He’s interrupted by the sound of someone new entering my office. I glance up, expecting to see my sister but am instead surprised to see my stepbrother stalking across the room toward me.
Both Charlie and Cole rise to greet Paxton with handshakes, friendly slaps on the back, and a round of “Hey, man”s. Then he moves past them toward me and I stand from the sofa, wrapping my arms around him in a fierce hug.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Pax lets out a weary sigh. “Well, Branson called me and asked if I could stop Derek Maxwell from mentioning you on Market Wrap…”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I hiss, shaking my head in exasperation at my father’s nerve. “What did you tell him?”
Pax shrugs. “I told him I’m not Maxwell’s EP and don’t control the things he talks about. I also reminded him BCN isn’t the only media outlet that reports financial news.”
Yeah, so my stepbrother is Paxton Greenwood, as in BCN’s The Pax Greenwood Hour. It’s rare to see him out of the newsroom on a weekday, especially at this time in the afternoon when his production team usually hold their run-down meetings.
He wanders over to the shelf where I keep several bottles of alcohol and some glasses on hand for important meetings; retrieving a glass tumbler, he moves back toward my desk where the half-finished bottle of Glenlivet is sitting and pours himself a drink. Then he leans back against my desk and eyes me with a penetrating stare. “Please tell me you did what I suggested and kept those texts and emails.”
“What texts and emails?” Charlie asks.
Pax turns to him, his mouth turned down in a frown. “The ones that show it was that bitch PA who was harassing Spence. Not the other way around.”
Charlie and Cole both swing wide eyes on me, but I wave them off with a shake of my head. “It wasn’t that bad. He’s exaggerating.”
“Spencer, you told me she was coming onto you. And that it was making you feel uncomfortable,” Paxton presses.
“She was just a little…overzealous,” I reason. “Came on a little too strong. Not like I’ve never had that happen before.”
“Did you report it to HR?” Charlie asks.
I shrug. “It wasn’t that big a deal. I could handle it.”
Pax lets out an aggravated sigh. “But you did at least keep those texts, right?”
I shake my head in exasperation. “Yes, I kept the texts.”
“So…if she was the one coming onto you, why has she told everyone it was the other way around?” Charlie asks, his brows drawn together.
“Because she’s a crazy bitch,” Pax grumbles.
“Ah, there’s that diplomatic news anchor, beloved all around the world,” I say wryly. To Charlie, I say, “It probably has something to do with me giving her a bad reference a couple weeks ago. She was fired because she was constantly late and often handed off duties to Maya—like that wouldn’t get back to me,” I add with an eye roll. “Anyway, I mentioned that to her prospective employer and I can only guess she didn’t get the job and is now pissed at me.”
“Okay, well, this is good,” Cole says. “You definitely have grounds for legal action against her—”
“I don’t want to sue,” I say, letting out a breath of exhaustion. “I just want it to blow over as quickly and quietly as possible.”
“And if we can’t do that without clearing your name?” Charlie asks.
I shrug. “Then so be it. Somehow I think a woman being publicly caught out making a false claim of harassment will do more damage than me being in the mud for a single news cycle.”
Cole, Pax, and Charlie exchange looks with each other, and for a moment I think they’re about to start arguing with me. But then, as if by silent agreement, they decide to let it go.
“Okay,” Cole says. “If that’s what you want.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
We finish up our drinks and make idle chat for a little while before the guys decide it’s time for them to all head back to work.
“You’re still coming tonight, aren’t you?” Cole asks as he’s getting ready to leave.
“It’s your birthday, man,” I tell him. “Of course I’ll be there.”
“Awesome.” Charlie gives me a firm clap on the shoulder. “And we expect to see you cutting a little loose, Spence. You need to let go of some of this tension.”
I let out a sputtering laugh. “I’ll try. But, honestly, if you really wanted me to let loose Cole shouldn’t have chosen a gay club and invited my sister.”
2
Will
* * *
“Fuck, I should have worn a suit,” I ramble into my phone as the elevator takes me up the thirty-one floors to the offices of Cox Property Group. I can’t help but look over my appearance in the mirrored walls and I’m definitely finding it lacking. “Why didn’t I wear a suit? People wear suits at companies like this!”
“Okay, seriously, mate, you need to calm down,” Jamie, one of my best friends and a proud British import, says on the other end of the call. “I’m sure you look fine.”
“Fine? Fine? Fine won’t be good enough, Jamie!” I examine my buff-colored dress pants and the blue button down I have tucked in at the waist, the sleeves rolled to my elbows. “Fuck, I should have at least worn a tie!”
“Correction—I’m sure you look dashing, gorgeous, sexy…”
“Are you hitting on me right now?” I joke.
“Will Crawford! I’m a taken man! I know you’ve had fantasies about us, but it’s time to let it go, mate.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll try my best.”
“Look, you need to just relax, mate. I mean, their hiring policy can’t be that stringent if my granny was able to get a job there.”
This is a fair point. Jamie’s grandmother, Sunny, works part-time as a receptionist at CPG and helped get me the interview today. And if you’re thinking of a little old lady with blue hair and a string of pearls, think again. Sunny’s what you might call unique. Last year she gifted Jamie a bag of cookies and forgot to tell him they had pot in them. The result was, by all accounts, quite amusing. The fact that she barely knows how to use a cell phone makes her position at CPG all the more baffling.
I let out a heavy sigh. “You’re right. It’s too late to do anything about my clothes now anyway.” The elevator is rapidly approaching the thirty-first floor and there’s only ten minutes until my interview with the CFO and joint owner of the company, Emily Cox.
“I have to go,” I tell Jamie as the doors open with a ding on floor thirty-one.
“Good luck, mate!”
I end the call and make my way to the reception desk at the entrance to the company’s offices. It’s manned by a young, blonde woman, who smiles up at me as I approach. “What can I help you with?”
“Uh, I’m Will Crawford—I have a meeting with Miss Cox in ten minutes.”
“Absolutely. Mr. Crawford, why don’t you take a seat just over there…” She motions to a corner furnished with extremely uncomfortable-looking black leather sofas. “I’ll let Miss Cox know you’re here.”