Trust Me (Townsend Legacy), page 11
“Yes,” I lie. I already received those numbers a week ago.
Rachel enters her office. She pauses with a hand on her hip. “Tell me, you’re a social engineering consultant?”
I nod and glance around. “Yes, something like that. I do a bit of everything.”
“Then you mostly work with people. What do you need accounting numbers for?” Her smile is pleasant enough, and I understand she’s asking out of genuine curiosity.
I give her my usual spiel about numbers being a reflection of what’s happening on the human level. She accepts that answer and gives me the files.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I ask.
She points me across the hall. I go in and then leaf through the papers in my hand, biding my time. I check my watch and pace the floor. As soon as five-fifteen hits, I peek out of the bathroom. A few voices can be heard, but they’re at the far end of the hallway.
I know that while Townsend security monitors the main hallways of the offices, they’re shut off after five-fifteen.
Carefully, I make my way back to Rachel’s office. Her door isn’t locked. Also, lucky for me, she’s left her computer on for the evening. A quick click of the monitor and the screen asking for password entry pops up.
I hesitate, hating that I have to do this. I let the moment pass before I type in the password I memorized from watching Rachel in our previous meetings. Within seconds, I’m logged into her computer and able to pull up Townsend’s secure databases, including their accounting files.
I thumb through some of the unimportant files before coming to the real estate portion of the books. This company is truly worth billions. Their real estate division alone brings in about ten billion in annual revenue. I’m not a specialist in accounting or numbers, so it all looks on the up and up to me.
Right before I close out, I see an asterisk on the spreadsheet that directs me to a locked page. When it asks for a password, I again type in Rachel’s code, but it’s incorrect. I try a second time with the same result.
I know that trying a third time with the wrong password would then require a password reset. That would alert Rachel that someone was in here. I don’t try again. Instead of trying to guess the password, I navigate out of that file and download a few other files. I send them to my work email.
As I’m leaving the office, the ringing of my phone startles me.
“Hey, Ladybug,” I answer, hating the uncertainty I hear in my voice.
Eve doesn’t pick up on it. “Hi, Aunt Ry. Did you finish work for the day?”
“Um, almost.” I glance around the empty hallway before planting my back against the door. The knots in my stomach continue to twist as Eve tells me about her day. Usually, a call from my favorite girl helps with any stress I may be feeling. However, right now, I can only think that if I don’t get Dean the information he wants, I’ll leave Eve with no one.
Yet, providing Walsh with whatever he’s looking for leaves me with tremendous guilt and unease. All I can see is Kyle’s intense, untrusting stare looking at me. I like him more than I should. Also, the people who work for Townsend Industries are good people.
I’ve gotten to know many of them in the few weeks I’ve consulted for this company.
What will happen to them if it’s proven Townsend Industries is behind some illegal dealings?
“Did you hear me?” Eve asks, calling me back to the conversation.
“Yes, you scored another one hundred on your math exam,” I tell her. “I can’t believe you’re taking trigonometry. When I was your age, I couldn’t even spell it.”
She giggles. “It’s not that hard.”
“For you it isn’t,” I reply. “Ladybug, I was on my way out of the office. Can I call you back when I get home?”
“Um, wait. I want to ask you something first.”
“What’s up?”
“When can I come to visit?”
The softness in her voice tugs at my heartstrings. I flew east a month ago to have a long weekend with Eve. We spent it in New York City.
“You can come anytime you want. Or I can come to you. Is everything all right?” I hadn’t received any calls from Eve’s teachers, dorm coordinator, or the headmistress alerting me of any problems.
Every weekly report I get says that she’s doing great in all of her classes, and aside from being a little messy, her behavior is good.
“I miss you. That’s all.”
“I miss you every day, Ladybug.” I pause and try to rework my schedule in my head. “I should be free to take a week off in a few weeks. How about I fly up there to stay with you?”
“Or, I can come to Williamsport,” she offers, sounding more excited.
“That too, but I’d prefer to come to meet you to fly back with you. I don’t want you on a plane by yourself.”
“I’ll be twelve soon,” she reminds me. “That’s the young adult status on most airlines.”
I grumble. “You are not an adult. Please stop trying to give me grey hair before my time. I’m not even out of my mid-twenties yet.”
She laughs.
“I have to make a stop after work, but I’ll call you as soon as I get home, okay?”
“Love you.”
I disconnect the call with Eve and square my shoulders. I don’t like what I have to do, but it’s my only option now.
“Kyle.” I stop short right as I round the corner. He went out of town the day after we ended up in that closet at the Renaissance. I hadn’t seen him since. “I thought you were coming back tomorrow.”
A sly smile spreads across his face. “Is that your way of saying you missed me?”
He’s so damn cocky.
“No comment.”
“What are you doing down here?” He looks past me down the hall.
I hold up the files Rachel gave me. “Going over a few numbers for this Friday’s meeting.”
“Thorough.”
“I have to be.”
“Are you ready for the meeting? We’re going over strategy for the next six months. I thought you could pitch a few ways to handle the complexities of merging our labor departments.”
I nod. “I have a few ideas.”
“Good—” He stops short from the ringing of his phone. He pulls it out and frowns down at the screen. “I need to take this.”
“I need to head out anyway.” I pivot before he can say anything and head for the stairs. I take them to the ground level. All the while, I keep wondering how my next move will blow up in my face.
Thirty minutes after leaving Townsend’s offices, I pound on the door of the Inn Hotel, located just outside of Williamsport. As I hear rustling on the other side of the door, I glance around, taking in the leather loveseat at the far end of the hallway and the original paintings that hang on the wall.
How the hell is Dean Walsh affording this?
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, swinging the door open.
“Here.” I thrust the files into his chest and start to walk away.
“Where are you going?” He grabs my arm too tight, and I stumble, bumping my head against the wall.
“Motherfucker,” I grit out at the same time I shove him off of me.
“Get in here.” He pushes me inside of the room before slamming the door. “How did you find out where I’m staying?”
I let out a derisive laugh. “Do you think you’re some special criminal mastermind? All it took was a little poking around on the databases I have access to find you.”
I glance down at the file in his hands. “Those are the accounting records you wanted. And I’m sure I could go to jail for giving you those.”
He thumbs through the papers. “This doesn’t give me shit. It’s basic numbers.”
“Well …” I turn and head for the door.
He grabs me by the shoulder, spinning me around.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? This is not what I asked for!” That half-deranged look takes over his face.
“That’s all I could find.”
“Bullshit. There’s more. There has to be. He said—” He stops.
“Who? Who said what?” I ask, feeling like this is part of something bigger than I initially thought.
“I told you about the abandoned houses. Are those on these records?” He holds up the files.
We both know the answer.
“There was a file I couldn’t get into,” I admit, hating myself for doing so. “It’s password protected.”
“That’s it.” He claps the file in his hand. “I fucking knew it. You’re going to get into that file.”
My eyes bulge. “I just told you it’s password protected. They won’t give me access to it.”
“Kyle knows. You’ll get the password from him.”
“Oh yeah, I’ll just stop by his office tomorrow morning and casually ask him to give me the code to the super secure accounting files that probably point to abandoned houses where his family has allegedly committed crimes.”
“Don’t fucking get sarcastic with me, bitch,” Dean yells.
“Don’t ever call me a bitch again. You bastard. Since you seem to know so much about Townsend’s crimes, why don’t you go to the police yourself?”
“This is bigger than the cops. Besides, that family has paid all of them off, anyway. My father knew it, and he was going to expose them. That’s why they had him killed!” he declares.
Dean sounds so sure of himself that I don’t even try to convince him otherwise.
He points a finger at me. “You’re going to get access to those files, and that is what I’m going to use to take that entire family down.”
“I’m not doing shit,” I state. I’m sick of Dean Walsh and this entire fucking scheme. “Whatever you think is happening at Townsend Industries isn’t. So what, I couldn’t get into one encrypted file? There are probably hundreds of files only certain people can access for security purposes.”
“No!” he seethes, pounding his fist into his hand. “They’ve been up to no good for years. I know it. My father knew it. That’s why he did what he did. He was going to make them pay him millions to keep quiet.”
A chuckle spills from my lips. “So your father wasn’t Robin Hood after all, huh? Of course he wasn’t. He only wanted to profit from what he believed were illegal activities happening.”
“I’ll make them pay and more! Me and—” He breaks off. Dean blinks a few times and then steps threateningly close. “You’re going to get into that file to get me the information I need. I don’t give a fuck if you have to suck Kyle Townsend’s dick every day in the office for the next two and a half months. You will prove that they pay money and keep secret houses where they threaten, coerce, and even kill to get their way!”
“Fuck. You,” I say through gritted teeth. A searing rage almost overtakes me. My hands squeeze into fists, and I have to fight the urge not to punch him.
After leaving my father’s house, I swore that I would never let someone use me as a pawn in their screwed-up life ever again. Yet, here I am, back at square one.
This is for your Ladybug, that calm, rational voice inside of my head reminds me. I’m not doing any of this to help Dean or even myself. Yes, staying out of jail sounds nice, but I need to be out for Eve. She’s my only concern.
“You don’t know who the hell you’re messing with,” Dean threatens.
I take a step back, inching my way toward the door.
“One phone call, and your life is over. No more running that consulting business or kissing Kyle Townsend on the beach in Miami.”
I blink in surprise.
Dean lets out a hollow chuckle. “Yeah, I know about that. Tell me? What do you think Townsend will do to you if he finds out what you’ve really been up to?” He looks me up and down, and disgust rolls through my belly. “Jail will be a fucking cakewalk.”
Memories of almost every interaction with Kyle Townsend flood my mind. He remained so calm and collected while his bodyguard cavalierly held a gun to my head. His multiple reminders not to betray him because I wouldn’t like the outcome.
Hell, even the way he remained so controlled when he made me come inside of a hotel room closet when its occupants were mere feet away from finding us.
A chill runs down my spine.
It’s a reminder that prison might not be the only thing I have to fear if Kyle ever discovers the truth.
“I-I’ll get more information. I need a few days,” I tell Dean, my voice shaky.
Without waiting for a response, I turn and make a beeline for the door. I ignore the quivering of my belly and the unsteady way my hand turns the doorknob. I need to get out of here before I scream.
“Don’t try to run, Riley,” Dean threatens behind me. However, his warning doesn’t hold the same weight as the cold look in Kyle’s eyes. While I don’t doubt Dean would follow through on making a call to the police, I know Kyle would be the type to leave the police out altogether. He would take revenge himself.
That thought has me swallowing hard.
CHAPTER 14
Kyle
“What is it, Mike?” I ask into the phone while simultaneously checking my watch. I have a meeting in ten minutes. It’s with all of the department VPs. It’ll be my first official meeting as COO.
While I’m not nervous because I know my shit, I am anxious to get it started. There are several projects I’m overseeing and need to implement. None of which is more critical than ensuring this merger goes smoothly.
“I just got word from our contact at The Daily Report,” Mike says.
“And?”
“Supposedly, they’re running an article on Townsend Industries soon.”
“About the merger?” I ask.
“No.” He sighs. “One of the reporters got an anonymous tip that Townsend is involved in bribing and paying off political officials to get permits approved. They say he has evidence that out of the number of permits Townsend real estate applied for, they all went through ten times faster than other companies’ applications.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Another fucking article,” I grunt. I thought I was done with the negative articles when I got rid of Jayceon Carlson. “Call Uncle Joshua’s people.” My uncle has been the head of Townsend real estate for more than two decades. He’ll be the first line of defense against any bad press concerning our real estate division.
“They’re on it,” Mike tells me. “I spoke with his PR rep.”
“Good,” I say. “Then schedule a meeting with him for tomorrow morning. Tomorrow is Saturday, but if this is an issue, it must be handled immediately. My uncle will understand.”
“One more thing,” Mike says.
I push out a frustrated breath but hold my tongue.
“Brendan Chastain has left another message. He wants you to get in touch with him.”
“What the hell?” I sigh. “Listen, the next time he calls, tell him I don’t have time to waste with him. I’m not a fucking Hollywood exec. And despite my brother’s connections, I wouldn’t give his ass the time of day.”
“Do you want me to tell him that?”
“In those exact words,” I grit out. Brendan Chastain was the type who liked to be seen more than he wanted to work. And he wondered why no one took him seriously.
“He’s been insistent. He called twice yesterday and at least once this morning.”
“Is this an issue you can’t handle, Mike?” My voice sounds borderline lethal to my ears. I didn’t deal with incompetence. Mike has been my assistant for three years, and he does a hell of a job, but if he can’t handle Brendan Chastain, who’s nothing more than a minor nuisance, we’ll have a problem.
“If he calls again, I’ll take care of it.”
“Good. Make sure there aren’t any more interruptions for the next ninety minutes.” I exit my office a minute later to head to the conference room.
On the way, I find myself uncannily anticipating the sight of the one person I have no business wanting to see. Riley Martin. Throughout my business trip, my mind kept going back to the expression on her face when I made her come.
Fuck. What I wouldn’t give to hear her scream my name as I slide my cock deep inside of her. And her taste?
Holy shit.
When I licked her juices from my finger, I wanted more.
Never have I mixed business with pleasure before. There have been many opportunities to do so. But Townsend Industries had always been my priority. Mixing business with emotions gets messy. And I damn sure am not about to let something as ridiculous as feelings get in the way of seeing to the company's success that bears my family name.
I run my hand through the short curls on top of my head and force myself to push down thoughts of Riley. I know well enough by now that they won’t go away completely. But I can think of her naked, writhing beneath me, later. Not when I’m standing in the middle of all of the VPs for Townsend Industries.
“Gentleman and ladies,” I greet as I stand at the head of the table. Six men and five women compose our company VPs, and three more VPs from Sam Waterson’s medical supplies firm.
I scan the room only to notice a noticeably absent face. Where Riley should be seated is another woman.
“Who the hell are you?” I demand to know.
Her eyes widen into saucers.
“I-I—”
“How did you get in here?” My finger itches to call security.
“This is Charlotte Greenwald. Riley’s assistant,” Mary, the VP of technology, says.
“Her assistant,” I repeat as if not hearing her correctly. Everyone in the room tenses, especially the woman named Charlotte.
She briefly circles the room with her gaze. “Yes. Riley asked me to sit in on the meeting because …” She hesitates.
“Why?” The one-word question causes her to jump. Obviously, my voice came out louder than intended. Strangely, I don’t know if my irritation is due to the fact that I missed seeing Riley’s face or if it’s because there’s someone in this very important meeting who I don’t know.
