Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
RED
O ne six-hour flight and three days later, I storm into Raphael Pharrell’s tenth-story New York City office overlooking Central Park, my heart pounding like I’ve run a marathon. Something tells me I’m about to have security called and face another handcuffed escort. It’s the last thing I need for my tattered public reputation. Today’s headlines say it all.
Trouble in Paradise? Rowdy Jameson Caught Smooching Employee
Cougar Leaves Her Cub? The Latest Dish on Red Cash and Rowdy Jameson
Rowdy Jameson Unhinged: Threatens to Shoot Journalists
“Ms. Cash,” the immaculately groomed, gray-haired man snarls, holding his hands fingertip-to-fingertip in front of his face like Mr. Burns from The Simpsons . “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Mr. Pharrell, I’m done with you. I’m done with your manipulations and machinations, and I won’t allow you to control me any longer. Even if it means walking away with nothing.”
He laughs, sitting back in his chair. “So, you want to save your soul, huh? It’s a little too late for that, I’m afraid. You’re in this neck deep, Ms. Cash. Pardon my blunt delivery, but there’s no escaping now.”
“Yes, there is. I give up. Take everything. Pillage my company. You’ve already destroyed the creativity driving it. You win. I quit.”
“Quit?” He sits up, disturbed for the first time since our conversation began.
I nod firmly. “Yes, I quit. Red is yours. Good luck. But you’ll steal Jameson & Cash over my dead body.”
He laughs, low and guttural, sending warning shivers down my spine. “I don’t need you to get Jameson & Cash. And as for Red? Ha! It’s not worth saving anyway. Nevertheless, I’ll have the paperwork drawn up announcing your formal resignation.”
Something about his last statement confirms a suspicion I’ve had for a while now. Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “What do you mean you don’t need me to get what you want from Jameson & Cash?”
“The first rule in business is always to have a backup plan. As it so happens, you are that backup plan. Fortunately, the original strategy panned out.”
I smile tensely, arching an eyebrow. “Shelley, right?”
He nods.
“The first fit testing, her inept observations and the approvals she signed off on, her unprofessional bearing with Rowdy. She’s been feeding you information about the new line all along while undermining it.” I shake my head, laughing despite myself. “That’s brilliant for a monster.”
“Last time I checked, you wanted to be a monster, too. What happened? Did you grow a conscience?” He asks the last question with disgust.
I straighten, looking him dead in his cold, black eyes. “No, I ended up on the receiving end of a monster’s actions and learned how it feels to have everything I’ve worked so hard for torn from you. But you know what the difference is between you and me? And why I’ll never be like you?”
Pharrell smiles thinly. “Oh, do tell, Ms. Cash. This is going to be good.”
I put my hands on my hips, my stare aggressive. “I’m a creator, and I can start over. I will always have new ideas. But you? You’re pathetic. Nothing more than a high-class thief who’s never brought anything of beauty into this world. All you do is destroy, destroy, destroy. Don’t be surprised if someday you find yourself surrounded by wreckage with nothing but pain to show for your life. Goodbye, asshole. You can refer all future communications to my legal team. They will also draw up my resignation.”
After leaving Pharrell’s office, I shake so hard I have to sit in my car for more than a half hour collecting myself. What’s done is done. And even though this has been my worst nightmare for the past year, ever since Raphael Pharrell gained majority ownership in Red, I find a surprising peace in the knowledge that he no longer controls me. I can start over.
The question is, can I start over with Rowdy?
My finger hovers over the cowboy’s phone number on my favorites. Instead, I choose the number below, Island in the City Stables. I need a ride to clear my head and regulate my emotions before I call my fiancé and beg for him to take me back. If I call now, I’ll sob uncontrollably on the phone. I have to get centered and be able to do more than ugly cry when I talk to him again.
An hour later, I sit on the back of one of my favorite mounts, Darcy, a spirited brown Appaloosa gelding with a chestnut blanket that matches my fire. I progress him through a jog and canter into a full gallop, letting him stride out beneath the leafless canopy of trees on the stable grounds, a little oasis in the middle of the metropolis.
The wind whips through my red locks, and freedom pounds in my chest. Tears pour down my cheeks as it finally sinks in that I’ve escaped Pharrell’s clutches and the weight and guilt of what he wanted me to do to Jameson & Cash. Having to let go of Red, I realize I can say goodbye to Jameson & Cash, too. If that’s what Rowdy wants.
Just don’t say goodbye to me, cowboy…