Billionaires Dollar Series

To my horror, something burns behind my eyes, and I don’t know if the tears are from embarrassment, anger, or something far more dangerous. Hurt. I hurry to the elevator.

Cole doesn’t try to stop me.

The past two days have been an absolute shitshow, from morning to evening. Everyone has read Ben and Elena’s article, it seems. Blair calls me to ask if I’m doing okay, as if she’s just found out I have a terminal illness. My mom calls, too, and is far less tactful. Didn’t you take care of them?

Yes, Mom, but I forced them out of my company and my life. I didn’t order a hit on them.

From talking to my PR team to my assistant to the board of investors, the entire day had been damage control. “We need to put out a counter-statement,” Tyra kept saying to me, one of our company lawyers. “This is terrible for your reputation.”

“Mr. Porter… it’s slander.”

“It’s gossip.”

“Gossip that will take root.”

I’d squared my shoulders and stood firm. Repudiating the claim would require explaining what really happened, and I’d had quite enough of humiliation to relive it in front of all of Seattle. Coming home from a weeklong business trip early to find Ben and Elena in my master bed had cured me of any masochistic tendencies.

Bryan had agreed on a tactic of silence. “It makes you look powerful,” he’d said to me in an aside. “Not commenting on it makes it seem like you’re either above it, or it’s true. Both enhance your business reputation.” I had nothing to say to that, not out loud, but I made a mental note to give Bryan a raise.

But I didn’t expect the biggest fallout to be with Skye.

Shame isn’t an emotion I’m used to any more. It had been, when the wound with Elena and Ben had been fresh. But in the years since, it’s faded, until the scar barely aches. But after the fight with Skye, it’s all I feel.

She came to me with legitimate concerns. The picture didn’t look good, and she asked me to fill it in for her. I had-and not in a gentle way. Her feelings had been clear on her face and I’d trampled them with my own hurt and sordid past.

I wince again, remembering the admission to her. Trust Ben and Elena to succeed in screwing me over one last time. Nothing about the situation painted me in a good light to Skye, not to mention the ill-timed visit of one of my underlings to the bookstore.

That’s the first thing I get to the bottom of, the day after the fight. Bryan stands straight in my office when I question him. “Did you send someone to Between the Pages yesterday? The bookstore?”

His eyes light up. “Yes, yes I did.”

“Why?”

“It was a classic shakedown. They have less than a week left of the deal you agreed to, and we need to remind them of the outcome.” He shrugs. “Fairly standard.”

My hand grows white-knuckled around the arm of my chair. “You didn’t inform me?”

“No. I considered mentioning it, but then we had the article to deal with.” Bryan frowns. “Was it the wrong call?”

Yes. A thousand times yes.

But there is no way I can make him understand that without giving away far too much information. “We will honor the deal,” I tell him. “If the store is profitable, they stay.”

Bryan doesn’t comment, but the refusal is clear in his eyes. None of my team understand why I’d accepted Skye and Karli’s challenge in the first place, and I can’t blame them for that. It had been nonsensical.

I don’t look forward to explaining in front of a board of investors and partners why the next Porter Hotel will have a bookstore incorporated in the ground floor.

The rest of the day is miserable. Skye doesn’t text me, and I don’t text her. What is there to say?

I snap at my assistant. I have to re-read emails to understand them. My mind seems stuck on her face from the night before… what she’d accused me of, well, it doesn’t sit right with me. By the time I make it home in the evening, I’m in such a bad mood that I consider hitting the pool and swimming a few lengths. Having already done my workout that morning, the thought of pushing my muscles further isn’t tempting, but I’m far too riled up to remain still for long.

The urge to make things right with Skye grows into an itch that’s increasingly hard to ignore. She hadn’t handled her questioning well, but then again, I hadn’t handled her questions well either.

I’m halfway to the hallway before I’ve even made the decision. Finding the car keys, pulling on a pair of shoes, tugging on my leather jacket. It’s a conversation we should have in person.

But my phone rings as I reach for the elevator button. For a brief moment, indecision is all I feel. It’s likely Bryan or Tyra. Some fire to put out or a late-night contract to sign. With a sigh, I pull it out of my pocket, ready to hit decline.

The name on the caller ID stops me. “Skye?”

“Yeah,” she says on the other line. “It’s me. Hi.”

“Hey. How’ve you been?”

She clears her throat. “Good.”

“That’s nice.”

There’s a pause, her breathing soft through the phone. “Actually, no. I haven’t been good at all. I… Cole, I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions about the article, and inferring things about our agreement.”

“I should have been able to talk about it better,” I say quietly. “You were concerned. I get that.” I put a hand against the wall to brace myself. “And I promise you, I wasn’t aware of the company man who visited your store. Had I been, I would have stopped it. It was unnecessary.”

“Yes,” she says. “It was.”

“Was he rude?”

“Terribly. He called me sweetheart.”

“Don’t worry, though,” she says, a tone of both smugness and bashfulness in her voice. “I wasn’t very civil back.”

Despite myself, I want to laugh. “I’m sure you weren’t.”

There’s silence again, but this time it’s warm. Skye is the one who breaks it. “You don’t feel like coming over?”Content is © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

“I don’t?”

“You know exactly what I mean, Porter.”

I step into the elevator, car keys in hand. “I was already on my way.”

“Oh yes.”

“Good,” she says. “I’ll be waiting.”

Six days. The number hits me as I drive over. Six days until this ends, until the decision has to be made, until it all comes to a head. It fills me with nothing but dread.

The front door is unlocked when I arrive. “Come in!” she calls out from her perch on the couch. She’s in some sort of pajama set-striped shorts and a camisole-looking innocent and domestic. It stirs something in me, seeing her like that, her hair loose down her back. It’s a sight I could get used to.

“Do you want some tea?”