As I pour myself a generous glass of red wine, some fancy brand that Caroline probably paid way too much money for in one of those little boutique grocery stores that she loves to patronize, I change into my favorite pair of elephant pants.
They are those harem pants with elastic on the bottom of each ankle, but they are incredibly soft and comfortable and have bright elephants on them.
How I managed to get all that writing done without wearing these is beyond me.
I take a big gulp of wine, without bothering to smell it first, and embrace the tartness as it runs down the back of my throat.
Somewhere between my first and second glass of wine while mindlessly flipping through the DVR recordings and trying to decide what I should watch, the title for my book pops into my head.
Auctioned Off.
Yes, perfect.
That’s what I’m going to call it.
I scroll through the Amazon romance section on my phone, looking at the covers and the authors. Ever since I decided to write this book,
I’ve read a number of the titles and some of the authors have come out with additional books. Wow, these women write fast.
I look at the publication dates of one of my favorite ones and see that she publishes a book every month. And I thought I was productive, I think to myself, shaking my head.
Okay, in addition to the title, I also need a new name. I can’t very well publish this under my own since I’m still on the fence about whether I want my mom to read it, let alone my other less understandable family members.
A pseudonym will give me privacy and with privacy I will have the freedom to write more books like this without worrying about Tom or my old colleagues at BuzzPost or even Caroline, for that matter, disapproving.
Not that I really care what they think.
Except that I do.
This book is full of truth and full of sex, and it’s not something that I necessarily want everyone I went to high school with to know about me.
Okay, I got it.
Ella because it’s pretty close to Ellie, but not exactly the same.
And for my last name?
How about Montgomery?
Yes, that’s it! Ella Montgomery.
I’ve always loved the way these long Southern last names just roll off the tongue.
Well, maybe this is my opportunity to give myself a little bit of that.
With a title and an author name, I’m nearly halfway there.
Now, all I need is a cover.
Of course, that’s a bit more complicated.
I scroll through the covers on Amazon with an eye for details.
A photo of a really hot guy with an amazing body seems to be a necessity.
But everything else?
Hmm, maybe it’s something I can do myself as well.
I mean, I did take a Photoshop class that one summer in college. I can always hire someone, but maybe I should at least sketch it up first so I have some idea of what I want.
A few hours later, long after I finish the bottle of wine, I am done with a good mockup of the cover for Auctioned Off, Ella Montgomery’s first novel.
The stock image of the guy with amazing pectoral muscles and a ripped six pack is definitely the selling point, but my manipulations and combinations of different fonts for the title and the author name are definitely eye-pleasing. I guess that Photoshop class wasn’t a waste of time after all.
Okay, that’s enough for tonight, I decide. But before turning off the computer, I go into various romance book groups that I’ve joined and ask for recommendations for editors.
Tomorrow, with a less alcohol-induced outlook, I will re-read my book and review the cover. My only hope is that they will both live up to the opinion that I have of them tonight.
As I climb into bed, my phone vibrates. I look at the screen.
I love you, Aiden texts. My heart immediately skips a beat and gives me butterflies.
I love you, too. I text back.
Chapter 14 - Aiden
When it starts to rain...
The more time that I spend with Ellie, the more power I feel her have over me. I don’t really mean it in a bad way, but it’s definitely disarming.
I’m not someone who gives up power easily. I’ve never given it up to my ex-wife, and she was the last woman who even got close enough to challenge it.
But maybe using the word ‘power’ isn’t the right thing. Ellie and I aren’t on opposite sides of a war. We’re not in competition.
No, what we have is actually the complete opposite of anything like that. Still, I find myself unable to think about anything else but her.
I crave her.
I want to have her.
I want to spend every waking moment with her.
And that’s where the essence of her power comes in. I love the way she refuses to compromise and always stands her ground.
I love the way that she challenges me, pushing my boundaries. She’s unlike any other woman I’ve ever met. Sitting here, looking out of the window onto the whole of New York below, my heart seizes up for a moment.
It skips a beat when a terrifying thought pops into my head.
What if I were to lose her?
Could I actually move on with my life?
There is no answer to this.
All I see and feel within my heart is darkness.
And if this isn’t power, the most powerful force that one person can have over another person, what is?
It begins to rain and the charms of early fall with all of its golden leaves and dry, crisp weather turns into the dreariness of late October.
I hate to admit it, but weather has a big effect on my mood. The dark clouds and overcast skies without a single ray of sunshine make me feel melancholy and displaced.
Since the holidays are coming up and the dog days of summer are not so far behind us yet, the city is still filled with some levity and brightness.
But once the New Year comes and goes, and the dark days of winter set in with their black slush that once used to be snow, my heart really starts to ache for another type of life.
I watch as thick, proud raindrops pound against my floor to ceiling windows. They make me feel cold inside, even though I have the heat up enough to wear a t-shirt inside if I wish.
I would never admit this out loud to anyone, except maybe Ellie, but one of the main reasons that I love being as wealthy as I am now is that I never have to be cold in the winter if I don't want to.
Growing up, my mom was a total thermostat freak. Of course she had to be this way, because propane gas isn’t cheap and the winters in New England are long and cold. She didn’t make much money and we saved where we could.
We never bought brand foods, for one, or many fruits and vegetables. Instead, I subsisted on mainly only store brands and foods with very little nutritional value. I didn’t mind this much, even though I know now that it was all junk food.
A lot of processed foods with white flour, canola oil, and refined sugars. But this isn’t what bothered me most about my childhood.
It was the cold.
Most of the houses we lived in were very poorly insulated with single pane windows, and mom never turned the heat up enough. It was often in the mid-60s inside in February when the temperatures often dropped into the teens and twenties.
So, as you can imagine, single pane windows and poor insulation were not enough to keep us cozy.
Come to think of it, I don't really know if Mom was just never really cold herself or just used to always wearing three sweaters inside the house.
All I know is that there were many nights that I spent wearing gloves inside the house because otherwise my hands would turn to icicles typing against the keyboard.
So, when I got older and got rich, the one thing that I have never denied myself is adequate heating.
If I want the house, or the apartment, or my office to be in the mid-70s in the middle of winter, so be it. They are my bills and I don't mind
paying them.
Perhaps it’s a silly thing to complain about something like heat when there are people out there with really terrible childhoods, but that’s the thing about people, isn’t it?
It’s hard for us to relate to others because the problems that we have always appear much larger than other people’s issues.
In other words, it’s a bigger deal if we fall down and sprain our ankle than if a person in another country, across the ocean, gets blown up by a bomb.
* * *
The dreariness outside makes me feel cold, sending shivers up my spine. I turn up the thermostat and turn on the kettle to make some tea.
I know that it’s not just the weather that’s putting me into a melancholy mood, and I stop fighting the thoughts that try to creep in around the edges.
These thoughts are dark, full of anger, and distrust. I’ve been trying to push them away for days and have been mildly successful as long as the television was on.
But distractions only work for a period of time. One moment, it just all gets too much and no matter how much you try to keep the world at bay, it comes flooding in.
The first thought comes in a flash, just as the kettle shuts off automatically after boiling the water.
I hear Ellie yelling for help through the door. We’re back on the yacht. I’m in the hallway, about to knock. I’m excited to see her, my cock is hard with anticipation. But all of the feelings of how that night is going to go vanish, the moment that I hear her screaming “Help!”
There is somebody there with her, I remember thinking.
But why?
How?
She’s supposed to be there alone. As these thoughts swirl around in my head, I don't let them distract me from the task at hand. I burst in through the door and run across the room. A few moments later, I’m on top of him.
It takes me a few punches to even recognize the person that I’m punching. His face flashes before my eyes as we tussle on the floor. Blake is taller than I am and has a good ten or twenty pounds on me.
His weight is a definite advantage and he gets a few blows in. My head starts to pound. I taste something metallic and warm in my mouth.
It’s blood, probably mine.
This makes me angry.
I use the spark of anger to pin his arms under my knees and punch him over and over again in his face until someone pulls me off him.
If those security guards hadn’t come in right there and then, I don’t think I would’ve had enough strength within me to stop.
All I saw were flashes of black and red and the only thing I had on my mind at that moment was what I saw him doing, or trying to do, to Ellie.
The last time that I’d been in a fight, before Blake, was in middle school.
I’m not a fighter.
I’m more of a pacifist.
I don't like confrontations, especially physical ones. I don’t thrive on conflict and competition.
All of that is a game that I play with other men who are my competitors in business. That’s why I actually enjoy working with women more. They are kinder and more cooperative. They don't see the world as a zero-sum game.
They don't think that if one person is winning, then someone else out there is necessarily losing. And I don't think that way either. I believe that in business, and in life, we are all much better off if we work together for the greater good.
But these are not popular opinions to have, especially for a CEO. There are just way too many old men in positions of power who believe that the world owes them something. And it’s not just old men. Blake isn’t old, but he definitely believes this as well.
I’ve known Blake for a very long time. He invested in my company, Owl, back when it was just a spark of an idea.
It not only didn’t have any sales, it was about a hundred years away from being pre-revenue, a fancy way of telling potential investors why they are putting money into a company that’s producing no returns.
But I’m under no illusions as why to Blake Garrison invested in Owl, even back then. He came from a very well-off family who own forty percent of the Maine coastline.
They started in timber back in the nineteenth century and then evolved with the times, investing in whatever was the business of the future and would make them the most on their investment.
When we met at Yale, Blake was a fun guy who knew how to throw a good party and get all the girls to come. He had skills that I never had, in that department, especially.
But when it came to school, Blake was pretty useless. He didn’t understand the first thing about coding. He couldn’t solve an ordinary differential equation to save his life.
Yet, he had a hunch. He knew that I could do these things and he believed in Owl when I first described the idea to him.
It was his and his father’s investment that allowed me to actually start the company and devote all of my energy to it. And as a result, they own a very substantial portion of it. But beyond their own share, there are other concerns.
They are the ones that brought in most of the other investors. These people aren’t my friends, and they never want to be my friends. They want me to make them money, but that’s where our relationship ends.
And, unfortunately, right now, Owl is free to use and doesn’t really generate any money.
I have plans to invest heavily in an advertising platform, similar to what Google and Facebook have, and monetize the company that way.
Blake was always on board with this approach and I thought that we were on the same page. But after that night with Ellie, everything went to hell in a hand basket.
He’s acting like he doesn't care about Owl anymore, or his investment. He only wants me gone. And the rate that everyone is pulling out, it’s not that unlikely of a proposition.
As the rain continues to pound on my windows, I drop a mint tea bag into a cup of boiling of water and watch as it floats to the top, gets heavy with water, and eventually drops down below the surface.
“Fuck you, Blake,” I whisper.
I feel my blood boiling below the surface as it courses through my veins. The anger that I have toward him acts on many different levels at once and I have a hard time differentiating one from the other.
First and foremost, I’m angry at him for assaulting Ellie. I’m angry that he dared to scare her.
I’m angry that he took it so far and that it required me physically overpowering him to stop.
I’m also angry at myself for not knowing this about him. I mean, I’ve been working with this guy for years.
How the hell did I not know that he was the type who was capable of raping a woman, or attempting to rape her?
He was toying with her.
He was getting off on scaring her.
I clench my fist and jaw at the thought of that.
And then, of course, my anger exists simultaneously on other levels as well. I’m angry at letting him get so involved in my company that he could have so much power over me now. I’m also angry at myself for not building my own relationships with our investors and just relying on him to do all the hard work.
Relationships have never been my strong suit, but I’m the fucking founder and CEO of one of the biggest tech companies in the world.
How could I let everything that I’ve worked for be compromised like this? What the hell was I thinking?
I look down at my phone.
My lawyers and business managers, and a million other people, have been calling me non-stop. Most just call with questions, offering very little in the way of answers in return. I don't know what to do about any of this.
One of the lawyers actually suggested that I apologize to Blake and invite him back to the negotiation table.
Me?
Apologize?
He had to be kidding, right?
I did nothing wrong.
And Blake is, frankly, lucky that Ellie is refusing to press charges against him.
It’s really against my own counsel and better ju
dgment, but I know that she’s doing it for me.
I clench my fists again and watch how the blood drains from my hands, turning my knuckles white. There’s that anger again.
I want Ellie to tell the cops what happened, but I also don't want that. If she goes to the police, then she will have to tell them about my yacht party and the auction.
If investors are running from me now, they will definitely flee when they hear that I’m auctioning women off to the highest bidder on my yacht. Even if they are giving their consent.
No, Ellie is right not to go to the police, but I hate myself for it because I know that she’s doing it to protect me. And I both hate and love her for it.
I take a deep breath. I listen to the way that my heartbeat starts to hurry without my control or consent. My head starts to feel cloudy.
And then…there’s me feeling powerless again, even though I’m one of the richest people in the world.
Well, not anymore, but at least according to the last issue of Fortune Magazine.
Ha, isn’t that funny?
I laugh out loud. I don't know exactly how much money I’ve lost, but it’s somewhere over a billion dollars.
That’s a lot of money. I know that. Of course, I know that. But you shouldn’t feel bad for me. Haven’t you ever heard that saying, don’t ever feel bad for a man with his own plane?
Well, I stand by it.
I’ve been poor and I’ve been rich.
Being rich is definitely better, but at least I had a billion dollars to lose, right?
Besides, this is America.
Families are always rising and falling in America.
A big part of me thinks that you’re not doing it right if you’re not.
It’s just money after all.
It’s nice to have, but it’s the journey that’s important, not the destination.
Chapter 15 - Ellie
When I wake up with a hangover…
Caroline bursts into my room, waking me as if from the dead. I don't know what time it is, but the sun is shining through the windows and New York is full of bustle and activity below.
Black Rules Page 9