Chapter Ten
Harmon
Monday mornings are the worst and today is worse than usual.
I’m running late for a meeting, thanks to an accident that couldn’t get cleared fast enough.
I’d watched as the drivers—who were alert—got stretchered away, but then everyone else sat around talking to each other and staring at the ground instead of towing the wrecks away to let the rest of us pass through and get to where we need to go.
I feel the tension in the room when I step into it, knowing it’s not only from what I’m dealing with but from me being late. It never happens and puts me in a foul mood. Everyone feels it.
Peter, my head of design, hands me a folder when I reach the table. I open it and flip through the photographs of Ferroix’s newest model—an exact replica of our newest model.
Same dial structure, same layout, some damn shade of blue—a crisp and sleek grey blue.
It’s clear what happened here.
Someone leaked a prototype.
Our product hasn’t been announced to the public yet. It started production only recently. We haven’t gone into testing or beta phase yet.
I keep my face neutral, hiding all the rage that’s boiling deep down, not wanting any of my employees to think I’m weak and can’t keep myself together. Explosive anger is a sign of weakness. Anger is a normal emotion, but there are healthy ways of showing it. There’s no need to over react.
The room is deadly silent—I can’t even hear anyone breathing. All I hear is the blood rushing through my ears as the anger and adrenaline courses through my veins.
Control is strength. Reaction is weakness.
I am not him.
Breathe.
“Who had access?” I ask, my voice even and smooth.
It allows me to breathe easier, knowing that I do have control. That I can handle this. That I am not my father, and I can be in control and not a raging lunatic who demands respect by making people fear him.
One of the designers, Bonnie, I believe her name is, answers, “Well, a few of us did, but… there was this junior designer. David. He quit about two weeks ago. Stopped showing up and never called.”
“Then there was the reporter who called,” my PR director, Sam, adds.
“Called and said what?” I ask.
“They were asking weird questions. Very specific about this watch. I’d assumed it was because they caught wind that we were releasing a new model, but with all this, I’m not so sure.”
I flip through the photos again, then make eye contact with my head of security, Filipe. “Start an internal investigation and be quiet about it. No one knows about this but us.”
“Of course, Mr. Stone.”
My attention then goes to the head of my legal department, Gerard.
“Prepare a cease-and-desist and do whatever you need to get those watches off the market. This is our design, and we will take all measures to ensure no one uses it but us.”
“Yes, sir.”
I look around the room, taking in the serious faces of all involved. I have an amazing team. I’ve always known it. They like their jobs and they take it seriously. Without them, my company would fall apart. They will handle this. We will get through it.
“I want this all handled by lunch. Let’s make no mistakes here. This is important. I have faith in us. We will get past this.”
I leave the room and go back to my office, shutting the door behind me so I can take a moment to breathe.
Drinking at work is a rare thing for me, but I keep a decanter of whiskey and glasses in my office for a reason. In the corporate world, it doesn’t matter if it’s nine am. If you need a drink, you get a drink, or else the rest of the day is going to be trash.
After a smooth rest of the day, I’m eager to go home. I left myself enough time to make sure everything is set for Cassius before he arrives—if he arrives.
We texted yesterday a couple of times. I checked in to make sure he was still on board and that I would see him tomorrow.
He responded short and precisely, and I think that’s more to do with him trying to be professional, rather than avoiding me.
But we will see in an hour and twelve minutes if he was serious.
I park under the car port and go through the portico to get to the front door.
I let myself in with my thumb print and loosen my tie the moment I’m through the door.
I take my shoes off, but leave them by the door, and go down the hall to Cassius’s room.
His uniform is laid out on the bed, along with a copy of his detailed schedule for the day.
The room is decorated in calming blues and light greys, as it’s meant for him to relax and recuperate in, if necessary.
This sort of thing takes a lot of mental will, and I’m not sure how often he will need a break.
But he will have a safe and comfortable place to do it whenever he needs.
Everything looks in its place, so I head to my home office to look over some reports while I wait. The chef is surely preparing dinner at this time, and it’ll be ready like it usually is. Today will be a training day, but I can’t help but be eager over what this means.
Nothing has ever been such a release than what this gives me, and going without it for so long is a struggle mentally.
I lose myself in work and before I know it, there’s an alert that someone is at the gate. I glance at the clock—he’s nine minutes early.
I open the app and hit the button for the gate to open, then go to the front door. I slip my shoes back on and tighten my tie, making sure it’s straight in the mirror by the door.
Through the frosted glass window on the side of the door, I see his shadow walk by and stop in front of the door. The image of him pops up on the security screen. It’s four seconds before he rings the bell. He’s either over thinking and trying to be more “on time” or he’s nervous.
I check my tie one more time before pulling the door open and greeting him with a smile.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad I’m here on time,” he says with a tired smile.
I do hope that his smile becomes less tired over time.
It’s something I’ll have to keep an eye on.
I can’t go into this and assume he’s okay because he says he is.
That’s part of my responsibility, to make sure he is okay, especially with someone who has no experience doing this.
He doesn’t know what is right or wrong and that sets him up for being taken advantage of, being abused, or just getting hurt.
I don’t want any of those things to happen, and I certainly wouldn’t do it on purpose.
“Please, come in,” I say, stepping aside. “Did you find your way here okay?”
He’s looking around, taking in the place.
I use the moment to take him in. Stewarts is by far my favorite place to shop.
Stewart Jr. has an eye for color that not many have, and he did wonders for Cassius.
The sweater is a light gray and the trousers are navy—clean, precise, anchoring him in a way that draws my attention whether I want it to or not.
Nothing about it is loud or performative. It fits him exactly the way it should.
What I like most is that he doesn’t look like he’s wearing borrowed confidence. He looks comfortable in it.
“Uh, yeah. Fine. You live here alone?” he questions.
“Yes. It’s a lot, I know.”
“It is a lot,” he agrees.
“I don’t love it, but I don’t hate it enough to move. I’m happy not being bothered by anyone.”
“I can imagine that being nice.”
He gives me another smile, but this one is nervous. It’s also contagious and I smile too.
“You have a gorgeous nice smile. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Yeah, my teachers when I was in like, second grade.”
I chuckle. “Come on. Let me show you around.”
“I feel like this tour will take all day.”
“I can show you the whole house, if you’d like, but you’ll only be downstairs.”
“Oh, is this like some Beauty and the Beast thing?” I give him an odd look. “You know, stay out of the west wing because there’s a big secret there?”
I huff a laugh again. “No secrets here. Just a bunch of empty rooms. My bedroom and the gym are the most used up there. Though, there is a library. Not very full though.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he comments as we move through the foyer and to the right, down the hall where his bedroom is.
“You like to read?”
“I mean, I guess. The library is free, so books were always my go-to.”
“It’s good for your imagination and vocabulary.” I stop in front of his room, the door closed. “As you can see there are only a few doors down this way. One is a spare bedroom, one is a sitting room, and the other is a bathroom. And this one is your room.”
“My… room?”
I nod, opening the door and gesturing for him to step inside. He gives me an odd look before cautiously crossing the threshold.
“When you arrive, you can come to this room to change and prepare. You’ll have the code to get in through the front door, so I won’t have to let you in each day.
This room will also be available to you any time you’re here.
If you ever feel you need a break, this is your space.
I will not come in here unless you ask me to. ”
He looks around in awe, taking in the abstract paintings on the walls, the heavy drapes, the soft blanket.
“It’s meant to be relaxing. The sheets are Egyptian cotton, very soft. The blanket is weighted, though there are regular ones as well. There is a diffuser on the end table there, and a sound machine and radio.”
“Wow…” he breathes out, then turns to face me. “You’re spoiling me.” He smirks.
I can’t help but smile again. “Perks of being my slave,” I nearly growl. His smile drops and his pupils blow out. I clear my throat, and say, “We can come back for you to change after I show you the rest of the house.”
Cassius follows me out of the room, and we go back the way we came and into the large dining room.