Chapter 16
sixteen
I turn out to be even more fucked than I originally realized.
Pacing outside Stryker’s building, I repeatedly push my hands through my hair.
I’ve already blown my lunch hour to hell and texted my father some made-up bullshit about a migraine. After ten minutes, I figure Jules will be safely installed back in the legal department. I want to slip into Grayson’s office without her noticing.
And I can’t let her get fired over something I started.
But it’s more than that.
Fuck me. Damn it all to hell. Motherfucking….
A litany of expletives fills my mind while I ride the elevator up all fifty stories and cut across the main floor as quickly as I can.
Beth startles when I burst through the archway leading to Stryker’s office. “Mr. Everett,” she snaps, hawk-eyed as per usual. “We weren’t expecting you.”
My foot taps, expelling nervous energy. “Is he in?” I demand, unable to summon any sort of charm. “It’s time-sensitive.”
With a clear air of disapproval, Beth presses the intercom button. “Mr. Everett for you, Mr. Stryker.”
A second later, I step into his office. Similar to the conference room, the wide curved space has white walls, a glass front, and a floor-to-ceiling panoramic view behind a smoked charcoal desk.
My best friend sits at the helm, smiling until he sees the look on my face. His expression clouds over. “Graham?”
“I’m fine,” I huff, flopping into one of the leather Eames chairs opposite his. “Sorry to barge in. Finish whatever you’re doing. I’ll wait.”
Grayson clicks around on his computer for a few seconds and then shoves the work on his desk off to the side. “All right. Talk.”
I mean to ask about Miss Rivera’s job. I plan to admit to whatever he might have seen and spin a story to reduce her culpability. And then—depending on how pissed he is—I’ve decided I need to broach the topic of running his investments through me instead of my father’s company.
That last part gradually sank in over lunch with Juliet. Her contract is air-tight. Even if I manage to get away with switching out the names at the last second… I don’t want to tarnish her hard work like that.
Her earnest face drifts into my mind. “No,” she said when I asked if she still hated me. “I don’t.”
I don’t want her to change her mind. And I don’t want to lie to Grayson.
Because I… care .
Revolting .
Bordering on intolerable.
But there it is.
I open my mouth to say all of it—and something completely different comes out.
“I want to leave Everett Alexander.”
What. The. Ever-loving. Fuck.
Stryker leans forward like he didn’t hear me properly. “I’m sorry, what ?”
Clearly, I’ve lost my mind. From the moment I all but assaulted Juliet in that elevator last week to this very second—I don’t recognize myself.
But as I sit there, with the most ludicrous statement I’ve ever uttered hanging in the air, I don’t feel sick or regretful. A sudden rush of calm rolls over me.
For the first time in years, I feel right .
The possibilities quickly come together in my head. I can walk away from my father’s business. The “legacy” that’s always been touted as some holy grail.
Because, lately, it feels less like a gold medal around my neck and more like a noose.
In one brilliant moment of clarity, I realize I don’t want to prove myself to the likes of Hugh Everett. I want to rise so far above his level in every category that I’ll never find myself beholden to him again.
I can do it. I already have the education and countless cutting-edge investment strategies. I’ll have to find a client base more quickly than I originally planned…
But I already own my apartment outright, and I have my trust fund to cover other expenses in the meantime. Plus, Stryker’s account will be huge .
If I can sell him on my sudden insanity.
I take a page out of Juliet’s book and roll my shoulders back. “I want to leave Everett Alexander and start my own firm,” I say, relishing the rightness of the statement. “And I want you to be my first client.”
Grayson watches me for a long moment. I know from years of friendship that he’s scrutinizing my demeanor, trying to figure out how serious I am.
Finally, he spreads his hands. “This is your proposal?”
I want to wince. He has a point; most start-ups would never approach the CEO of a company like his without a detailed business plan. And I have nothing to offer him other than my word.
Which, up until now, has been flimsy at best.
“It’s a new plan,” I reply. “Very new. But it’s the right move for me.” I blow out a deep breath. “I can do this, Grayson.”
I expect caution. Indecision. Maybe even a few jokes. After all, the guy has witnessed all of my most disgraceful moments. Every time I skipped class, blew off a woman, or cheated on an exam; he was there. He’s seen me blacked out, coked up, and everything in between.
But still, he looks me dead in the eye and says, “I know you can do it.”
The simple statement hits me like a gut punch.
He trusts me?
He… believes in me?
Has anyone else ever done that? Have I ever given them a reason to?
“Thank you,” I reply, clearing the thickness from my throat. “I want to do this the right way. Let me write up a proper business proposal and if you like what you see, we can talk about drafting new contracts.”
Grayson inclines his head. “No.”
I blink. “No?”
He cracks a sideways smile. “Like I said: I know you can do this. I don’t need a proposal. And I guess it could be fun to play the big shot and make you sweat, but I’m not a dick, so I won’t do that. You’re my best friend, Graham. Our best man. You have my business.”
Well, shit.
I stand up to shake his hand, but Grayson rounds his desk and claps me on the shoulder instead. “So we’re good?” he asks. “We can get a drink to celebrate Thursday night if you’re up for it.”
I step back, dazed, buzzing with the thrill of what I’ve just done. Holy hell . I still don’t know what’s come over me, but I’m glad for it.
“Thursday’s great,” I chip. My mind spins, forming to-do lists and contingency plans. “Though, I think I could use a drink right now.”
Stryker laughs. “I would offer you some of the gin I keep in my desk, but I have a three o’clock.”
A three o’ clock . The thought sinks through my jittery stupor. Fuck. Juliet .
I watch Grayson saunter back to his seat, considering. Obviously, he doesn’t know about the incident in Pod C, or he’d be pissed at me. And, if that were the case, he wouldn’t be handing me five million dollars to invest through my fledgling company.
As long as he’s clueless, I want to keep him that way. Mentioning Juliet now would only make him suspicious.
“I suppose I’ll need a good lawyer,” I mutter, half to myself. “I don’t have a non-compete contract with my father, but he’s going to try to throw the book at me.”
“Shit.” Grayson rubs the back of his neck. “You’ll also need someone to work on your contracts for clients who don’t have their own attorneys. And someone to review vendor arrangements, insurance.”
My throat goes dry just thinking about all of the logistics. “We can talk shop Thursday night,” I grunt. “Do any of your attorneys here do freelance or would that be a violation of their non-competes?”
Stryker shakes his head. “If it were anyone else, I’d be pissed about my people doing work for another company on the side; but since it’s you, I’m fine with it. Talk to Dominic. I think he used to work for some hedge fund Downtown. Maybe he can do some start-up work to get you going and point you in the right direction for someone more permanent.”
Fuck that . Dominic is the asshole head of legal I saw leaning all over Juliet.
“I’ll let you know if I borrow anybody,” I hedge, half-kidding. “After hours only, of course.”
Grayson starts to turn back to his computer while I make for the exit. Though, he does toss out, “Yeah, don’t screw with any of my people during business hours, or I’ll be fucking pissed.”
Poor bastard.
Too little too late.