Dorian's POV
"What do I do sir?" Sophia's voice shook through the phone.
My mind went into overdrive, panic flooding my system.
"Just keep watching the numbers. I'll call you back." I hung up before she could respond.
I started pacing, the wreckage of my house making it impossible to think straight.
"I can't handle this shit," I muttered, heading back to the hallway.
Lexie had pulled her suitcase back, but debris still covered the floor.
I made my way to my study—at least this room was still intact. I went straight for the mini fridge, poured scotch into a glass, and dropped into my desk chair.
After taking a sip, I opened my laptop and pulled up Griffin Textiles' analytics.
"Fuck," I breathed.
Sophia was right. Our customer retention was crashing hard, numbers dropping every second. My chest tightened as I grabbed my phone and called Arlo Farrell.
While waiting for him to pick up, I took another drink. The alcohol did nothing for my nerves.
