I rub my eyes with my thumb and finger. “It’s a risk—”
“Not at all. Geniuses are expected to be cold and cruel. A kick in the face from a god is still something to brag about.”
I never asked to be anyone’s god. I never asked for any of this. I only need to stay busy for fear that if I don’t, I will wind up in prison—or worse. “Kingston asked that he not be required to go. He’s not an official North Industries employee. I don’t see why—”
“And yet, he’s on salary.” He rubs his forehead. “That kid will be the death of me.” He lifts his chin. “If he wants to continue the lifestyle he’s accustomed to, he’ll make sure he’s there.”
I hate that this man has so much power over us. Forget the fact that all four of us are grown men, August has managed to pin us all in positions where we’re forced to bend to his every whim. From sperm donor to warden. “Are we finished?”
“One more thing. Your mother wants you all over for dinner this weekend.”
“She’s not my mother.”
He waves me off. “You know what I mean.” He rocks back in his seat. “It’s important to her to keep up appearances.”
“To who? Your waitstaff?”
He gives me his signature scowl. “Seems this recent trip to the mountains didn’t have its desired effect.”
I suppose he’s right. I usually come back from my sabbatical feeling more relaxed, compliant. “Give Mrs. Miller the date and time. I’ll be there.” I stand quickly and make my exit. I ignore Chrissy’s enthusiastic goodbye.
My temper runs close to the surface, and I wonder if I’ll even make it through the next two months without losing my shit. “I’ll need Sanderson and Edwards to join me at the lunch meeting today,” I bark as I head back to my office.
“Sanderson and Edwards, sir?”
“Did I mumble?”
“No, sir. But you fired them before you left for the Adirondacks.”
I stop and look down at her. “Shit… that’s right.” It’s the reason my brothers insisted it was time for me to go. Between the lawsuit and the PR nightmare my curse costs, they thought it best I disappear while they cleaned up my mess. The number one duty in their job descriptions is to clear the battlefield in my wake. “I’ll take that meeting with Hayes. I need to see if I can hire them back.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hayes shows up at my office well after six o’clock at night. He has ditched his tie, the top two buttons of his oxford are open, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
“Bad day?” I bring my focus back to my computer screen, where I’ve been working on the design the Lorde people agreed to at lunch today.
“Typical day at the office.” He tosses a stack of folders onto my desk and then falls heavily into the chair across from it. “Keeping you out of trouble is like eight full-time jobs.”
I grab the folders and flip open the first.
“Sanderson’s lawsuit for wrongful termination.”
I sift through the pages. “Can we get him back?”
“I’ll reach out to his attorney.”
I move to the next folder, the Edwards file.
“Getting Edwards back might be a little more of a challenge.” He raises his brows when I look up, questioning. “You called him a ‘worthless, dickless, and soon to be penniless bag of shit.’”
“Double his pay and write up a groveling apology on my behalf.” I set the folder aside and move on to the next. The name on the title page makes me wonder if I’m dreaming. “Jordan.”
“Yes, Ms. Jordan Wilder. An epic pain in my ass.”
My gaze snaps to his, and I imagine landing a solid punch to his jaw.
He sighs and rolls his head around as if simply the thought of her brings tension to his neck. “The NDA I tried to get her to sign.”
“Why?”
His glare tightens. “Because we have all the women you associate with sign them.” He motions to the document with a fierce flip of his wrist. “And all of them do without question.”
I go directly to the last page and stare at the blank signature line. “She’s seen this?”
“Yes. I risked my health and safety to bring it to her personally yesterday.” He wipes his palms on his slacks as if cleaning his hands of the memory.
“How is she?”
His lip curls away from his teeth. “Besides living in squalor?”
Tension pulls tightly in my chest and triggers the ache.
“She’s remarkably annoying if I’m being honest.”
I try to control the twitching in my lip and fail.
“Not only did she refuse to sign the paperwork, she had the nerve to call me a ‘gigantic prick’ and then demanded that I ‘get the fuck out’ of her apartment.”
I sit back in my chair. A warm feeling melts through my muscles, and I grin. “Did she?”
“She did. I’ve never been kicked out by a woman before—I’m glad to see this amuses you.” He pauses and mutters a curse. “She also said she’d only sign the paperwork if you brought it to her personally.”
“I would never do that.”
All humor and disgust leave his expression, only to be replaced by a focused determination. “Alex, listen to me. I don’t know what all happened in that cabin because, for some reason, you’re not telling me shit. I have to assume it’s because you crossed some lines while you were there. This woman could sell her story to the Times, go on talk shows, she could come back saying she’s pregnant and try to extort—”
“She’d never do that.”
His smile drips with condescension. “That’s sweet that you think that, but it’s not just your ass on the line here. Her story could get people digging into your past. You need to think of the company, of our reputation, if she goes to the papers—”
“She won’t.”
He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “You can’t possibly be that naïve. She’s poor, desperate, even she said her life is ruined—”
“She said that?”
He drops his head and mumbles, “Christ…” He takes a few deep breaths and then looks up. “As your attorney and your brother, I insist you have her sign. Whatever it takes. It’s my job to protect you, and you need to let me do my job.”
I look down at the paperwork, enjoying the look of her name on paper as if somehow seeing her name in ink makes her existence real, makes her mark on my life more permanent. “I’ll see what I can do.” I close the folder and set it aside.
“Thank you,” he says, relieved, and slumps back into his seat.
The next folder is filled with eight-by-ten photos of different women, and my stomach sinks.
“For the charity event.” He nods to the photos. “A handful of highly professional escorts who have agreed to our terms. Take your pick.”
My gut churns with disgust. I’ve never learned to maintain healthy relationships with women, and even though I can be cruel, the ones looking for a wealthy husband still flock to me in public. The only method that works is for me to attend functions with a professional. These aren’t your everyday escorts. They’ve been trained to ease smoothly into elite New York circles. They’re educated, hold intelligent conversations, and understand the purpose of privacy. They also keep the press buzzing about me in a positive light, calling me a serial dater rather than the cold, shutdown, and sadistic man that I am.