10. Phoenix
Phoenix
A knock at the door breaks my focus.
I lift my eyes from my iMac to meet my brother’s expectant gaze.
His trademark sly side grin is firmly planted on his face.
“Good morning,” Slate says.
“Morning.”
“I thought you might want a cappuccino.” He strides into my office. “Two shots of espresso, two raw sugars, and extra hot—” He freezes. “Looks like you’ve been at it for a while.” He jerks his chin to the two empty cups sitting on my desk.
“I’ve been here for two-and-a-half hours.”
“You got here at six?”
“I did. So far, it’s been a productive and lucrative morning, but a boost of caffeine won’t hurt.” He hands me the coffee. “Thanks.” I take a sip.
“Are you working on a deal you haven’t told us about?”
“No, you’re aware of the bids we have on the radar.” I take another few sips of the hot coffee. “I had a lot of loose ends to tie up from yesterday because I didn’t come back to the office after my lunch with Michaela.”
Slate cocks a brow. “How come?”
I drop my cup on my desk. “After walking Michaela to the Bentley, I decided to return to the yacht. The plan was to kick back for a few hours and watch the sunset before heading to the penthouse. I fell asleep. The sun breaking through the windows woke me up at five o’clock this morning.
After a pit stop at my place to shower and change, I headed to the office.
I figured, might as well attack the day. ”
“Carpe diem, like Dad says.”
“Exactly.”
“Another bonus of starting the day early is I was able to talk to Roman,” I say. “He called me an hour after I got in?—”
“At four a.m. Hawaii time?”
“He couldn’t sleep.”
“The nightmares?”
“He didn’t say as much. He blamed it on being in a strange bed?—”
“Bullshit,” Slate says. “The manwhore is a professional bed hopper.”
“True.” I laugh a little. “He’s been bedridden for over a month since the accident, so he must think I’m stupid. The nightmares are the culprit for his sleepless nights even if he’s lying to himself.”
“Shit,” Slate says. “I can’t imagine watching two buddies get engulfed by rogue waves and feeling totally helpless while struggling to save my own life.”
I nod. “That kind of trauma changes you. Only time and therapy will help him cope.”
Without the nurses and doctors watching over our brother, we’d still be oblivious to his nightly turmoil. He’s been guarded on the subject.
“True,” Slate says. “How is he doing physically?”
“A little better every day. After another barrage of tests, the doctors are confident he’ll be able to walk again. No permanent spinal injury.”
“Amen to that,” Slate says.
“Thank God, indeed.” I echo my brother’s sentiment. “He’s going to start working with a physical therapist next week—only the upper body. At least it’s good news.”
“It’s excellent news.”
“He called Dad to tell him after he hung up with me. I told him I’d relay the message to you and Wilder,” I say. “The other reason Roman called is because he wants me to put him back to work. He’s dying to sink his teeth into a project—anything to prevent him from losing his mind to boredom.”
“Typical Konig,” Slate says.
“That, he is.”
“Are you going to get him started on one of our new acquisitions?”
I shake my head. “I put my foot down. I told him it wasn’t going to happen.”
“I’m sure you’re his favorite person in the world,” Slate says.
“He told me to fuck off. I told him I still loved him.”
Slate bursts out laughing.
“Until Roman is able to get on a plane and return home, I told him his only job is to focus on getting better. None of this”—I open my arms—“means shit if he’s not one hundred percent.
” I hold Slate’s gaze. “I suspect that’s the real reason he wants me to keep him busy…
more than the boredom of being bedridden with limited mobility. ”
“Going back to the reason you got here so early, how did it go with Michaela?”
“It’s safe to say she was overwhelmed.”
“Understandably so,” Slate says. “Is she onboard?”
I share the highlights of my lunch with my maybe-bride.
“I told her to sleep on it. I’ll call her by the end of the day,” I say.
“We both have a lot to lose if she decides to walk away from this deal. Putting pressure on her won’t get me an answer any faster.
I want her to be certain about this because we’re going to have to sell this fairytale romance hard. ”
“If she’s onboard, you need to step up your game,” my brother says.
I knit my eyebrows together. “What do you mean?”
“Not everyone is buying your story.”
My jaw clenches. “A member of the board approached you?”
“No. Given you’ve been at work since early this morning, I assume you’re not up on the latest celebrity news.”
“What are they saying?”
“You only have to worry about one asshole.” My brother pulls out his phone from the inside of his suit jacket. He taps on the screen and hands me the device.
‘PHOENIX K?NIG AND MICHAELA KNIGHT IN LOVE? I CALL BULLSHIT’
Annoyance consumes me as I scroll down the unnecessarily long article.
“Fucking Payne in the ass,” I say, handing him back his phone.
“I particularly like the part where Payne says, ‘Boy band singer turned COO—and interim CEO while his father recovers from a heart attack—thinks the public is stupid.’ ” My brother’s tone drips with sarcasm as he reads a snippet of the article out loud.
Payne Meldrum is a fame hungry celebrity content creator who has no problem using any means necessary to drive an insane amount of traffic to his website.
He laughs in the face of journalistic integrity and uses rumors as facts.
Heck, he’ll create rumors if he has to. Most of his articles are dubious, but in this case, he’s right on the money.
I meet my brother’s gaze. “I don’t need him poking holes in my story.”
“I hear you, but to Payne’s point, there’s absolutely zero history of you dating Michaela.”
“I’m fully aware of that.”
“You need a kickass PR campaign because Payne isn’t going to back down.” Slate states the obvious. “Knowing him, he’s just getting started. When that ambulance chaser smells blood, he’s worse than a vampire.”
“Don’t I know it.”
I reach for my Montblanc pen and tap it against my desk, a habit I have when I’m thinking hard or when I’m annoyed, like I am now.
“If only Niels had picked up the phone to talk to me,” I say. “That stunt was unnecessary.”
“You can’t go back, Phoenix,” Slate says. “You have to work with what you have. At least you can use your frequent trips to New York in the past few months to justify the hush-hush nature of your relationship ,” he says, “but you’re going to have put on a show from now on.”
“First, Michaela has to agree?—”
My phone vibrates.
My attention swings from my brother to my screen.
“Speak of the devil…” I say.
Little hellion
Fine. I’ll do it.
“Good news?”
I hand Slate my phone. “She’s in.”
He grabs my device and lowers his eyes to the screen. His disapproving frown speaks volumes.
“Not exactly hot and heavy. Not even heartfelt in the least,” he says.
“In her defense, it’s not like I serenaded her with a four-string quartet before dropping to one knee and declaring my undying love.
” I adjust my cufflinks. “It was a cut and dried deal. I expected her to drag things out until the last second before the clock struck midnight. By eight o’clock this morning, I got the answer I was hoping for.
I’m not going to complain about her less than enthusiastic response.
There was always the chance she might turn me down. ”
“Thank God she didn’t,” he says. “Now, you have to move onto phase two.”
“Which is?”
“You need to raise the heat level between the two of you.”
“It’s already pretty fucking high. She can’t stop spitting fire at me.”
He shakes his head. “You’re talking about the hate level. I’m talking about the polar opposite.”
I lean back into my high-back leather chair and cross my arms over my chest.
I consider Slate, mulling over his advice.
A few long seconds tick by.
Slate doesn’t speak.
Neither do I.
I lean forward, pick up the receiver to the landline sitting on my desk and press a button connecting my executive assistant.
“Lydia,” I say when she picks up. “I need you to clear my schedule for the rest of the day and cancel all my appointments.”
“Consider it done,” she says. “What should I schedule instead?”
“An urgent lunch meeting with Heather Mortimer.”
“Got it,” she says. “I’ll call our lead contact at the PR firm.”
“Please ask the chefs to prepare an unforgettable meal. I’ll let them pick the menu. They know what I like.”
“Not a problem,” Lydia says. “What time would you like lunch?”
“Let’s say one o’clock. We’ll use the large conference room.”
“Very well,” she says.
“I also need you to request my lawyer swings by. Any time after five will work. He’s on standby for this appointment.” Might as well strike the iron while it’s hot. I want a prenup in Michaela’s hands as soon as possible.
“I’m on it,” Lydia says. “Anything else?”
“Please expect my fiancée to drop by this morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lydia is the epitome of efficiency. She’s also discreet. Where some people had a thousand questions after yesterday’s media frenzy, she didn’t. She simply congratulated me when she came in later that morning.
I hang up the call and meet my brother’s gaze. “How’s that for turning up the heat?”
Slate lets loose a cocky smile. “It’s a valiant effort.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“On a serious note?—”
“What now?”
“Are you going to tell Michaela about MC?”
My mood shifts from pleasant to murderous in the blink of an eye. “Why the fuck would you ruin my day by bringing up Marie-Clémence?”
He lifts his hands in surrender. “It wasn’t my intention. Shy of a miracle of God—or a divorce—MC will always be intertwined in our lives. At least for the foreseeable future.”
“Perhaps, but why does Michaela need to know about her? It’s not like MC and I were ever married.”
“It’s something you might want to put on the table.”
I drop an elbow against the desk and stroke my clean-shaven chin as I ponder my brother’s suggestion. Images flash in front of my eyes as I’m transported to my last vitriolic encounter with that bitch.
“That would be giving Marie-Clémence Pisier too much importance,” I say, through gritted teeth.