The Boss + The Maid = Chemistry

Chapter 1

ONE

Bennett

Some people might call me paranoid. I prefer terms like careful . Private . Discreet .

“Anyone ever tell you, you’re fucking paranoid?” Leo asks as he crashes into the main living area of my hotel suite. Apparently some people includes one of my closest friends.

“Help yourself to a drink.” I nod toward the bar and snap my laptop closed. It’s nearly eight. Leo’s always early. Byron’s always late, though he’s not coming at all tonight. The rest of them are pretty on time.

“Did you fire the whole staff?” he asks. “Are you so paranoid that it’s only you living at this hotel now?” He pulls out a beer from the fridge.

“You’re too good to get your own beer?” I ask.

He shrugs and prizes off the bottle top. “You want to tell me why you moved into your own hotel? Why we can’t go out to a bar?”

“Things are… difficult for me at the moment.”

Leo might think a drink in a bar or even a private members club would be more enjoyable, but I can’t take the risk. I’ve got way too much to lose.

“Have you thought about wearing a mask out in public?” he asks.

I narrow my eyes, trying to assess whether he’s serious. “Like… Batman?”

He pauses, tosses the bottle opener onto the counter and heads toward me. “I think the little ears on top might be a step too far. Plus, people might expect you to fight crime and shit. But you could wear a Covid mask. Pretend you’re at risk or something.”

The door opens again and Jack and Fisher appear, closely followed by Worth. I look at my watch. It’s exactly eight.

Fisher heads over and we exchange a hug. Fisher is a big smiler and a big hugger. It probably means we all hug more than we would have without him in the group. But despite his affability on the surface, he’s razor sharp and takes no prisoners. The phrase “wolf in sheep’s clothing” was invented for him. Maybe it’s because he’s British, but I’m always surprised when I hear of his ruthlessness. As much as I love him, I wouldn’t want to sit across from him at a boardroom table.

“You okay, bud?” he asks, looking me in the eye.

The last few days have been tricky. Fisher’s the first one I called.

“Did we agree that it’s okay to actually live in the hotel?” Jack asks. “Doesn’t that give you an unfair advantage or something?”

I push my hands through my hair. Sometimes I feel like the dad of the group. Other times I feel like the dartboard, and they’re all taking aim. It’s gonna be a long night. “I don’t need an advantage. This hotel has outperformed all your hotels for the last three years. Three years when I didn’t live here.”

Each of us own a hotel, bought with a very small portion of the proceeds from the sale of a jointly held company we set up in business school. It was a way of keeping us connected while encouraging the healthy competition we all crave. It’s an ongoing, friendly-slash-brutal contest that also makes us a little money.

Fisher eyes the whisky bottle and ice bucket on the table in front of me, then grabs a lowball from the bar. That’s the thing with Fisher—you can’t ever tell in advance what he’s going to drink. I swear it’s a metaphor for his personality.

“Maybe I’ll live in my hotel,” Leo says. His British accent always seems to get more pronounced when he’s agitated.

There are two Brits and four Americans among us. As far as I’m concerned, the British are over-represented. Didn’t we throw them out already?

“You’d get evicted,” Fisher says. “Too many guest complaints about weird sex noises.”

Leo grins. “What can I say? I make women scream in the bedroom.” He doesn’t mind his reputation as a total man-whore. Leo is the opposite of me in so many ways: a regular feature in the gossip columns, careless, indiscreet. There’s no stiff upper lip as far as Leo is concerned.

“Yup, when they see the tiny dick they’re going to have to deal with,” Worth says as he hits the couch with his beer. Worth is a man of few words, but every single one of them is on point.

I aim the TV controller at the wall in front of me and flip to ESPN. We won’t actually watch much of whatever’s on. Monday night catch-ups started because Jack suggested watching Monday Night Football together. But our weekly get-togethers have never been about sports. It’s just an excuse to get together with five people we trust. No one tells you that the richer you get, the lonelier you get. I’ve always known it, because I saw it with my mom—surrounded by people, but they all wanted something from her: a slice of her fame, a cut of her wealth, one or two of her connections. It even extended to me—kids at school wanting to be my friend in the hopes they’d catch a glimpse of, or exchange a few words with, a movie star.

It’s not that I wasn’t proud of my mom—I was. She was a phenomenal actress and savvier than many, careful with the projects she chose and the money she made from them. I just didn’t understand the allure of fame. I didn’t get why she enjoyed everyone looking at her, people hanging on her every word. Maybe I saw that it wasn’t her they were interested in, just the gilded version of her she let them see. A version they created in their minds. It didn’t concern her why they were interested; she drank down the attention like she was constantly parched.

True, deep, authentic friendships are hard to find, and the six of us know it. There’s an unspoken understanding among us that regular gatherings nourish our bond. None of us wants to lose it. We know what we’ve got is rare.

“How long are you going to stay here?” Fisher asks.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “I need to understand if the break-ins at my apartment building are aimed at me.”

“They didn’t try to get into your apartment, though, did they?” Leo asks. He takes everything at face value. Sometimes I wonder how he’s made so much money. Because money is always made in the space between ideas.

“No. Just the two apartments under mine,” I reply.

“So that’s good, isn’t it?” Leo asks.

“Depends on what the goal is,” Worth says.

Exactly .

“Why don’t you just move? Like, get a new apartment?” Leo asks.

I sigh and my chest sinks as I relax. Now they’re here, I feel like I can take off the metaphorical masks I wear and finally be myself.

“I might have to move in the end,” I say. “But I want to get rid of the problem first. I want to figure out whether the break-ins are linked to me, who’s tracking me if they are, and what they want.”

“I can answer that for you,” Fisher says. “Every tech firm in America is tracking you and they want what you have and they don’t—the Midas touch.”

I groan at the mention of the Greek king. I first got the moniker from the tech press when my company, Fort Inc., sold the technology for mapping the entire world to a well-known tech firm in Mountainview, California. It caught on in the mainstream press when Fort became the fifth-largest privately owned company in America. I hated it because I’ve tried hard not to make Fort about me. It’s the last thing I want—partly because it underplays the role my hugely talented staff have, and also because I have no interest in the fame and publicity that comes alongside that kind of nickname.

“Make it make sense,” Leo says. “You live in New York City and you think your building getting broken into twice is about you? Maybe we can skip past the paranoia box and tick narcissism.”

I sigh, resigned to the fact that I’m going to have to explain it to convince Leo. I’m pretty sure Leo’s approach to business is to yap at people like a chihuahua with a caffeine addiction until the people he’s dealing with surrender and give him what he wants.

“Before these last two break-ins, my building had been broken into once in the last five years. Its security is second to none downtown. The one break-in years ago was opportunistic—residents left the goddamn window open and they lived on the first floor. Fast-forward to two weeks ago, when the two apartments underneath mine get broken into. There’s no connection between the owners of the two apartments, and nothing of value was stolen. But if someone wanted to track my movements, plant listening devices, cameras or god knows what else, an apartment abutting mine would be the place to start.”

“And they’re after Ben Fort?” Worth asks. Ben Fort—the pseudonym I invented after my mother died—is the CEO of Fort Inc.

I shrug. “No one’s interested in Bennett Fordham.”

“Unless maybe someone’s made the connection between the two?” Worth asks.

I take a sip of whisky as I revisit the question that I ask myself on a daily basis. “I don’t think so. If they had, I think I would have read about it. But they may have made a connection between my apartment and Ben Fort. That’s the first step. They may or may not have a photograph of me.”

“But you always wear a hat coming or going,” Fisher says.

“Yeah, but that’s so any street cameras don’t get a shot. Someone with a telephoto lens could get a picture easily.”

“You think they’ve tracked everyone coming in and out of your office building and followed them home and thought to themselves, that’s Ben Fort?” Fisher asks. “I mean it might be possible if you worked at some downtown building with a hundred people in it. But your offices are at the Time Warner building or the Deutsche Bank Center or whatever the fuck they’re calling it now. There are thousands of people coming and going from that place every day.”

“All right,” I say. “Maybe they haven’t tracked me that way. Maybe they’ve made the connection some other way. But my gut tells me whoever broke into the building this week knows Ben Fort lives there. Because Ben Fort justifies two break-ins in a matter of weeks. Most people don’t. If they don’t get in, they go somewhere else. It kind of doesn’t matter if they know I’m him at this point.”

Worth pulls in a deep breath. That normally means he disagrees with whatever is being said.

I get it. I sound paranoid. There’s no hard evidence for anything, just my gut feelings.

All of us have varying degrees of fame associated with our kind of wealth. Leo is the most high profile, but Fisher definitely courts publicity. He has to. It’s part of the deal when you’re in the music business. I really do get it, and I don’t judge any of them for wanting the advantages a high profile can bring. It’s just I don’t.

I have no interest in being a household name like Elon Musk or Mark Zuckerberg. I can’t think of anything worse. My mother would have loved it. And if anyone finds out who Ben Fort, “Midas touch” owner of Fort Inc., is and especially if he’s Bennett Fordham, son of movie star Kathleen Fordham, that’s exactly what will happen. I’ll go back to the days of paparazzi jumping out of bushes to get a photo, back to people wanting to get close to me, hoping the fame and money will rub off on them.

I’m not prepared to let that happen. The only good thing about my mother dying when I was nineteen was that the press and paparazzi lost interest in me.

I don’t want them back.

“Do you have a plan other than hiding out until people lose interest?” Jack asks. “Because if that’s your plan, I have to tell you, it’s not great.”

“I have people watching my apartment.” That grossly understates the team of people I have scouring the area—physically and electronically—to find evidence that my building is being surveilled. My security team is the best of the best. Realistically, I’m not going to go back to that apartment, but at the same time, there doesn’t seem much point in moving if I’m going to be discovered again.

“Worst-case scenario, people make the connection,” Jack says. “Okay, so they’ll be interested for a minute. I hate to tell you, Bennett, but they’re going to get bored real quick when they find out you’re just not that interesting.”

I tap my bottle against Jack’s. “Cheers to that.”

“Son of a Hollywood legend, youngest ever self-made billionaire according to Forbes ,” Jack goes on. “Loyal, too good-looking, wouldn’t want to arm wrestle him, and the best friend a man could ever want. Apart from that, you’re as dull as the bottom of my shoe. Really. Take comfort from the fact that if you do get found out, they’ll quickly lose interest.”

“You’re an asshole,” Worth says, on point again.

“Maybe,” Jack replies. “But I’m not telling any lies.”

If I didn’t know Jack, I’d think he was just being an asshole, but that’s not his only intention. He’s genuinely trying to make me feel better. The five of them have known about my mother since business school. Only Jack has ever told me I shouldn’t hide.

“Look,” Leo says. “I don’t mind the attention.”

Worth sniggers and I raise my eyebrows. Leo loves the attention.

“Fisher, too, to a lesser extent,” he says, completely ignoring our amusement. “But that’s part of our show. Doesn’t mean you have to do the same. You gotta live your life.”

He doesn’t get it. This is me living my life. It’s just a life that doesn’t involve socializing in public places at the moment.

But it’s not forever.

“At least have the occasional drink at the hotel bar.”

“No!” Leo says. “That will give him more advantage.”

I’m the only one of the six of us who keeps his identity from the hotel manager and staff. The Avenue’s manager knows the owner is Ben Fort, but because no one’s ever seen him, no one realizes he’s currently booked into the Park Suite. I’ve checked in under my real name, Bennett Fordham. I didn’t take the Presidential Suite—that would attract too much attention.

Staying here probably does give me a competitive advantage in our little game. I imagine the staff at other hotels give slightly different service when they know they’re dealing with the owner. I’m interested in how the hotel operates, warts and all.

“Yeah, maybe we should meet in the bar next week,” I say and enjoy the way Leo shoots Jack a look that could kill. Our competition is only friendly-ish. We all want to win and no one wants to give anyone else an advantage, even if it’s a night racking up a large bill in the hotel bar.

“I wouldn’t take the risk,” Leo says. “You’ve managed to keep your identity secret up until now. Why chance it?” He’s smiling as he speaks. We all know he’s trying to steer us away from spending money in The Avenue. But honestly, they’re drinking from my hotel bar as we speak. It doesn’t make a lot of difference.

“The six of us together would attract a lot of attention,” Worth says. He’s right. As ever.

“As long as that attention is female with legs for days, I’m okay with it,” Leo says.

“Don’t worry,” Worth says. “You can have third pick after Bennett and me.”

“I’ll give you Bennett,” Leo says. “He’s too fucking handsome and he’s got that brooding hero thing down. But you think women are going to pick you before me?” He scoffs.

I groan and turn up the volume on the TV. We’re already in competition in business. We don’t need to be competing over women. I need to save my energy.

Leo punches my arm in a friendly way as he gets up to get another drink. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

Over the last decade, Fort Inc. has successfully developed some of the most important technology in the world. And I’ve managed to lead that company without anyone knowing I’m the son of a movie star. I need to figure out who’s behind the break- ins and silence them. Then we can go back to Monday nights at an exclusive private members club, and my friends can stop bitching about how great my hotel is.