Finding Him: Second Chance Billionaire Romance (Finding Love Book 1), page 7
“Umm … policies? What policies?”
I look over at Jim, and he seems just as unimpressed as I do. “Okay, let me spell it out for you. Do you remember the ‘No fraternising with staff’ clause in your contract?” I rummage through her employment file in front of me, removing the contract she signed before starting. I flick through the pages until I find what I’m looking for. “Clause eight,” I say, passing it to her.
“Oh.” All the colour drains from her face as she reads it. “I don’t remember reading that in my contract of employment.”
She’s lying. I can spot a liar from a mile away. I insist that all employees read it thoroughly before signing it. She passes it back to me, and I skip to the last page.
“Is this your signature on the bottom of the page?” I hold it out in front of her.
“Yes, but I still don’t understand what this is about.”
“Really?” I sit up straighter in my chair. “You don’t remember being intimate with Mr. Johnston at the Christmas function on Friday evening?”
“No,” she screeches as her eyes widen. “Whoever said that is lying.”
I bang my hand down on the desk. I’m through playing games. “I saw it with my own eyes, Miss Morris, along with a few other people.”
She swallows hard before answering. “Well, it was outside of work, so technically it doesn’t count.” The arrogance in her voice only irritates me further.
I take a deep breath and count to five in my head. “Do I need to remind you that it was at a work function? Would you like me to read the clause out to you?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, reining in her attitude.
“You do realise Mr. Johnston is married?”
“So?” She shrugs. “Obviously not happily.”
Again, I feel my anger rising. Getting involved in an employee’s personal life has never interested me, but I feel compelled to ask her if that’s something Jake mentioned. I can’t seem to wrap my head around any of this. I’ve also been in the exact situation Brooke is now facing, so in some ways, this feels personal to me.
“Regardless, the fact that you knew but didn’t reconsider appals me.”
“I’ve learnt my lesson, Mr. Cavanagh. It won’t happen again.” The tone of her voice, combined with her flippant attitude tells me she’s learnt nothing from this. I’ve met women like her before. They’ll stop at nothing to get what they want, and will stoop to any level to get it.
“I will make sure it doesn’t. Please collect your belongings from your desk. Security will escort you out of the building.”
“You’re firing me?”
“You breached your contract of employment; I have every right to do so.”
Standing abruptly, she straightens her skirt. “And what about Jake? I suppose you’ll just sweep his part in this under the carpet?”
“I fired him earlier this morning.”
Her eyes widen slightly before narrowing into slits. “You’re an arsehole.”
“That may be true,” I say, feeling somewhat amused by her insult. I’ve been called a lot worse in my time.
Turning, she storms from my office. I have to suppress my smile when she flips me the bird over her shoulder.
Leaning back in my chair, I run my hand through my hair. Before I get a chance to speak, Rose buzzes me from her desk. “Can I speak with you for a moment, Mr. Cavanagh?”
“Can it wait, Rose?” I’ve had enough excitement for one day.
“It’s in regard to something I found in Mr. Johnston’s desk.”
“Okay, I’m all ears.”
A few seconds later she knocks on my door. “Come in.”
“Do you want me to leave?” Jim asks.
“No, stay.” He’s in charge when I’m not here, so he needs to stay in the loop.
I gesture for her to take a seat when she enters. Before doing so, she places two items on my desk—a small clear satchel filled with white powder, and what looks like part of a plastic straw.
“These were pushed to the back of one of his drawers,” she says. “I’m no expert, but it looks like drugs to me.”
“Interesting,” I reply, reaching out to pick them up. I can see remnants of the white powder on the inside of the straw. He must’ve been using this to snort whatever is inside the satchel. My guess is cocaine. Like Rose, I’m no expert, but I’m also not stupid. “Call the police, and send them in when they arrive.”
“Of course.”
“Are you feeling okay after the ruckus earlier?” I ask.
“Yes, thank you,” she replies with a smile.
“Do me a favour, Rose. Get me Mr. Johnston’s personal details. The police are going to want them.”
“I’ll do that now.”
Once she leaves, I stand and walk towards the window.
“The plot thickens,” Jim says to my retreating back.
“It sure does,” I reply without turning around. I find myself wondering if Brooke knew about this. I highly doubt it, but it does explain his erratic behaviour earlier.
Chapter 11
Brooke
Eight months have passed since I fled Jake and moved back to Sydney. The first few days were tough, and I shed a bucketload of tears. But after receiving a barrage of nasty and threatening messages from him that week, I decided enough was enough. I changed my number and haven’t looked back.
It’s sad considering he was my life for so long, but given how things ended, moving forward was the only way to go. As my mum always said, ‘Being strong doesn’t mean you’ll never get hurt; it means even when you do, you’ll never let it defeat you.’ Those words were something she lived by.
Within days of arriving here, I secured a small Victorian terrace house. It’s not far from the city, but far enough away from where I once lived with Jake. The easiest way to prevent him from finding me was to completely start over, which is what I’ve done. That meant no contact with my old friends, and not going back to the dance school where I used to work. It was incredibly hard, but necessary.
When I first returned, I lived off the savings I’d put away to start my own dance school, but it didn’t take me long to get a job—well, two actually, or three, if you count the occasional piano lessons I’m now teaching from home. Apart from my plane ticket, I didn’t touch the money in our joint account. I don’t want or need anything from him. It’s way more satisfying knowing I’m doing this all on my own.
I work part-time at a dance studio during the day, and waitress in the evenings at a small restaurant down the street from where I live. I squeeze the piano lessons in during my free time. Keeping busy helps to curb the loneliness. I’ve even managed to save a little money each week, which is helping to rebuild my dance school dream fund. It’s going to take me longer than I’d like to reach that goal, but every day is a step closer to achieving my dream, and that’s what I try to hold on to.
The place where I’m now living is old but has had some renovations done over the years, so it’s pleasant enough. The kitchen is less than five years old, and I love to cook, so that’s a bonus. The bathroom renovations are a little older, but it’s still in good condition.
The bright colours on some of the interior walls weren’t to my liking, so I repainted every wall white. It gave the space a fresh new look. My landlord was even nice enough to take the cost of the paint off my rent.
My lovely red sofa, bedroom suite, television, fridge, and washing machine were all purchased new, but the rest of the furniture although bought second-hand, is in great condition. I even managed to pick up some old black and white prints of the area in a yard sale, which I reframed. They look great hanging against the stark colour of the walls and coordinate well with my furniture.
I’m so proud of my humble little abode; it’s not much, but it’s home. It makes me appreciate what my mum went through so much more. There’s something really satisfying about accomplishing all this on my own. Who needs a husband? Certainly not me.
“I’ll just run the mop over the floor before I go,” I tell Andy as he finishes up balancing the night’s takings. He and his partner Mark own the restaurant where I work.
“I like closing with you,” he says. “I never have to ask you to do anything. You just do it.”
When I’m finished, I rinse the mop and empty the bucket. After placing them in the storeroom, I grab my bag. “I’m going to head off,” I say.
“I’m almost done. Wait and I’ll drop you home.”
“It’s only down the street.”
“I know,” he says. “But I don’t feel comfortable with you walking home in the dark.”
We’ve had this conversation many times. I’ve rarely accepted his offer in the past, for no other reason than I don’t want to put him out. However, today I did three back-to-back classes at the dance studio, and we were run off our feet at the restaurant tonight, so I’m exhausted.
“That would be great, thank you.” My answer makes him smile.
I give Andy a wave when I reach my front porch, but the car remains idling out front until I’m safely inside. He’s very sweet, and I’m grateful to have someone watching out for me. He’s expressed concern about me being on my own, though I’ve never discussed Jake or the fact that technically I’m still married. He even tried to set me up with his brother once, but as lonely as I am at times, I’m not interested in another relationship right now. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be. The two main men in my life, my father and my husband, both turned out to be the biggest disappointments.
Dumping my bag in my room, I grab my pyjamas out of the drawer and head into the bathroom to shower. This place gets too quiet at times. I’ve considered getting a pet for company, but I’m away from the house so much, it wouldn’t be fair.
I double check all the windows and doors are locked before turning off the lights and climbing into bed. I’m so tired I know sleep will come easy tonight.
A loud bang awakens me, which is followed by what sounds like glass shattering. Bolting upright, I glance at the clock on the bedside table. It’s just after one in the morning. Sitting perfectly still, I listen intently, but all I hear is silence. Throwing back the covers, I slide my feet into my slippers and get up to investigate. It’s usually such a quiet neighbourhood, and I’m not aware of any problems since moving here.
I’m still half asleep and a little disoriented as I pad down the hallway in the dark. Entering the front room, I walk towards the window. A street light on the other side of the road illuminates the dark night enough for me to see if anyone is outside.
“Shit,” I say when I hear something crunching beneath my feet. Switching on the lamp sitting on the side table, my eyes scan the floor. The first thing I see is a brick sitting in the middle of the room and shards of glass everywhere. My heart starts to race as my gaze moves to the now smashed window. My hands tremble slightly as I reach down and pick up the brick. I gasp the moment I see the word ‘BITCH’ written on the face of it.
Dropping it to the floor, I take a step back. Who would do such a thing? I’ve made no enemies since moving here. Not to my knowledge, anyway. My mum brought me up to be polite and courteous to everyone. ‘Treat others how you want to be treated,’ was something she said often.
I wrap my arms around myself as I stare out into the night. Panic sets in when I think I see a shadow move across the front porch. I bolt to my room and lock the door, then rummage in my bag for my phone. My hands are shaking as I sit down on the edge of the bed and call triple zero.
I’m startled when I hear a loud knock. “Police.” Leaping off the side of my bed, I unlock the door and poke my head into the hallway to scan the surroundings before stepping out.
“Coming,” I call out, rushing down the hallway to open it.
After explaining the situation, I let one of the officers in while the other searches outside the property. I feel intense relief now that they’re here.
“Do you have any idea who may have done this?” the officer asks as he surveys the damage.
“No, not really. I’ve made no enemies I’m aware of since moving back to Sydney. Although …” I pause briefly, contemplating whether I should mention Jake.
“Although?” The officer turns to face me. “If you know something, this is the time to tell us.”
“My initial thought was my estranged husband. I haven’t seen him in over eight months, and as far as I’m aware, he has no idea where I’m living.”
“Hmm,” he says, eyeing me. “Is this normal behaviour for him?”
“No, but things didn’t end well for us.”
I never reported the assault; I’m not sure why. Maybe I was worried it would affect his career. His job means everything to him, and the way he behaved that day was out of character. It was much easier for me to just walk away.
“Are you in the middle of a custody battle or property dispute? Or something that may have recently upset him?”
“No, nothing like that.” I haven’t asked Jake for anything, and I don’t intend to. “We’ve had no contact since I left.”
“I think we can rule out your ex then. It may have been kids having fun.”
“Throwing bricks through people’s windows is not what I’d call fun,” I say abruptly as I take a seat on my sofa. I slide my hands under my legs in an attempt to stop the tremors. I’m still incredibly shaken by what’s happened.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound insensitive, Mrs. Johnston.” I give him a tight smile but don’t reply. In my day, the idea of fun was playing knock-and-run on your neighbour’s door, not throwing bricks through people’s windows.
My eyes move towards the small archway when the other officer appears. “Whoever it was is long gone,” he says.
I don’t know if that should make me feel relieved or more terrified. What if they come back?
I feel like death warmed up as I climb out of bed, but also a little safer now that the sun has risen. It was close to four by the time I laid back down. After the police took my statement and left, I cleaned up the mess and waited for the twenty-four-hour emergency glass company to come and fix the broken window.
I wasn’t able to fall asleep again with my mind going a hundred miles an hour as I tried to make sense of it all. Every noise I heard as I lay there in silence made my heart beat faster. The police said it was possibly a case of mistaken identity, or maybe connected to the previous tenants, which did nothing to ease my mind. I’m now rethinking living here, which sucks. I’ve put so much time and effort into making this my home.
After busying myself with housework, I finally change into my running gear. I’m not even sure if I feel safe enough to leave the house, but a long run should help clear my mind and give me some clarity.
Paranoia sets in as I step outside and lock the front door. I didn’t bring my iPod today. I can’t afford to get lost in the music; I need to remain aware. If that brick was aimed at me, I’ll have to watch my back from now on.
“Morning,” I say to one of my elderly neighbours who’s out early watering her garden.
“Good morning.” I always greet my neighbours when I see them out and about, but maybe I need to make more of an effort to get to know them on a personal level. Especially after last night.
Breaking into a jog, I head up the hill towards the restaurant where I work. Andy’s partner, Mark, is standing on the sidewalk talking to a police officer as I approach. An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach.
“Everything okay?” I ask Mark when I’m close enough for him to hear me.
Shaking his head, I can see he’s visibly distressed as he points over his shoulder towards the restaurant. My heart drops into the pit of my stomach when I see the word ‘WHORE’ spray-painted in red across the front of the building.
Surely this isn’t a coincidence. Somebody obviously went on a rampage last night, but the question still remains: is any or all of this directed at me?
Chapter 12
Logan
I’m showered and dressed early, ready for work. “Morning, Jill,” I say to my housekeeper as I enter the kitchen. I’ve been back in Sydney for a few months now, and it feels good to be home.
“Morning, Mr. Cavanagh,” she practically sings with an ever-so-cheery smile, as she hands me a freshly brewed cup of coffee. “Your breakfast is almost ready. I’ve put this morning’s paper on the table for you.”
“Thank you.”
In all the years Jill has been working for me, I’ve yet to see her be anything but happy. Even Chris, my driver, has his off days, but Jill is a constant ray of sunshine.
Once I’m seated at the table, I take a sip of my coffee before pulling out my phone and texting Chris.
Logan: I’ll be ready to leave in about twenty.
I get a quick reply.
Chris: Heading your way now, Boss.
Chris is leaning against the car by the kerb when I exit the lift and cross the foyer of my building. I smile and nod at the doorman as he holds the door open for me.
“Morning,” I say as I approach the vehicle.
“Good morning, Mr. Cavanagh,” Chris replies, opening the back door of the limousine.
Laying my leather briefcase on the seat beside me, I open it and retrieve my laptop as we manoeuvre into traffic. I usually use the commute to the office to get a head start on my day. It’s only a ten-minute drive from my penthouse apartment in Circular Quay to the Cavanagh building in Darlinghurst, but city traffic is always horrendous this time of the morning.
We’re stopped at a set of traffic lights alongside Hyde Park when I look up from my laptop and glance out the side window. A horde of people are bunched together on the sidewalk, waiting for the signal to turn green so they can safely cross the road. A leggy brunette in a pair of short shorts catches my eye as she jogs on the spot at the rear. Blondes were always more my thing, but my tastes have changed of late. A certain beauty I met in Melbourne is the reason for that. But sadly, none of the women I’ve gone out with since meeting her, have been able to spark the same interest in me that Brooke did.
