There’s silence.

  I continue. “Listen, the backbone of any company relies on people. Taking care of the people in your firm and taking care of the people you sell to. Trading a stock here and there will make you money today. But it won’t make you money forever the same way you can if you put everyday people first.”

  “We are Kane & Company. Why do we have to care about everyday people?” Smith presses me.

  “Because without people, we’re nothing, Smith,” I say patiently. “We’re nothing without our employees. We’re nothing without our clients. We’re nothing without our customers.”

  “Those protestors must really be getting to you, huh?” Smith asks. “That girl whose shadowing you as part of that bet. You fucking her?”

  I let out an exaggerated breath, rubbing my temples to ease an impending headache. This is so fucking infuriating.

  I understand that this isn’t typical behavior of a CEO who announced his employees will now be independently contracted, but I know that in conjunction to that conversion, I still have to make room for them.

  They make my company what it is, and I need to put more effort into recognizing that, before it’s too late. You know that saying—you never know what you had until it’s gone?

  Well, I don’t live by stupid sayings like that because I never take shit for granted.

  But you know one saying that I live by?

  Don’t ever talk shit about another man’s woman to him.

  “Smith, I will personally rip your fucking arms off and beat you to death with them and then fire you if you ever mention Becca again,” I say quietly—with danger behind my words. “You have a problem with my business decision, that’s fine. But bring Becca up like that again, and you’ll fucking regret it.”

  There’s silence all around.

  “I’m not sure we can support this decision,” Marks finally says.

  “No shit,” Jeremy scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest tightly.

  “You all are free to resign if your fucking panties are too much in a bunch,” I snarl.

  Again, silence.

  “I’m not asking you to support my decision. The decision has been made and it’ll be finalized by the end of the day,” I declare, unwaveringly. “Now is there anything else you need to say to me? Or are we done berating me like I’m your fucking child?”

  “That’s not what this is,” Duluth says. “Our main concern is your company, and we want to make sure you’re making smart decisions regarding it.”

  “Your concern is fucking noted,” I say with anger. “Is there anything else?”

  There’s silence.

  I hang up.

  Jeremy goes to leave the room, nothing further to add.

  But then he stops and turns around.

  “Don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face, Carter,” he says.

  I ignore him, not giving him the satisfaction of my reaction.

  Maybe Becca is having an effect on me.

  But you know what?

  I have one word to say to that.

  Good.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Becca

  I step out of the taxi. I glance at the towering building right in front of me: Carter’s headquarters.

  Jesus. It looks like an evil fortress!

  Okay. I’m exaggerating.

  Today, there aren’t any protests—nothing happens without my say-so. But the media is there.

  Many cars are parked up front, each with satellite dishes and signal boosters.

  The thing is, I haven’t called for any media. I haven’t given any order.

  So what’s going on? What the hell is Carter planning?

  I make my way inside the building, and it doesn’t take long for him to appear out of nowhere. “Glad you could make it,” he tells me, one hand gently resting on my waist. “I really wanted you to be here.”

  “What is this about?” I ask. “And what’s with all the media? I didn’t call any reporters.”

  Carter laughs.

  “You think you’re the only one they listen to? You call, and they come running?”

  “You hate the press,” I counter.

  “Well, so do you,” he says back.

  “Just tell me what’s going on,” I insist. I have a strange feeling about whatever it is that he’s planning.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” he responds, and then grabs my hand and leads me into the vast marbled lobby, the whole place completely crowded with reporters. He takes me across it, and then up a flight of stairs leading to a small stage someone has assembled in a rush.

  On the stage, standing next to Carter, I shift my weight from one foot to the other, nervousness washing over me.

  What the hell is this about? My brain can’t hold the suspense any longer. One simple text message—meet me at the office, I have an announcement to make—and now here I am, facing an army of press.

  So many cameras are focused on the few people up on the improvised stage Carter has set up on the lobby of his office building.

  Something big is about to happen. I can feel it.

  Oh, no!

  What if Carter has been planning this all along? Carter butters me up, makes me feel all loved—and yes, I said loved—and then springs something on me that totally kills everything I’ve worked for.

  Listen, you don’t go from being broke to being a billionaire without a certain degree of ruthlessness. You heard him over dinner, right? The boxing scholarship and all the things he had to do?

  What if he’s been playing me this whole time?

  I mean, he might be about to announce he’s going to implement some shady measures to fuck up his employee’s lives, and everyone will see me standing next to him, supporting whatever bullshit he’s saying.

  Please, God, I hope I’m wrong about this.

  I can already imagine him saying something like, “Becca opened my eyes, and now I realize what I need to do. Half of you fuckers are fired, while the other half will get pay cuts.”

  That would be something, wouldn’t it?

  No. Carter is not like that.

  I’ve seen this man turn a shitty walk-up apartment into a home.

  He’s kind and considerate.

  Trying to calm down, I take a deep breath and just nod at Carter. He looks back at me and gives me a subtle wink.

  “Don’t worry,” he assures me, and that is somehow comforting.

  Next to him is his Board of Directors, some of which I recognize from the newspapers, but none of them looks too happy about what Carter’s about to do.

  That just makes me even more confused. The Kane & Company Board has always been supportive of him. What could he possibly be about to announce that has caused an impact?

  “Good evening, everyone,” he finally starts, addressing the crowd in front of him. As soon as he starts to speak, the press begin to take pictures. Everyone wants the perfect shot, just in case Carter is about deliver an earth-shattering news.

  “I’m glad you could gather here on such a short notice. I usually schedule things like this in advance, but I’m so enthusiastic about what I have to tell you that it simply couldn’t wait,” he announces, and then pauses. Carter is obviously playing the crowd.

  In the front row, I can see the hungry expressions of the journalists. They are prepared to document what Carter is about to announce, with recorders, smartphones, and pens at the ready.

  Everyone has an expression of pure anticipation, so much that it almost looks like Carter is about to announce he’s going to run for president, slash taxes for the rich, and enslave everyone else.

  What?

  You can’t rule anything out with these super wealthy billionaires. They fight over where to set up their bases and woe to anyone caught in the crossfire.

  “As you’re all well aware, I oppose the new legislation that the city has voted in that raises taxes simply for employing more people,” Carter continues. “Because of it, I’m forced to turn my employees into independent contractors, a situation no one is really happy about.”

  I’m starting to look nervous. What is he about to announce next?

  “As far as I can see, that’s just another symptom of a problem that has been going on for quite some time now,” he declares before pausing to ask, “It’s a pattern, isn’t it? The government comes in, trying to fix a problem, and they make everything worse.”

  Uh-oh.

  “And that happens over and over again. Don’t we all know that? The way I see it, problems like the one this legislation is meant to solve shouldn’t be tackled by the government,” Carter asserts, looking at me with an evil grin. “No, problems like this require certain individuals to tackle them.”

  He makes a slight pause for effect, then smiles at the cameras as every photographer in the lobby takes photos. “Individuals like me.”

  Oh, God. What now?

  If I have to, I’m going to storm the podium and disagree with him right there. There’s no way I’m going to be used as a prop while Carter goes on to screw the working class with a barbed wire dildo.

  “As such,” he continues as the crowd slightly quiets down, “it’s my pleasure to announce that I’m going to open a series of stores across the city. Instead of selling my products online, I’m going to bet on brick-and-mortar stores that will provide at least ten thousand jobs.”

  That’s it! There’s no way—wait.

  What?

  What just happened?

  It’s not just me. Everyone goes nuts.

  “Why are you doing this, Mr. Kane?” a reporter asks, and then all the other follow suit.

  “Is this going to affect your bottom line?”

  “Why the sudden change?”

  “Are you a communist, Mr. Kane?”

  I hear him mutter “What the fuck?” under his breath as he hears the last question.

  “No, I’m not a communist,” he replies, raising his voice and shaking his head. “I’m just trying to do what’s right for the people living in this city while also increasing my bottom line.”

  At that, the whole lobby erupts as people start clapping.

  I don’t know how Carter does this, but he’s a natural when it comes to getting people on his side. And the worst thing is, he knows it. I can’t help but wonder if he’s actually being genuine or…if this is just all an act.

  “Mr. Kane,” one of the journalists insists, pushing some of his colleagues to the side as he makes his way toward the stage. “Why have you only decided this now? Is it because of Becca Riordan? Has she influenced this decision?”

  “Yes,” he answers firmly, looking to the side and offering me a heart-stopping smile. “Yes, she has. Becca Riordan has helped me gain a new perspective on things.”

  Every single reporter starts firing questions as fast as they can once more, and I hear my name being repeated over and over again.

  Some of them push their microphones toward me as they call my name, but I barely notice it. My mind has drowned out all the noise and confusion.

  Right now, the only thing I can really hear is the echo of Carter’s words.

  Carter has never wanted to ambush me at all. Carter has done an incredible gesture.

  Has he done it for me? The woman who’s lying to him?

  What the hell am I going to do?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Carter

  “Becca, holy shit.” My mouth falls open as she glides across the street outside the Met. “You’re stunning.”

  She rises to the balls of her feet and places a kiss on my cheek, brushing a lock of hair out of her eye in her most charming fucking way.

  “Thank you, and you don’t look so bad yourself.” She steps back to take me in.

  Grabbing her waist, the white satin fabric slithers through my fingers, and I revel in the soft, cool touch of it against my already heated skin.

  “And you feel so damn good,” I smirk, placing a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Shall we?”

  Her arm curls around mine, and she squeezes my bicep. Who could blame her? It’s bulging against my custom-made Calvin Klein tuxedo.

  Oh, I forget to mention where we’re going.

  Fuck. I’m sorry.

  We’re about to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, located on Fifth Avenue. Tonight is the night of the Van Der Lusk Charity Gala. The Who’s Who of New York, basically everyone at Clarendon Tower, are gathering.

  Every billionaire in the city is attending—every captain of industry, every tech bro that struck it rich—old money, new money. It’s a plutocrat’s wet dream.

  And of course, like all events with this much money, it’s black tie.

  But listen, doll. If black-tie events mean Becca dresses like this, then I’ll fucking attend all black-tie parties whether I’m invited or not.

  I kiss her cheek and whisper against her ruby lips, “It’s hard to be good tonight…with you in that dress.”

  “You know I don’t like playing by the rules,” she smirks right back at me.

  Fuck. This is going to be hard.

  Walking arm in arm with Becca into the Met, I can literally see every pair of eyes on us. Men are floored by Becca’s beauty. The women are all fucking envious as hell.

  “So what exactly is this party?” Becca squints her eyes, reading the random pamphlet she found on our table.

  “Oh, wait…you haven’t heard of it?” I overly exaggerate, acting all serious and pretend to be slightly offended. “A billionaire’s ex-wife took revenge on her cheating husband and is now selling off everything he bought her during their marriage. From Rags-to-Riches, she calls it.” I present it as if it’s a masterpiece that should adorn the walls of the Met.

  “How is that a charity?” Becca shakes her head, sipping more of her champagne in disbelief.

  “All money that will be raised tonight goes to supporting women who are running away from abusive relationships. It will help feed them and keep them in halfway homes while they get back on their feet,” I say with all sincerity.

  “You’re being serious?” Becca asks, looking more carefully at the pamphlet and then back at me.

  “Yeah, I am. It’s really honorable. I wouldn’t support something if I don’t believe in the cause.” I smile, kissing her on the forehead. “Here, let me introduce you to her.”

  “To her? Who?” she stammers, darting her eyes from me to the woman approaching us.

  “Ms. Francis.” I lift her already extended hand up to my lips, kissing it gently. “It’s nice to see you again. I would like you to meet someone.”

  Her eyes light up when my hand travels on Becca’s back.

  “Kennedy Francis, this is Becca Riordan,” I introduce them politely.

  “It’s nice to meet you. This is a lovely event,” Becca compliments the middle-aged woman, but she barely responds. “And what you do for women is very commendable.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” she responds briefly to Becca before turning to me. “Carter, we must absolutely have brunch, dear. It’s been too long.”

  Yeah, whatever. I’ve never had brunch with Kennedy Francis, though it doesn’t stop her from eyeing me like a piece of fucking meat every time she sees me.

  But what I’m really pissed about is how she just sidelined and ignored Becca.

  What the fuck?

  But Kennedy isn’t done yet. She waves over to a group of people.

  I can sense that Becca is anxious, though her demeanor stays the same. Something tells me she’s done this before, in some capacity.

  Turning now directly to me, she lowers her voice, as if to make sure Becca doesn’t hear.

  “Carter dear, did you see what Miranda is wearing?” A redhead in an over-the-top black gown sneers as she approaches Kennedy. “Isn’t that the most odious dress you’ve ever seen?”

  Seriously? Totally ignore my date?

  I don’t respond to her. I look at Becca instead.

  “You okay for drinks, doll?” I ask.

  This gets Kennedy’s attention back to Becca.

  She finally deigns to talk to her and asks, “So, Becca, is it?”

  Becca nods her head, sipping her champagne in response.

  Oh, I know she’s fucking hating every minute of this charade.

  “What do you do for a living?” she goes further with the most loaded question I’ve ever heard.

  “I’m like you, really. I’m very active in all sorts of philanthropic ventures: charities, missions…and the like.” She waves her hand, indicating an etcetera.

  It’s a clever cover up. I’ll give her that, though I’d claim #TooManyBillionaires is more political and less philanthropic, but hey, I’m not the leader.

  I try to cover up my sudden burst of laughter by finishing my drink, which is promptly refilled by a waiter that Kennedy doesn’t even notice.

  “Fascinating.” Kennedy moves her head up and down, with little to no interest in what Becca is actually saying.

  Kennedy’s new boy-toy, Orson, nuzzles up beside her, kissing her on the cheek. He looks about half my age, but I can tell he’s still old money—something she’s always been interested in.

  I groan inwardly to myself. This is why when I leave these events, I promise myself to never come back.

  The dude has no muscles. He’s wire thin. He’s got a sinister look that comes from rich people inbreeding too frequently.

  It’s clear to him that he has money and he uses it to maximize his chances of having sex.

  Seriously, if this were a regular guy out in the real world, he’d never even have a shot with any girl. I’m insanely disgusted by his appearance and demeanor.

  “Carter, hey!” He clinks his glass with mine. “I heard your announcement the other day. Bold move, man.”

  “Thanks?” I respond, not sure if he’s complimenting me. I’ve also never met this man personally, so I don’t understand his odd camaraderie.

 

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