but calculating business minded woman, who runs several luxury brands leaned forward, fingers drumming on the polished table. "Xander, we've all seen the projections. Keeping this division afloat will be like pouring water into a sieve. The market's shifted, the losses are bleeding us dry. The sensible move is to sell before the ship sinks completely."
Reginald Hawthorne a senior board member, who comes from old money, and is deeply traditional gave a tight nod. "It's not just the market—it's the reputational hit. Your competitors are circling like vultures. Even if we manage to recover financially, our brand will take years to rebuild. That's time we don't have."
Xander's jaw flexed. "You're all looking at this from one angle—loss. What you're not seeing is opportunity. If we—"
Victor Moreau an aggressive investor with a taste for hostile takeovers cut him off, exasperated. "Opportunity? The opportunity to sink millions more into a dead horse? I respect your optimism, but we're not running a charity. The board's responsibility is to our investors, not your pride."
Harold Sinclair, a family friend of the Volkovs, loyal to the old guard interjected carefully, "What if we negotiate a partial acquisition instead? Sell the majority stake, keep a smaller percentage, and cut our risk? We still benefit if the buyer turns it around."
Mrs Wentworth scoffed. "You think any sane buyer will agree to that when they know we're desperate? No. They'll take it all, and for a price far lower than what we could have gotten six months ago."
Xander sat back, fingers steepled. His voice was low but deliberate. "Six months ago, I didn't have the data I have now. I've been in contact with new partners—strategic ones. They're willing to inject capital and bring in fresh tech. The division doesn't have to die."
Mrs Hawthorne shook her head, her tone sharp. "Fresh capital isn't the same as guaranteed results. And let's be honest, this 'new partner' of yours isn't a sure bet. We can't gamble on dreams while our stock price keeps sliding."
Murmurs of agreement rippled around the table.
Mr Moreau leaned forward. "The bottom line is this, Xander: you either sell now and salvage what we can, or you hold on and drag the rest of the company down with it. We've all been through enough in the past year to know which choice is safer."
The air felt heavier, each argument pushing against him. Xander's knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the table, forcing himself to stay composed.
Loosing a few millions was nothing to the Volkov empire. But this was his second product in his major project ever since he became CEO. And his first product didn't go so well because he's been distracted lately. If this goes triple cardboard as well, the odds won't look good for him.
"I hear your concerns," he said evenly, though his tone carried a quiet defiance, "but you're asking me to amputate a limb when we've barely tried to treat the wound. Give me time to—"
Mrs Wentworth cut in, voice rising. "Time? Time is exactly what we don't have. Every week we wait, the offers drop lower. You want to be remembered as the CEO who hesitated until there was nothing left?"
The debate swelled again—voices rising, hands gesturing, accusations and warnings bouncing off the sleek glass walls.
The room hummed with frustration. Voices overlapped—complaints, concerns, and half-baked suggestions.
Erin hesitated before speaking, "Maybe—"
One of the older shareholders cut her off with a dismissive wave. "This isn't a matter for the PA to weigh in on."
Xander's voice was sharp and immediate. "Let her speak."
The table went quiet. Erin straightened, meeting the eyes of the room. "We can't change the fact that they launched first. But we can change the outcome. If we make our water heater better and more cost-effective, we can take their momentum and make it ours."
A murmur ran through the board. She continued, her voice steady. "GreenTech's model is already getting criticism for high maintenance costs and average performance. We can acknowledge those flaws openly and release a product that's greener, cheaper to run, and simply… better. Improve filtration for cleaner output, reduce noise during operation, and back it with a reliable warranty. People will notice—and they'll switch."
Silence stretched for a moment before one of the shareholders leaned back, a slow nod forming. "That… could work."
Another chimed in, "If we adjust production now, we can implement those changes before launch."
The mood in the room shifted from defeat to cautious optimism.
Xander, sitting at the head of the table, didn't say anything right away. His gaze lingered on Erin, something like surprise flickering in his expression.
"Proceed with her suggestions," he finally said, his tone decisive. "Meeting adjourned."
As the board members filed out, Erin gathered her notes, feeling the weight of Xander's eyes still on her. She didn't look up.