Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
I shrug. “Good for you. But why the hell was I brought here so you could tell me you’re retiring? A simple email would’ve sufficed.”
“You know why. There are things to arrange. Documents to sign. The company will be yours as it was always planned.”
“Don’t want it. I have all I need. The paperwork has been signed, making the New York office a separate entity run by me. As far as I’m concerned, London can be given to whatever offspring you may or may not have with her.”
He scoffs. “You know damn well there will be no offspring.”
“Not my problem. Give it to her for all I fucking care. That’s why she married you in the first place.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” His voice rises for the first time. “Do you think I haven’t regretted my choice from the start?”
“Again, I. Don’t. Care. You made your bed. Now sleep in it, old man, and let me get back to my life.”
“Your life is here,” he barks.
“That hasn’t been the case since the day I walked into the office and found you with your pants around your ankles and your dick in that fucking whore.” He grimaces, but I charge forward. “America is my home now, and I’m quite happy there.” I stand and throw a wad of hundreds onto the table. “Lunch is on me.”
He stands on wobbly legs, leaning over the table as though he might be quick enough to grab my arm. I pull back out of reach. “Can we speak again tomorrow?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sticking around. I’m catching the first flight back home.” His eyes mist, and I think the bastard might cry right here in the middle of a club for legends. Strong men with backbones of steel. At this moment, he looks broken, and for one quick second, my heart breaks a little more at what we’ve become. That is until the memories of that day flit to the surface and invade my mind. “You know how I feel. Don’t contact me again.”
Without another word, I turn on my heels and stalk from the room, feeling a dozen pairs of eyes lasered in my direction. I’m sure it’ll be the talk of the club, but I don’t give a fuck. He brought this on himself.
He does exactly as he always has. He lets me leave.
Good.
I’m glad to see some things never change.
13
Raven
The days have passed in a haze. My eyes are blurry from nonstop work and staring at my computer. It’s only been a few weeks since I started working on my proposal for Diosa, but it feels like I’ve been here forever.
I’m exhausted, but I don’t regret the amount of work I’ve put into this project. It’s almost time for me to pitch my plan. Charles has been in and out of the office, but Shelby had delivered a message that he’d be returning on Thursday and would like to hear the pitch then.
Having him away has been for the best. I was able to concentrate on my job without distraction and, in turn, have created what I think is a solid campaign strategy. One I continue to tinker with while I wait for his summons.
Rumors have been circulating that he went to London to meet with his father. They say that his father and his wife want to begin traveling the world and that Charles has been asked to take over.
Nobody seems to have the exact story, though.
Some say this is temporary and that his father will be back. Others say Charles will be heading back to London permanently to manage the headquarters, leaving one of the current executives in charge of this branch.
I shudder to think which idiot in a suit will take over.
Clearly, Charles is revered by everyone here in New York, and they’re not looking forward to his departure, if there’s truth in any of it.
“Good morning, Raven,” Shelby calls through the door.
I look up to see she’s dressed rather casually compared to her usual dressy look. She’s wearing a pair of gray slacks and a scooped-neck white blouse with puffy shoulders. It’s the first time she’s worn pants in the few weeks I’ve worked here.
“How was your morning?” she asks, taking a seat across from me.
“Great, thanks. I worked on my pitch the whole time.”
Something like relief passes over her features. “Oh, good. I’m taking it you heard the news, and that’s why?”
My lips purse, and my stomach flip-flops in response to her words. “News? What news?”
Her smile falters, and she sits back in her chair with a sigh, removing her cell from her pocket. She goes about searching for something before turning her phone and sliding it toward me. Summer Smith’s social media feed is on the screen, and my stomach plummets as I read her announcement.