Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
I sit up some. “Or the stalker knows we’re together.”
“Your father is not stalking me,” he says strongly. “He wouldn’t write that part about me being a horrific friend.”
Jason might, but there’s a less than 1% chance that he knows Maximoff is in a relationship. Let alone with me. I comb a hand through my hair. Could be a kill date. A warning, a threat. That Maximoff Hale will die tomorrow.
“It’s not real,” he tries to assure me. But I have to act like it’s real on the slim chance that it is.
“I’m going to call tech—” Our bunk curtain whips open.
Jane suddenly thrusts a phone at us, blue eyes pinging to me. “I’m sorry.” Then she looks to Maximoff. “You need to get up. You have to call work, right now.”
Before Maximoff tries to crawl over me, I climb out of the bunk. My feet hit the ground, then his.
“What’s going on?” Maximoff asks.
She shakes her head frantically and places the phone in his hand. “They called me so you’d call them back.”
His frown darkens.
I ask, “Who’s they?”
Maximoff looks down at the call history. “The board.”
40
MAXIMOFF HALE
“That’s impossible,” I say, white-knuckling my phone, set to speaker. Jane pats the couch next to her in the second lounge, but I can’t sit. I can’t move.
Farrow closes the door, taking a seat on top of the couch. Feet on the cushion, elbows to his thighs, he’s less nonchalant than what meets the eye. He keeps combing a hand through his hair, and his narrowed gaze keeps narrowing. Murderously.
Stalker on his mind.
I can’t even think about the most recent post. Not now.
“You have to understand, Maximoff,” Victoria Cordobi says in a stilted, manufactured voice like she’s reciting ingredients off a shampoo bottle. “You’ve been gone for three and a half months.”
“For an event that’s helping the company,” I say, almost too forceful. My tone is bordering hostile, anger pumping through me like gasoline and fire.
Victoria has been on the board of directors since H.M.C. Philanthropies was formed. She’s the one who was tasked with delivering the news to me.
I’ve been fired.
Fired.
I don’t understand how I go to bed as the CEO of a company I built from the ground up, and in one goddamn phone call, I learn that I’ve been pushed out. What’s eating at me, it’s not just about a hurt ego because someone stole my baby.
It’s more serious than that.
My family—the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts—they all give a large portion of their amassed wealth to the philanthropy. Whoever is CEO has the greatest control.
Without me at the helm, I don’t know who the fuck is handling billions of dollars.
“Regardless of why,” Victoria says, “you’ve still been absent. And in your stead, Ernest has brought intelligent points to the philanthropy.”
My blood boils. “Ernest Mangold?” I drill a glare into my phone. As if I can reach this conniving prick. Honestly…I’m fucking whiplashed. I can’t make sense of this reality.
Ernest is pretty new. He came into the company only last year, and he’s been relatively quiet.
So what the fuck changed?
“Yes,” Victoria says, voice wooden. “The board feels as though Ernest Mangold is better suited to run H.M.C. Philanthropies.”
This can’t be real. “Victoria, if something’s wrong, if the board is in trouble and people have been coerced or blackmailed, I can help—”
“No,” she interjects. “We’ve been discussing this for months.”
I blink, the shock like a hard slap. “You’ve been thinking about this for months? And no one thought it’d be a good idea to tell me?” A thought punches me cold.
I zero in on Jane. Her brother, Charlie—he’s on this backstabbing board, and that means he’s known for months that they planned to kick me out. While on tour.
And he said nothing.
Jane shakes her head vigorously. “Moffy,” she whispers, “Charlie couldn’t have known.” But he’s opposed me too often to be so assured.
I have no time to whisper back.
Victoria replies, “With the time differences and your spontaneous tour schedule, it was difficult keeping in touch. You’ve been gone.”
If she says that again, I’m going to pop off like a 400-Fahrenheit firework. “I created this charity,” I say firmly. “I have a good relationship with the board. Why would you even consider pushing me out?”
It makes no fucking sense.
Victoria clears her throat. Like she doesn’t have a pre-written statement for that question. “I don’t feel comfortable talking to you alone about this. We’ll set up a meeting tomorrow and have the board talk over conference call.”
“No,” I say, not hesitating. “I’m flying in.”
Farrow straightens up in surprise. But when our gazes lock, he nods confidently. He’s with me, supporting me. If the board keeps harping on me being gone, then I need to be there. In person.
To fix this.
“That’s unnecessary,” she states.
“No,” I retort. “What’s unnecessary is the board voting me out behind my back. You will all show up, sit around the table, and look me in the fucking eye when you tell me you’re taking this company from me.” In one breath, I finish, “I’ll be there tomorrow. You’ll know when I arrive.”