Chapter 47 Jace
JACE
I followed Scarlett’s challenge and tracked down every man in this company who’d had an HR complaint filed against him about sexual harassment over the past ten years.
Seven men. Three still worked here. Of the four who no longer worked here, only one had been fired for it.
One. All four now worked elsewhere, so I’d taken the liberty of calling the owners of those companies and letting them know my thoughts.
Power. I had it. Might as well try to use it for good.
The file in front of me made my blood simmer.
This woman, Rebecca Collins, had filed a detailed complaint.
Reading between the bureaucratic lines—the sanitized corporate speak that turned “he groped me” into “inappropriate physical contact was alleged”—I could sense her fear, her humiliation.
How many Scarletts had suffered in silence in this building?
How many women had these men tormented, knowing they’d likely face no consequences beyond a strongly worded lecture about “workplace etiquette”?
This guy’s days were numbered, no matter what, but I wanted a face-to-face.
I wanted to do it myself. I wanted to wrestle a confession out of him so I could go back to that woman and tell her he’d admitted it, that he’d been fired.
So I could give her closure and a fat recommendation to any job she wanted, here or at another company.
HR liked to call it “creating a positive separation experience.” I called it the bare minimum of human decency.
I could only hope I wouldn’t resort to violence. That was the thing I worried about most. The board frowned upon CEOs who broke employees’ jaws, no matter how richly deserved.
Toby entered my office with an infuriating swagger, straightening his tie as he approached my desk.
Look at his smug mouth. I wanted to smash his teeth into the table so hard, his dentist would need four assistants to rebuild it, but I forced my hands to remain relaxed on the desk.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” His tone was casual, probably expecting this to be about a promotion or some new opportunity.
The nerve. This man had made a woman feel violated, made her afraid to come to work, and here he was, strutting into my office like he owned the place.
I gestured to the chair across from me. “Have a seat.” After enduring small talk to lower his guard, I got to the point. “I’d like to discuss the events of March 14, 2018.”
The change in his demeanor was immediate. His shoulders tensed, and that easy smile faltered. It was like watching a cockroach when the kitchen light flicked on.
Good. Let him squirm.
“March 2018?” He rubbed his hands on his thighs. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
Liar. My pulse quickened as I thought of this woman, Rebecca, who’d been brave enough to file a complaint that ultimately went nowhere.
I opened the folder on my desk, making a show of reviewing the documents inside.
“There was an HR complaint filed. I’m reviewing all outstanding issues as the new owner.”
His voice had an edge now. Defensive. “That was resolved years ago.”
Resolved? My teeth ground together. It was “resolved” because there was not enough evidence, so it, apparently, had come down to who was more believed: a low-level employee or a leader with a country club membership. The injustice of it burned in my chest.
I leaned back in my chair, deliberately casual.
“You know how it is these days. Everything needs to be documented properly. HR’s been all over me about company culture.” I released a strategic smile, watching his reaction.
He relaxed slightly, misreading my signals. “Between us, it’s getting impossible to even have a conversation with female colleagues anymore.”
My stomach turned at his assumption that I’d be someone who’d protect the status quo. The urge to leap across the desk, grab him by his tie—a hideous silk number with tiny sailboats—and drag him around my office like a dog on a leash was almost overwhelming.
“I hear you,” I said, standing to pour two glasses of water, needing the moment to compose myself so I didn’t paint my walls with the blood of an entitled asshole’s split lip. “Everything gets misinterpreted.”
He accepted the glass with a nod. “Exactly. One compliment, and suddenly, you’re the bad guy.”
“So, what actually happened that night?” I asked, keeping my tone conversational. “The after-hours meeting? By the sounds of it, she blew it completely out of proportion.” The lie tasted vile, but I had to get him on my side. Believing he was just clearing the record with me.
“Nothing worth writing up,” he said with a dismissive wave. “We were working late on a project. Just the two of us. I thought we were having a moment, you know? Friendly chat, a little flirting.”
I nodded, encouraging him to continue while simultaneously wondering what he’d look like with a broken nose.
“All I did was touch her leg to emphasize a point.” He shrugged. “Next thing I know, she’s filing a complaint. Total overreaction.”
Gotcha, you self-incriminating moron.
I set my glass down slowly, my expression hardening. “So, you did touch her inappropriately.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed as he realized his mistake. “No, that’s not—”
“You just admitted it, Toby.” My voice was ice now, the facade dropping away like a shed skin.
His face flushed with anger. “She was asking for it, the way she—”
“You’re fired,” I cut him off. “Effective immediately.”
“What?” He stood up abruptly. “You can’t do that over some misunderstanding from years ago!”
“It wasn’t a misunderstanding. It was harassment.” My voice rose now, sharp with controlled anger. “And based on the pattern I’ve seen in your department, it wasn’t an isolated incident.”
“This is bullshit,” he snarled. “You have no idea who you’re messing with. I’ll sue for wrongful termination.”
I took a step closer to him. “Please do. That way, everything—and I mean, everything—will become part of the public record. They’ll depose all your former employees, under oath.”
Look at him, at a loss for words.
“Security will escort you to clear out your desk.”
Part of me—a primal, vengeful part—hoped he’d try something. Give me an excuse to take just one swing. Was that too much to ask from the universe?
“That little—” he started.
“Choose your next words very carefully,” I warned, my finger hovering over the intercom. “Security is one button away, and I don’t mind adding threatening behavior to your file.”
He glared at me, then stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
I should have felt relieved. Getting into a fistfight would be frowned upon by the board and would be a violation of that damn morality clause in the contract that might as well read, CEO shall refrain from physically assaulting employees, no matter how punchable their faces may be.
But it was such an empty victory. Firing him wasn’t enough.
Spreading the word through every contact I had in business about him and the liability he’d pose to companies—and, yes, I’d do that—wasn’t enough.
Breaking his cheekbone … that was what I’d wanted to do.
That was what would have felt like justice.
I flexed my fingers and buzzed my assistant.
“Send in the next one,” I said.
The following meetings went on similarly: strategic conversations that led to damning admissions.
By the end of the day, the company had three fewer problems. Three fewer predators hiding in plain sight.
It wasn’t enough, but it was a start. People would not be abused on my watch. Not at my company.
I should have felt triumphant. Powerful. Instead, I felt hollow.
I stared at my phone, at all my unanswered calls and texts to Scarlett. How could she walk away like this? I hadn’t meant to insult her with a promotion. I was trying to give her what she deserved. What she’d earned.
At least she’d given me more intel to figure out who had done this to her, letting it slip that it happened during her interview. Six interviews, according to my sleuthing, and HR was assembling the names of those interviewees.
Still, even the knowledge that I was one step closer to finding out who hurt her couldn’t erase the pain slicing through my insides.
I poured myself a scotch, downing it in one burning swallow. It didn’t help. Nothing did. Not the satisfaction of cleaning house, not the knowledge that I’d done something good today. None of it mattered if she wasn’t here with me.
The truth hit me like a wrecking ball. It was no longer a possibility: I was absolutely falling in love with her. Completely, irrevocably in love with a woman who might never speak to me again.
My hand tightened around the empty glass, her final kiss still burning on my cheek like a goodbye I couldn’t accept. I’d lost people before—my mother to cancer, my father to violence—but this was different. This was someone walking away by choice. Someone deciding I wasn’t worth the risk.
Maybe she was right. Maybe the power imbalance between us was too fundamental to overcome. Maybe some differences couldn’t be resolved with determination and good intentions. Not everything could be fixed with money or influence—a hard lesson I learned early on in life.
But for the first time in my professional career, I faced a problem I couldn’t solve. A battle I couldn’t win. She didn’t just distrust my power; she resented it. And I couldn’t shed who I was any more than she could erase her past.
I drained the glass, feeling hollow. Empty. All those years of protecting myself from exactly this kind of pain, and in the end, I’d finally let someone in. And now, she was walking away from me.
No. Fuck that. I hadn’t built an empire by accepting defeat. I hadn’t survived everything life had thrown at me by giving up when things got hard.
I wasn’t going to lose her. Not like this. Not without a fight.
She always worked late. She’d probably still be here, hunched over her desk, that little crease between her eyebrows indicating she was deep in concentration.
And she was going to get a piece of my mind this time.
I’d tell her how I felt, how I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t breathe without thinking of her.
How she’d somehow become the center of a universe I’d never meant to create.
I put my glass down, shoved my phone in my pocket, and stormed out of my office.