[DISCLAIMER: MATURE CONTENT!!]
Book 2 of the series We Don't Talk Enough.
Continuing the lives of Lauren Jauregui and Camila Cabello and their friends, we now dive deeper and explore life and what it means to be them through their eyes as they ente...
A/N: Bear with these characters. If they're pissing you off, that means I'm doing my job right. They're still young and in their early 20s, they're not exactly gonna make you happy because they're so perfect and have their shit together. Some of their choices are gonna piss you off too. C'est la vie, bitch. C'est la vie.
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Remodeled home office/study:
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Mia (pronounced as me-uh) Milian (chef):
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November 19th, 2024 Saturday, 9:26am - Cabello-Jauregui mansion, Miami Beach, Florida
"What's the net income down to?" asked Lauren, sitting at her new desk in her newly remodeled study. She wrote down everything Winston had told her and reminded her of. Any information worth retaining, Lauren wrote down. Just because she couldn't work didn't mean she couldn't practice and be up to date on everything. She was still the COO.
"Ninety-seven million."
"And the assets altogether?"
"Nine hundred sixty three point eight million."
"And the total equity?"
"One hundred point fourteen million dollars, Mrs. Jauregui," said Winston.
"Christ," Lauren massaged her temple and stopped writing. She breathed in the flowers then blew out the candles as she thought really hard about what to do and how to change that. As far as she was concerned, JPG was losing money since she's been out—not gaining. "There's no way our numbers are decreasing. That doesn't even add up...like at all. Please look into that. At least tell me who's investing in what and what my father is planning to buy so I can help in some way."
"I'm afraid the only thing I was made aware of are the three retail shops down in Key Biscayne. Your secretary gives the news to Chris and maybe he'll tell me about it. Your brother is very competitive and wants to do your job better than you," Winston fixed himself a glass of water from the decanter that was no longer full of scotch.
"Our investors pay us a four percent management fee and thirty-one percent of their profits. Why the...hell is he spending it on small retail stores...when he can just buy premium outlets or own a few more malls...in California and Texas?" Lauren wrote that down too as Winston simply shrugged and crossed his leg in his seat. She sighed and moved along, "Whatever. I'll fix it later. Give me the numbers for Space Organics."
