by Liv Morris
“And a big thanks to all the employees of Kings spread out across the globe.” I’m sure these employees are watching me, too, and hoping I can erase the doubt surrounding Kings.
“Kings was founded by four young men, fresh out of college. Two of them, Tom Duffy and Patrick Jacobson are here with me.” I pivot to the side and motion toward them. They smile at the crowd cordially. I return to face the front and continue. “Through hard work and dedication, our company has grown to be a worldwide force in software security systems. We pride ourselves in being the impenetrable firewall against hackers for the world’s banking systems.”
“One of the founders, the late Simon Edwards, was relieved of his duties at Kings Capital last Wednesday.” I pause here in respect for Simon. I was advised to skip all mention of his death during my statement and only discuss it if a reporter brings the subject up. Why give the media any more ammunition to use against me.
“Due to the SEC investigation, we cannot discuss the reasons for his departure at this time. Now for your questions.”
There, that wasn’t so bad. I spouted off the rehearsed speech perfectly. But now the reporters go wild with a barrage of questions as cameras flash and blind me.
The first familiar face I see is John Stanford from CNBC. I point to him in hopes his question relates to business and not the insane rumors of a love triangle.
“Mr. Stanford.” I train my gaze on him, trying to show strength, not weakness.
“What is your response to analysts who feel your leadership here at Kings Capital is in question?” Stanford ends by flashing a fucking gotcha smirk. Asshole.
“My leadership has brought Kings Capital to where it is today.”
I have a little nugget of information that I was waiting to disclose, and I can’t think of more perfect time to release it.
“Just this morning, I was contacted by Fortune magazine. They notified me that Kings Capital is now a Fortune 100 company. I can’t think of a better answer to your question. Everything Kings has achieved to date has been under my leadership as CEO, along with my partners Tom Duffy and Patrick Jacobson standing behind me.”
I allow Stanford a couple of follow-up questions. Thankfully they all center on the Fortune 100 news. The phone call from the magazine may be enough to save my neck. As Meg said earlier, it’s all about giving distracting answers to the tough questions.
After Stanford is finished grilling me, which I successfully survived, I turn to the ball-busting reporter for the Wall Street Journal, Lauren Nettles. She’s an attractive brunette I’m convinced has a fondness for leather and whips.
“Ms. Nettles.” I point to her and brace myself for her questions. She moves closer to the front of the group, and I get the feeling she’s inspecting me for sweat. She’ll find none, though. She wets her hungry lips before she speaks. I worry she’s hungry for blood—preferably mine.
“The witness who was allegedly held hostage by Simon Edwards Saturday morning outside The Pierre was identified as Dr. Kathryn Delcour. A reliable source has said you two are romantically involved. Can you comment on your status with Dr. Delcour?”
Well fuck me seven ways to Sunday. Who the hell are these so-called sources leaking all kinds of inside information? My thoughts go back to the two detectives and our conversation Saturday. They know all about Kathryn as well as Simon’s motive for trying to kill me.
My hands start to shake and I feel my temper rise. I’m close to giving in to my anger, but I try to bury the building rage as best as I can. Blowing up at this woman is not an option, especially on camera.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Meg scurrying behind the group of reporters, out of their view. In her concealed position, she mouths the word “distraction,” trying to get my attention. I take a deep breath and try to remember what’s important in this heated moment—protecting Kathryn.
I put on an airy smile and say to Ms. Nettles, “Dr. Delcour is a close friend. I have been a supporter of her mother’s charity, The Swanson Foundation, for several years. Recently, I attended their annual gala and was able to contribute five million dollars to build a hospital in Africa.”
I quickly disengage with Ms. Nettles and ignore her. Turning toward the other side of the group, I call on the correspondent from CNN. I can’t remember his name off the top of my head, so I quickly peek at the cheat sheet in front of me.
“Corey Evers,” I say as if I knew his name all along. He checks to make sure his cameraman is ready. Looks like all cylinders are firing, so here we go.
“I’d like to follow up on the last question you didn’t answer.” Oh, great, a fucking wise ass. “Was Simon holding Dr. Delcour hostage in response to your affair with his ex-fiancée, Marta Llewellyn? An eye for an eye, perhaps?”
“Kathryn—” I curse under my breath because I used her first name. “Dr. Delcour had never met Mr. Edwards. And I would like to clear up one important fact concerning the ex-fiancée—”
A movement next to Evers draws my attention and I lose my train of thought. To say I’m stunned at whom I see is an understatement. It’s Marta, as in Simon’s fiancée Marta. I remember her face from the photos the detectives had shown me.
The same creepy smile from the photos is plastered on her face. Unnerved that Marta has come to the press conference, I turn my attention back to Evers in hopes that no one saw the slight breach in my calm demeanor. I wipe at my brow.
I chance a glance back at Marta to see her chuckling at me. What a cold, heartless bitch. Her selfish actions and our unfortunate situation—however unbeknownst to me—drove Simon to the brink. I return my gaze to Evers and hope I can hold my shit together, but when I look in his eyes I swear his face has becomes Simon’s. The same face that stared up at me, lifeless, a couple of days ago.
I feel like I’m definitely losing my shit. I reach for the water bottle on the shelf inside the podium, twist off the cap, and draw back some of the water. I close my eyes tightly; this isn’t real. When I open them again, my vision falls upon Evers. It’s truly him this time, not the mirage of Simon I swear was there a second or two ago.
Evers appears concerned for me as he stills. I steady myself by leaning my body on the podium. I manage to plaster on my standard, charming, offensive smile. Others in front of me return the smile, mostly the women. Their response confirms that I have likely overcome my out-of-character fuckup. So I immediately return to the answer I was spouting, although I refuse to glance Marta’s way. The fucking nerve of her showing up here. I’d like to know how she got in with the press.
“I met his ex-fiancée, Marta Llewellyn, briefly last June. It was our first and only meeting. Additionally, our meeting in the Hamptons occurred before she met Mr. Edwards. You can confirm this with her since she happens to be standing right next to you, Mr. Evers.” An audible gasp echoes in the open lobby as all heads turn toward Marta.
I have to say that was one distracting answer. Meg is by my side again, and I shoot her a fast wink, proud of myself. She appears to be pretty damn pleased, too.
“I appreciate you coming today and giving me the chance to put to rest several rumors surrounding me and Kings Capital. Kings is stronger than ever and will continue to be a leader in the software industry.” I bow my head and glance down at the podium and wait a couple of seconds before continuing. When I raise my head, I’m serious as hell.
“On a personal note, I’d like to send my condolences to Simon Edwards’ family. Thanks again.”
Before leaving the makeshift stage, I spy Marta once more in the crowd. Several of the reporters have converged upon her. She looks panicked, and a wicked chuckle escapes me. Slowly I’m becoming a believer in the concept that what goes around comes around. Karma is certainly a bitch.
Perhaps the few flashes I’ve seen of Simon illustrate my own guilt from my past—my own karma. One thing is for sure; the visions scare the shit out of me.
Tom and Patrick walk up, pat me on the back, and congratulate me on a job well done. I app
reciate their continued support and lead the way back to the elevators. Several reporters yell questions at me while I make my retreat. They likely feel snubbed, but I didn’t purposefully ignore them. The interview was clearly finished, in my opinion. I left with the focus off me and instead on the unwelcome visitor, Marta Llewellyn.
The crowd of employees congratulate me on doing a good job. I offer words of thanks and shake several outstretched hands as I pass by.
“That was an incredible performance,” Meg says as we stand and wait for the elevator with Tom and Patrick. I breathe a labored sigh of relief.
“As long as it was good enough to quash the rumor mill; that’s all I care about.”
Peters joins us as the elevator doors open. I give him a piercing stare once we are all traveling up to my office. I am having trouble containing my anger at seeing Marta in the lobby, and I believe he knows it. He leans against the wall in an attempt to put some space between us but he can’t escape.
“So, would someone please tell me what Marta Llewellyn was doing in the lobby?” Tom, Patrick, and Meg all look as confused as I am, but Peters doesn’t. I continue to stare hard at him until he spills what he knows because I’ll bet money he knows how she happened to be at this press conference.
“She works for the Financial Times. I just spoke with a couple other journos in the lobby, and since the Financial Times was one of the seven groups invited to be here, she got a press pass.” Peters says.
“Well, I guess it helped me in the end. But Peters, I want you to get a restraining order on her ASAP. I don’t wanting her popping up in my life again. Let’s hope a public restraining order scares or embarrasses her enough to stay away from me.” I rest my head back against the elevator wall and close my eyes.
“Unless you’re physically threatened by Marta, it will be almost impossible to get a restraining order,” Peters comments, and I know what he says is a fact. I’m personally offended, but she’s not a real physical threat to me.
“Well then, increase the building security and make sure Hayes knows her face down to the tiniest freckle. Because I don’t want her near me ever again.” I spit out my demands while still leaning against the wall.
I still have the troubling and lingering question of why my mind keeps flashing scenes of Simon alive and real right in front of me. I feel like I’m going crazy.
I take a breath so deep it reaches my toes and wish I could follow Dr. Payne’s advice to take off a few days. I simply can’t afford to abandon the people relying on me right now. I open my eyes and shake off my concern as soon as the elevator stops and the doors begin to slide open; I have more important worries today.
Chapter 9
My workweek has been hell. I have spent every hour—waking and sleeping—behind the doors of my office, pouring over reports and stock price fluctuations and calming worried investors. After a while, my surroundings feel like a cave, even with the panoramic views of New York City out the massive glass windows. I’ve let the business of Kings Capital control my life over the last five days, and finally I’m going to get out of this place. I shoot off a few more emails before I wrap things up for the day.
It’s been one damn emergency after another since the press conference on Monday. Kings stock has fared well, by not plummeting into an abyss.
Even with the favorable report, I’ve been swamped trying to do everything within my power to wipe away the tarnish left by the Simon scandal. The worst was a fire I had to put out in Japan in the wee hours of the morning. A major investor had been inches away from canceling a deal with us. Then a newspaper in Sweden reported that I was resigning from my position as CEO. The list of shit I’ve dealt with is long and exhausting.
The only bright spot has been my occasional text or phone call with Kathryn. One night we tried to have phone sex, but I was interrupted by a news alert in Singapore. My business obligations have held me prisoner and kept me from her all week. However, tonight will be different. I plan to take her out for a nice dinner at one of my favorite spots on the Upper East Side; I just need to call her and confirm the details.
I hit the intercom. “Mrs. Carter, can you come into my office, please?”
It takes less than a minute for her to walk through my door. There are dark circles under the poor woman’s eyes, making her lack of sleep apparent, too. “Yes, Mr. Kingsley?”
“You’ve been working almost as many hours as I have this week. Go home, get some rest.”
“Thank you, sir.” She exhales a long sigh of relief. “Are you sure that you don’t need me for anything? I hate to abandon you. I’ve never known another human being who’s worked as hard as you.”
“I’m sure. Please go home and enjoy your weekend.” I shoo her toward the door, but she doesn’t budge… yet. “How about this? You do me one last favor, and then you have to go.”
“Anything for you, Adam.” I swear she stands up taller when I mention another duty. I need to send her on a long vacation when things cool down a bit more because she’s one damn invaluable employee. “What do you need me to do?”
“I need a reservation for two at Hospoda. Let’s say around eight.” I glance up at the ceiling and smile as I imagine escorting the lovely Kathryn to this unique Upper East Side restaurant. Connected to the Bohemian National Hall, it’s one of my favorite places to dine, but for once it will be for pleasure, not business. “Tell them to book half the restaurant for me.”
“You and Kathryn?” Mrs. Carter snickers behind a knowing look but wipes her grin away when she realizes she may have overstepped her bounds. “Sorry for presuming, sir.”
“Yes, the infamous Kathryn.”
On Monday, I sent Kathryn a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses. I had Mrs. Carter order them and asked that the card attached be signed, “Yours, Adam.” The gifts continued all week long with Mrs. Carter helping me choose them each day. I had precious seconds to spend on the task, so she’d place a choice of two or three things in front of me. I have to say, Mrs. Carter helped me woo Kathryn in style.
“Got it.” Mrs. Carter adds a smirky wink. “What time do you want Eddie here?”
Oh yes, Eddie, my driver. I’ve had him chauffer Kathryn around the city since I’ve been cooped up in the office. It’s kept him happy and not twirling his keys. He seems to have quite the crush on her, too.
“Have him pick me up in fifteen minutes. He can take me home first, and then we’ll swing by Kathryn’s on the way uptown—around seven thirty.”
She nods, but the smile falls from her face. “Will you promise me one thing?”
“Of course, Mary,” I say without thinking. Mrs. Carter wouldn’t ask something of me I couldn’t do. After her service this week, how can I deny her request?
“Get some sleep tonight.” She speaks to me in a motherly-fashion. “I know you haven’t seen her all week…”
When her voice tapers off, I realize what she’s implying. Me. Up all night with Kathryn. Making love. It’s one promise I truthfully may not be able to keep, but I’ll promise her anything at this point. I just want to send a few emails, go back to my apartment, and lie down for about an hour. Followed by a nice warm shower and then pick up Kathryn for dinner. Those are my best-laid plans for tonight.
And speaking of getting laid...
“You have my word.” We share an understanding as I give her a wink.
“Good. It’s not physically possible to keep up the kind of schedule you’ve been living this week.” She straightens her skirt and turns, speaking as she leaves. “Well, have a wonderful weekend. All the details for tomorrow’s Fortune 100 reception and meetings are in your calendar. I’ll be available if you need any last-minute help.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Tomorrow there are all-day meetings with the other Fortune 100 companies, followed by an evening reception. My company has made its first appearance on the list at number ninety-nine. At least we made it over the threshold.
The bright spot in tomorrow’s all-day affairs
is the lovely woman who’s agreed to attend with me. It will be our first official outing as a couple. Since the heat has died down on me concerning the shooting last week, Kathryn and I are coming out with our relationship.
“Have a good evening, Mr. Kingsley,” Mrs. Carter says. I think she’s finally ready to leave. God knows I am.
“Thanks. Same to you.” She walks out the door and I return to my laptop to send out my last email. I’m not crossing the threshold of my office the entire weekend once they close behind me.
As I’m pressing send on the final email of the day, someone knocks on my door. I roll my eyes half in frustration, half in laughter.
“Come in, Mrs. Carter.” I glance up from my laptop as the door swings open, and I’m surprised at the sight before me.
I shake my head, wondering if my tired eyes are playing tricks on me, but I’m definitely looking upon one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen. Kathryn greets me, her full lips turned up on one side, and I’ve missed them just as much as the gorgeous woman attached to them. My mind drifts off to the thought of her red lips wrapped around my hardening cock as I sit paralyzed in my chair.
“Sorry, dear, overworked Adam. Mrs. Carter’s already left for the day. It’s just you and me. No more papers to push or calls to be made.” She pulls the door shut behind her and locks it.
I can’t mask my smile when she faces me, her demeanor serious as if I’m in trouble. She stalks toward me, wrapped in a khaki trench coat.
I decide to play it cool and go along with her whatever game she’s playing. “Did we have an appointment today? I don’t remember seeing your name on my calendar.”
“Oh, I’m on your calendar, all right. I just asked Mrs. Carter to keep our little meeting to herself. I wanted the element of surprise.” She stands in front of my desk, way too fucking far away from me.