by Swan, T L
“It’s coming up that the transfers were made from your log-in details.”
“What?” I screw up my face in question. “That’s impossible; I haven’t been into our business accounts for months. I have no reason to.”
“That’s what I said,” Tristan snaps. “I handle the money side of things; you all know that.”
“We have the accounts and legal team meeting us at the office at eight,” Elliot replies.
My eyes flick to him. “Does Dad know?”
“Yeah.” He exhales heavily. “He’s meeting us there.”
I clench my jaw and stare out the window as we fly through the streets of New York.
Anger, confusion, and betrayal are all that I see.
I drag my hand down my face and inhale deeply as I try to slow my heart rate down. I feel crazier than ever before.
My reputation . . . my business.
My girl.
I stare out the window, and moments later we arrive at the Miles Media building. It’s just 7:20 a.m., and we make our way to the top floor. I need to be alone before the craziness begins.
I walk into my office, shut the door, and drop into my chair at my desk.
The room is silent . . . and empty.
Through my windows I can see bustling New York below as the city prepares for the day. Everything down there seems so normal . . . so in order.
My temper is simmering like a volcano and dangerously close to exploding.
I don’t know if I’m going to smash something or burst into tears.
Either way, I feel completely unstable.
With my elbows on the desk, I drop my head into my hands; my breath quivers on the intake as I try to calm myself down.
She told me she was going out with Molly and Aaron last night. I go over the conversation we had when she got home.
“How were your friends?” I asked.
“Great . . . it was good to see them,” she replied.
She lied.
I was at home missing her . . . and she was out with another man.
I get a lump in my throat as reality sets in.
I’ve been over here falling madly in love with her . . . while she’s been seeing someone else.
The door clicks, and I close my eyes to try and block out Tristan—I know it’s him.
He knows me better than anyone.
I hear him go to the bar and drop ice into two glasses, then the comforting sound of scotch being poured. He places one in front of me, and my heavy eyes rise to meet his.
He clinks his glass with mine as it sits in my hand. “Well, this day fucking sucks already.” He leans on my desk with his behind.
“You think?” I mutter as I take a sip. I feel the burn as it glides down my throat.
“When was the photo taken?” he asks.
“Last night.”
He frowns.
I clench my jaw as I stare out the window, ashamed that the woman I love doesn’t love me back. “She said she was out with Molly and Aaron.”
He sips his scotch and raises his eyebrows as if surprised that she lied. “I thought she was the one.”
I frown, my chest constricting once more. “That makes two of us.”
Silence hangs between us.
“Let’s just get through this day and prove your innocence.” He sighs as he drains his glass.
I nod.
He watches me for a moment, and eventually he asks, “You okay?”
I nod once, unable to push the lie past my lips.
“We will prove that you’re innocent, Jay.” He puts his reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I promise you.”
I drain my glass and go to the bar for a refill.
He watches me once more, and I know he’s choosing his words wisely. “Tell me that you’re all right.”
I roll my lips, and my eyes rise to his. “I’m all right.”
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re about to lose your shit and kill someone?”
“If you want to save a life today, get rid of Jake Peters.”
“It’s already done. I called and fired him this morning at five a.m., as soon as I saw the story.”
I take a sip of the amber fluid; it heats my throat as it goes down.
He pauses before he asks, “Do you want me to fire Emily?”
I stare out the window and over the city. “No.”
“I was thinking . . . ,” he continues.
“Get out,” I bark.
“But—”
“Now.”
The door clicks quietly behind him, and I stand and move to the window and stare out over the city.
Adrenaline surges through my body, and I feel the earth’s tectonic plates move beneath me. I sip my scotch as a cold, detached determination takes its place in my soul.
Nobody fucks with me like this and gets away with it.
Get ready to meet your maker, Mr. Ferrara.
Your day is near.
Emily
I bounce out to the waiting limo and see trusty Alan standing beside it. He opens the door. “Good morning, Alan.”
He nods. “Morning.”
I frown and get in. He’s not in a very good mood today. The door closes behind me, and I look around for the paper.
Hmm . . . Jameson must have taken it with him this morning. I’m still sleepy and lethargic. There’s a lot to be said for morning exercise—it definitely wakes you up for the day. I put my head back and close my eyes as we roll through the traffic.
What feels like ten minutes later, the car comes to a halt and switches off. I glance up. We are out in front of my apartment building. Huh?
Alan opens the door.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Mr. Miles instructed me to drop you here this morning.”
“What . . . why?”
“He suggested that you have the day off.” He gestures with his hand for me to get out of the car.
“Huh?” I frown. “What’s going on, Alan?”
“I’m not sure, but Mr. Miles said that he didn’t want you to come into the office and that he will be in touch.”
I screw up my face. “Be in touch—what does that mean? Why can’t I go to the office? I’m confused.”
“You need to get out of the car, Emily,” he asserts.
“What?”
He gestures again with his hand, and I get out in a huff.
“Has something happened?” I stammer as I brush past him. “Is Jameson all right?”
“You need to speak to him, Emily.”
“Fine, I will,” I snap as I take out my phone and dial his number.
“Goodbye, Emily,” Alan says before getting into the limo and quickly pulling out.
Jameson’s phone rings out. I call again . . . it goes straight to voice mail. He’s switched it off.
“What the fuck?” I whisper, annoyed.
I go to call Sammia, his PA, but then realize that it’s only eight o’clock—she isn’t even at work yet.
What the hell is going on? I cross the street and half walk, half run to the corner paper stall. I see the front page of the Gazette, and the blood drains from my face as I see a half-page picture of Jake and me kissing.
“Dear God,” I whisper. I read the story.
Jameson Miles—Media Guru’s Fall from Grace
In what appears to be the final nail in Jameson Miles’s media coffin, his fiancée, Emily Foster, has been having a secret affair. The two have been spotted in various locations and were snapped holidaying in Italy two months ago. Leaked bank statements released today prove that Jameson Miles has been embezzling money and transferring it to an offshore account. The board is expected to fire him as CEO of Miles Media today, and criminal charges will be laid. Looks like Emily Foster jumped ship just in time.
What?
My hand goes over my mouth in horror.
Oh my God, poor Jameson. “I’m not his fiancée, you fucking idiots,” I sneer. “How many things can you possibly fuck up
in one story?”
I turn and begin to storm back to my apartment as I redial his number with a sense of urgency.
“Hey,” the paper man calls out to me. “You didn’t pay for that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologize as I rush back to pay. “I was distracted. Thank you.”
Jameson’s phone goes straight to voice mail once more.
What do I do? What do I do? My shoulder slams into a man as he walks past.
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” he calls.
“Sorry,” I stammer.
I dial Tristan’s number.
“Hi, Em.”
“Tristan, what the hell is going on?” I cry.
“We’re in meetings; I’ll call you later.”
“What?”
He hangs up.
“Ahhh,” I cry. My eyes fill with tears of frustration.
He wouldn’t believe it. Surely, he knows it’s not true . . . but there’s a photo as evidence.
I dial Molly’s number.
“Hey, chick, do you want a coffee?” she asks chirpily.
“Molly,” I cry in relief that someone answers their damn phone. “Oh my God, it’s all lies.” I stop on the spot on the busy sidewalk and move to the side up against the building to talk.
“What’s wrong?”
“The Gazette,” I stammer. “Google the Gazette. There’s an image on the front page of me kissing Jake, and it says we are having an affair.”
“What?”
“Somebody must have been following me, or . . .” I shake my head as I try and think of a logical explanation. “What the fucking hell is going on?” I whisper angrily.
“Holy shit.” She pauses. “I see it. Wait . . . when the fuck did you kiss Jake?”
“He kissed me last night,” I stammer. “I didn’t kiss him back, for fuck’s sake. Do you—”
“Hang on; I’m reading,” she interrupts me.
I put my hand over my face as I wait for her to read.
“Oh my God,” she whispers.
“Alan brought me back to my apartment and told me not to come into work today.”
“What?”
“He said that Mr. Miles will contact me later.”
“Well, what did Jameson say?” she asks.
“He won’t answer his phone. I called Tristan, but he said they are in meetings, and he’ll call me later.”
“Holy . . . fucking . . . shit. This is bad.”
“You think?” I cry.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. What do I do?”
“Well, if Jameson told you to stay home, maybe you should.”
“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t need more attention; it says here he’s been accused of theft.”
My eyes widen as I imagine the media storm that’s going to come from this.
“But what if he believes this?” I stammer. “I’ve never been with Jake. This is complete bullshit. I love him.”
“He said he will be in touch . . . he will be.”
I listen as my mind runs at a million miles an hour.
“You’re just going to have to wait.”
I screw up my face in tears. “You don’t think I should come in?”
“God, no. He doesn’t have time to worry about you too.”
“But I didn’t do this,” I whisper.
“I know. I’ll go up and see him in his office and tell him everything.”
“You will?” I whisper hopefully.
“If you come in, Em, the whole building is going to attack you.”
I put my hands over my face in horror as I imagine everyone waking up to this story this morning. I’m going to be Miles Media’s public enemy number one.
“I’m going to get into work and find out what the hell is going on, and I’ll call you back, okay?” she says.
I nod, my eyes filled with tears. I can’t believe this is happening. “Okay.”
“Go back to your apartment and wait. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you,” I whisper as I wait on the line. “Wait, what are you going to say to Jameson?”
“I’m just going to tell him the truth. I’ll call you back in half an hour.”
My shoulders slump. “Okay, thanks.” I hang up.
I walk from my kitchen and back to the living area. I turn and walk back the same route. It’s been forty minutes.
Jameson still isn’t answering his phone, and Molly hasn’t called me back.
What the fucking hell is going on over there?
I text Jameson a message.
Jay
I don’t know what the hell is going on.
That photo is a setup.
You know I love you and would
never do that.
Call me back, please.
I’m freaking out!!!
I throw my phone onto the lounge and continue my pacing. Why isn’t anyone calling me back?
I wait twenty minutes and then text Jameson again. My phone rings, and I scramble to answer it. It’s Molly.
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
“What happened?”
“I couldn’t get in to see him; he was in a meeting with the solicitors,” she whispers. “He’s got bigger things to worry about at the moment, Em. He could go to prison.”
I frown. What? “Oh my God.”
“Management is going nuts down here. I have to get off the phone before I get fired.”
“What?” My eyes fill with tears . . . I didn’t do this. “I could give a rat’s ass about the company right now. I need him to know that I didn’t do anything with Jake. That whole story is bogus.”
“I know. I’ll go back up in my lunch break. But for now, hang tight.”
I put my hand over my mouth as a roll of nausea fills my stomach.
“I’ll call you back as soon as I speak to him.”
I wait on the line, hoping for a miracle answer to come to us.
“Okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, okay,” I whisper before hanging up the call.
I begin to pace once more with a new sense of urgency. What if he believes this?
What if the board believes that he stole the money?
What if he’s charged . . . and goes to prison?
Oh my God. I text him again.
I’m serious.
Call me back NOW!!
I’m losing my mind over here.
Another thirty minutes pass as I continue to pace. I can’t deal with this waiting. I call Molly, and it goes straight to voice mail. I hang up in a fluster and call Aaron. His phone rings out.
“What the actual hell!” I cry through tears. “What’s going on over there?”
I text Jameson again.
Call me now, or I’m coming into the office!!!!!!!!
I’m getting angry, you must know I’m frantic.
My phone rings, and the letter J lights up the screen. I pick up a rush. “Oh my God, Jay.”
“Hi,” he answers, monotone.
“What’s going on?” I whisper. “Jay. I can’t believe the lies. He kissed me once, and I slapped him across the face. I promise you that I’m not seeing that slimeball.”
He stays silent.
A sense of dread fills me. Why is he so quiet? “Jay.”
“You didn’t think to tell me about this?”
“It only happened last night.”
“You said you were with fucking Molly!” he screams.
My eyes fill with tears at the sound of his anger. “I know I did, but he said he had some information about the case, and I knew you wouldn’t want me to meet him alone.”
“I wonder fucking why?” he bellows.
I screw up my face. “Don’t be angry with me,” I whisper. “That picture is . . .” I shake my head as I try to articulate what it is that I want to say. “It’s taken out of context, I promise you.”
“I have to go. Stay out of sight. I don’t need to worry about you
too.”
“What?” I stammer.
“I’m too busy.”
“Don’t go,” I plead. “Jay, we need to talk about this. I’ll come to your office now.”
“Don’t you dare,” he sneers.
My eyes widen. “What do you mean?”
“There are a million and fucking one people in my office right now, and I don’t have the fucking time to deal with your shit,” he growls.
I cringe . . . God, I’ve never heard him so angry. “Will I see you tonight?” I whisper.
“Goodbye, Emily.” The line goes dead.
I drop to the couch and stare at the wall . . . a sick sense of dread begins to sink in . . . he believes it.
Holy fuck.
Eight o’clock that evening
I sit on the lounge and listen to the sound of a movie as it plays on the television.
I can’t watch the news. I had to turn it off. It’s going on and on about the evidence building against Jameson and the embezzlement case.
My mind is miles away. Jameson hasn’t called me back all day, and I don’t know what’s going on over there at Miles Media, but I know it’s a media circus.
I’m torn between giving him the space that he needs and running to him as fast as I can. I’ve decided that I’m going to do as he asked and just stay here and sit tight. He will call me as soon as he can. I know he will, and he’s right—me being out and about will only add fuel to the fire. He really doesn’t need to worry about me, too, at the moment.
The magnitude of the situation has finally sunk in. What’s going to happen if they can’t find out who transferred that money?
How long can Jameson deal with this type of pressure?
With a lump in my throat I begin to pace. My carpet must be nearly threadbare after today’s pacing activities. I can’t remember ever being this stressed.
At eleven o’clock at night, I haven’t heard from Jameson, and I am sick with worry, literally.
I’ve thrown up twice. I decide to call him one last time . . . where is he?
With shaky fingers, I dial his number, and it rings and then goes to voice mail.
He’s declined the call. My heart sinks, and my eyes fill with tears.
“This is Jameson Miles; leave a message,” the recorded message plays.
“Hello.” I pause. “Jay,” I whisper. “Baby.” I get a lump in my throat. “I’m sorry for lying. I was trying to find out about the case, and then he kissed me and . . .” My voice trails off. “I know how this looks, but you have to believe me. I don’t even like Jake as a friend; you know that.” I walk to the window and stare out over the traffic. “I’m going out of my mind here . . . I love you.” I stay silent, unsure what to say. “Don’t let them poison your mind, Jay. You’re the only person who knows what we have,” I whisper through tears. “Come home to me, where you belong.” I pause, hoping that I’m getting through to him. “I don’t even want to hang up . . . I need you. Please come over . . . I’m begging.”