I shrug. “I figured it was an extremist environmental group unhappy with the company.”
They’ve evacuated the neighboring buildings now, and people are fleeing quickly. I can’t blame them.
We watch through a camera as the robot approaches the package behind a piece of glass that I’m told will withstand a blast. I spot the television crews zooming in, and everyone can see what’s going on.
An arm extends from the robot. All eyes are riveted as it carefully opens the first flap. I’m holding my breath. The robot carefully opens the second flap. I’m freezing, but sweat is running down my back. A camera extends and zooms in on the box, focusing on a note that is partially covered in what looks like feces.
Once I read what it says, I want the Earth to open up and swallow me whole. Keep your hands off my man.
The robot carefully removes the note, and a man or woman dressed in a Pillsbury Dough Boy suit takes it away. The robot then reaches into the box. The officer explains that the camera is looking for signs of electronics, but nothing is sending off any signals. After a moment, the bomb squad seems visibly relieved.
I watch in horror as the robot clasps an article of clothing and pulls it out. It’s a Goldminers jersey— number eighteen with Sanders in block lettering across the shoulders. It’s covered in feces.
This is not a threat to Mr. Graham. It’s for me.
Every single one of the twenty-five hundred building occupants that have spilled onto the sidewalks are going to be pissed at me. Jackson will be beyond pissed since he’s lost an entire day of productivity because someone wants me to disappear from the asshole’s life. Which I already did!
I can feel eyes on me, and I fight back the tears. The news crews are watching every moment.
As the police pack up and people file back into the building, I take the stairs to the forty-second floor. I can’t stand around and listen to the snark. If Heather hadn’t spread it around the building that Bobby and I were dating, I could play dumb. Bobby didn’t name me specifically when he broke up with me on the news. But thank you, Heather, for making sure everyone can fill in the gaps.
By the tenth floor, I’m asking myself why I chose to walk up. I stop to catch my breath and overhear a conversation a few levels down in the stairwell.
“I bet she did it for attention.”
“Why would Bobby Sanders date her? She’s not that pretty.”
“Did you see her smile when Jackson Graham walked up to her? He was pissed.”
“We should start a death pool to see how long she has her job.”
“I’d bet on that…” A fire door squeaks open, and their voices grow faint. I don’t hear the rest.
I keep climbing. I hear others, but I don’t want to stop to listen. It only makes me feel worse.
I finally make it to the forty-second floor, and I won’t have to go to the gym today—or maybe even all week.
Three women are standing with Heather when I return to my desk, and all of them look me up and down with complete disdain. I sit down hard in my chair. Jim walks out of Jackson’s office with a police officer.
He smiles at me. “Come on in.”
I nod. “I’ll be right there.” I click a few buttons on my computer, print a document, and open a few files. I’m ready to be fired. This is it.
He points me to the couch. It’s just Jim and the officer in the room.
“This is Officer Parker,” he tells me. “Jackson was clear that a messenger sent over the package?”
I nod. “Mr. Graham said it arrived early this morning.”
“Did you break up with your boyfriend?” Jim asks.
“I believe so,” I say.
“You don’t know?” Officer Parker asks.
“Well, he didn’t call and tell me to my face,” I explain.
“Is he ghosting you?” Jim asks.
“No.” I take a big breath. “He announced it in response to a question at a press conference.”
“Press conference?” Officer Parker asks.
“I was dating Bobby Sanders, from the San Francisco Goldminers.”
The officer’s eyebrows rise in surprise, and he scribbles in his notebook.
“Tell us about the news conference,” Jim says gently.
I explain what happened, adding that I was out with a friend last night and ran into Mr. Graham.
“Have you called Bobby Sanders or gone by his home?” Officer Parker asks.
“No. Bobby made his decision abundantly clear during the press conference.”
“When did you call his girlfriend?” he asks.
“Never. I don’t even know who she is. I haven’t reached out to either of them. The last time Bobby and I talked was Sunday after a tough practice. It was a difficult workout, and he wanted to be alone.”
Jackson walks in with his team. I stand.
“I need to speak to Mr. Graham,” the officer informs me.
I nod silently, wondering if this embarrassment could possibly get any worse. I guess I’m going to find out.
As I return to my desk, my cell phone begins to ring. Eight missed calls. It’s Gabby.
“Hi.”
“Oh my God, you made the news wire.”
“What?” This can’t be happening.
“There are at least six news agencies now talking about whether or not you sent the package to yourself. Through his agent, Bobby’s saying he and his new girlfriend, Collette, had nothing to do with it, and you’re mentally unstable.”
“Are you kidding?”
“I wish I was. I’ll send you some links. The coverage is split. The real news stations say you called the police because it was a suspicious package.”
“It was Bobby’s jersey, and it was covered in shit.”
“What kind of shit? Paint?”
“No. I mean actual shit.”
“Why?”
“It had a note that said Keep your hands off my man,” I whisper into the phone. “I’m so embarrassed. The police are talking to Mr. Graham now. The whole block knows. If it’s all over the news, I guess the whole world knows.”
“How about drinks after work?”
“If I still have a job—we lost the morning, so I don’t know how late I’ll be.”
“Call me if you’re up for it,” Gabby insists.
I hear muffled voices approaching the door. “I’ve got to go. I hear him coming.”
“Thank you for your time,” Officer Parker tells Mr. Graham.
“Anytime,” Jackson says. He gives me a nod.
Officer Parker stops at my desk. “None of your fingerprints were on the inside of the box. We’ll continue to investigate. What’s the name of your ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend?”
“I’m not sure. Someone called her Collette, but I don’t know anything for certain—other than evidently she’s a cheerleader for the Goldminers.”
I watch him leave. Heather is ignoring me, so at least that’s a positive.
Finally, Jim steps out of Mr. Graham’s office. “Corrine, can you please come in here a moment?”
I nod. This is it.
Chapter 2
Jackson
“Please have a seat,” Jim says to Corrine.
She’s twisting the ring on her finger, clearly nervous. “I’m really sorry.”
I smile to reassure her. “No need to apologize. We know you didn’t send the package to yourself.”
She shakes her head. “I promise you I didn’t, and I didn’t call the police about a bomb.”
“We know,” Jim assures her. “Tell us about the wives and girlfriends of the Goldminers.”
Corrine’s brow creases. “What do you mean?”
Jim sits back in his chair and gives a one-shoulder shrug. “Are they friendly and welcoming?”
“Not to new blood,” Corrine says quietly.
“New blood?” I ask.
She nods. “To new girlfriends. They usually want to be sure you’re going to stick around before they’ll commi
t to even talking to you.”
That makes sense. I’m sure most professional athletes have a string of girlfriends. “How long did you stick around?” That came out of my mouth before I realized it. I’m not sure why I asked or why I want to know, but I do.
Corrine looks out of my office window at the spectacular view of the Bay Bridge and Treasure Island. “For most of the season. I made a few friends.” She looks down at her hands and picks at her nails. “But after the news conference, none of them reached out to me.”
“Who were you dating?” I ask.
“I was seeing Bobby Sanders, the quarterback,” she says shyly.
I’m surprised—not because I don’t think she’s attractive, but because not once did her work product suffer. She never asked for time off, and she never mixed her social life with her work life. It’s just like her not to tell everyone she knows. She’s always kept things low-key and professional at the office.
“He’s number eighteen?” I ask.
She nods.
“Why did you break up?” I prod.
“I’m not sure. Bobby didn’t tell me.”
“What did he say?” Jim nudges.
“He didn’t.” She sits up straight and looks him in the eye. “I found out the night before last when he announced he had a new girlfriend during a television news conference.”
I’ve been accused of being an asshole, but at least I end things in person. Jeez. “Is that why you were at Of All Places last night?”
“Yes.” She looks at me and squares her shoulders. “If you don’t mind telling the staff after I leave, I’d appreciate it.” She slides me a piece of paper across the desk. “These are my passwords to all the software and company electronics I use and control. The docs open on my computer are my open tasks. I appreciate the opportunity…” Her voice cracks. “…you provided. I’ve learned a tremendous amount working for you.”
I’m dumbfounded. “You’re quitting?”
My heart begins to race. She’s the best support I’ve ever had. The thought of replacing her is insurmountable. It took me working through more than a dozen admins to find her. She can’t leave me.
Corrine’s brow creases and her lips purse. “No… Aren’t you firing me?”
“Not at all,” Jim quickly asserts. “We’re trying to figure out if you need protection. The person who did this has gone to some pretty extreme measures. We’re concerned about your safety.”
“My safety?”
“Yes, your safety. This threat brought out two full fire stations, half of the San Francisco Police Department, and ended up clearing two city blocks. And not to mention, probably twenty-five thousand employees got the morning off. We’re not taking this lightly.”
I can tell Corrine is overwhelmed and confused by the idea that this is a significant threat. But even Officer Parker made it clear that this was a big deal.
“The police will find out her name. Bobby announced that he was dating a Goldminer cheerleader. I bet she didn’t intend for this to be this big. Once they talk to her, I’m sure she’ll calm down,” Corrine says.
“I still think a team stationed outside your home twenty-four/seven is appropriate, and you’ll need someone to pick you up each morning and drop you at home after work,” I tell her.
She looks alarmed. “No. That’s not necessary.”
“I insist that you be picked up each morning and taken home at night.” To placate her, I add, “At least for the next few days.”
Jim is nodding.
“This can’t go away fast enough.” She puts her hands to her forehead and flushes a beautiful shade of pink.
Disturbingly, my cock stiffens. I’m a bit surprised by this.
Most women I know would love to have a car pick them up at their front door and drop them off, and they’d be fighting to keep it for months. But not Corrine. She’s different.
My dick’s straining against my zipper now, and I should pay attention.
She stands. “If you’re not firing me, I need to return to work. You have a meeting with Mason Sullivan in—” She looks at her Apple Watch. “—less than an hour, and I need to get the proposal printed and bound.” She looks at each of us. “May I be excused?”
She asked for permission. Now my dick is standing at attention. My lips feel parched, and all I can do is nod and watch her walk out the door. For the first time, I wonder how her tits feel—what it would be like to bend her over my desk and have her beg me to fuck her. This is so not good. She’s forbidden fruit. I need to clear my mind.
Jim turns to me. “I’m not sure she’s taking this seriously. I’ll reach out to SFPD and see who’s assigned to the case.”
“Is the FBI involved?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’ll make sure.” He shakes his head. “She’s really embarrassed.”
“Do you blame her? First her asshole boyfriend breaks up with her on the news, and then his new girlfriend sends her the mammoth load—literally. The person who did this is completely unhinged.”
“I agree.” Jim looks at me. “Are you going to Cecelia Lancaster’s funeral?”
I nod. “What a mess for Nate. How’s he doing?”
Jim shakes his head. He may be the head of a private security firm, but he’s in this business because Nate is his best friend. Nate’s wife went missing while we were in Vegas a few months ago and was just found murdered.
“Do they know anything?” I ask.
“The FBI is working with the Las Vegas and San Francisco police, but nothing much yet.”
I scrub my hands over my face. “I really liked Cecelia. She was smart and funny and had a great way of getting people to be generous. I gave a quarter of my earnings last year to the Lancaster Foundation. Corrine was working a lot with Cecelia; I was going to ask her to come with me.”
“Nate would like that. It’s a small group, relatively speaking.”
“Relative to what?”
“They’re expecting maybe two hundred guests. If we opened it to the public, we might see two hundred thousand trying to pay their respects. She was beloved by so many. Nate’s getting mail and condolence cards by the sack, and the letters are overwhelming. It’s taking both his and Cecelia’s assistant to go through each note and catalog them. He’s heard from two presidents, the British royal family, and tons of strangers. He’s also had a few threats and multiple marriage proposals.”
“That’s just gross,” I say.
“Her parents are distraught,” Jim adds. “This is the second child they’ve buried in the last three years.”
“That’s awful. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
Jim leaves, and I finalize my prep for my meeting with the investors. Mason is a dynamo when it comes to numbers, and I will need to be ready with my A-game.
As I look everything over one last time, Corrine appears with the proposals in hand, my overcoat, and a cup of coffee.
“You need to leave if you’re going to be on time,” she says. “Your car is waiting downstairs. Ben is driving. Would you like Brian to come up and walk out with you?”
I shake my head. “Are you going to be okay alone?”
Corrine seems startled by my comment. “I’m not alone. I’m surrounded by people working. I’ll be just fine. You’re scheduled to return calls when you’re back, and I have the foundation work and a project with marketing. I’ll be working all afternoon and most likely into the evening.”
“I should be back at two thirty. If you leave, make sure someone from Jim’s team drives and escorts you wherever you go.”
“It’s not necessary,” Corrine says again.
“But it is. Promise me you won’t go anywhere alone.”
Corrine holds up her hands. “Okay, fine.”
“Before I forget, Cecelia Lancaster’s service is next week.”
“Yes. I have it on your calendar. I figured you’d attend.”
“Would you like to join me?”
I feel like I’m
asking her on a date. What is it with me? Jeez.
“It’s invite only,” she reminds me.
“Yes, but you knew her well, and we can go together.”
It’s absolutely reasonable for her to attend with me. It wouldn’t raise any suspicions. She worked with Cecelia.
“I’d love that.” She puts her hand on my back and pushes me softly to the door. “Now go knock Mason Sullivan on his ass with your proposal. Go get us some money for your phenomenal idea.”
I walk out of my office feeling like a million bucks. Corrine’s incredibly dedicated to my company. That Sanders ass may be a hero to many in this town, but I’m glad Corrine’s rid of him. She can do much better than some dumb jock who can’t see how great she is.
After a short drive, we arrive across town at Quince. They rarely do a lunch seating, but Mason knows the chef, and this gives us the chance to eat alone. When I walk in, he’s waiting with Cynthia Hathaway, a salesperson from his office. This is my time to shine.
Unfortunately, I’m not even halfway through my presentation when Cynthia gets a call.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I need to take this.” She steps aside and mostly listens for a moment before she returns. “I have a mini emergency I need to attend to. Jackson, Mason has gone through your numbers, and we think you’re too conservative in some of your startup costs. We’re seeing much higher numbers from some of your competitors. We like your approach—translucent solar film panels that attach to windows are a brilliant idea. This is a no-brainer for us. We’ll offer you twenty-five million and bring up our stake to twenty percent in the new venture.”
I’m stunned. It’s ten million dollars more than what I was asking, for only two more percent.
“We’ll send over the contract.” She stands and kisses me on the cheek. “Now that I’m leaving, you and Mason can gossip without me about your poker club.”
“Club?” Mason acts offended.
Cynthia waves as she rushes off.
“Her sister-in-law is having a baby, but she’s right; we think you’re not evaluating your needs with enough inflation to cover the rising staffing costs,” Mason explains. “Franklin Technologies is struggling right now because they thought their name alone would get them great candidates. Unfortunately, living here in the Bay Area is prohibitively expensive. We don’t want you to have the same challenges, so as Cynthia said, we’re upping our bid. And we’ll reserve the option for a second round with an additional twenty-five million for an additional ten percent of the company. How does that sound?”
Royally Flushed: Tech Billionaires Page 2