28. Cole
TWENTY-EIGHT
Cole
I walk into my office expecting a day of meetings out the ass and regulatory headaches to attend to. Instead, Dorian stands by my desk, his face grim, holding up his iPad like evidence at a murder trial.
Kings Holdings Quietly Acquired Good Samaritan's Debt, Raising Conflict of Interest Concerns
The headline blazes across the screen in bold letters. My jaw locks automatically.
"Fuck," I yell.
I drop my briefcase and snatch the iPad out of his hand, scanning the article over his shoulder.
It's a generic corporate stock photo of a hospital.
No names are mentioned directly. Just careful language about "anonymous sources,” "shell corporations,” and "potential impropriety in healthcare acquisitions. "
They're being cautious .
"Okay, this could be worse. Right now, it reads like a clickbait headline," I mutter, reading faster.
Dorian nods. "I don't think it stops here."
I reach for my phone and dial legal. The call connects on the second ring.
"Rachel Morrison speaking."
"Rachel, it's Cole. I'm sending you a link to an article that just went live. I need you to review it immediately and tell me what we can do to make sure this is all they say."
"Give me two minutes to read it."
I pace behind my desk while she reviews. The silence stretches like a taut wire. Finally, she's back.
"Cole, this is textbook journalism strategy. They establish the story exists, get people talking, and create momentum. Then they follow up with the real details."
"How long do we have?"
"Hours. Maybe a day if we're lucky."
Dorian leans against the wall with his arms crossed. He's watching me like he's waiting for an explosion.
"What are our options?" I ask.
"Honestly? Very few. The worst thing you could do right now is issue statements or demand retractions. It draws more attention and makes you look guilty."
My free hand curls into a fist. I hate this. Hate waiting. Hate sitting here while someone else controls the narrative.
"So we do nothing?"
"You do nothing. Let them run their story. Most of these exposés burn out in forty-eight hours unless there's real criminal activity involved."
"What if they have sources? Inside sources?"
"Then you lawyer up properly and prepare for a longer fight. But we don't know if they have anything right now, so we wait. "
The call ends. I swipe at the phone on my desk, and it crashes to the floor.
Dorian hasn't moved. "You're not going to take their advice, are you?"
I meet his eyes in the reflection of the window. The morning sun glints off the glass towers surrounding us, making everything look sharp and dangerous.
"I should."
"But?"
I turn around. The iPad still glows on my desk, the headline taunting me.
"I've never been good at sitting still while someone else holds the cards."
Dorian pushes off the wall. "Cole, if you do something stupid?—"
"Like what? Call the reporter? Demand she kill the story? I'm not that reckless."
But I might be reckless enough to fix this another way.
"We still have a narrow window to get ahead of this." Dorian paces in front of my desk, tablet still in hand.
I shake my head. "Then you haven’t seen the article the AP picked up. Harrelson's not bluffing. She’s coming with receipts, and she's not stopping."
Dorian exhales hard through his nose. "So, Houston Enterprises owns an LLC that bought a hospital you sat on the board of. That shit happens in M&A all the time. It’s complicated, not criminal. This blows over."
"I'm not worried about me."
He stops pacing. Looks up. "Then who?"
The answer hits before I say it.
Sam.
If this story keeps building, if Harrelson digs deeper, Sam’s name won’t stay out of it. Not with our connection. Not with her legacy at that hospital. If it breaks the way I think it might, it won't just sting. It’ll wreck her.
"If they name her, she gets shredded. She didn’t sign up for this fallout."
Dorian’s jaw ticks. "The doctor? I thought you said that was nothing?"
I glare at him. "She’s not just a doctor. She's a human being with a life."
"Okay." He holds up a hand.
I rub my jaw as I pace, trying to come up with a plan.
"I get that she matters. But Cole, this isn’t on you. Reporters speculate all the time?—"
"It’s not just speculation. If she writes that we slept together, that I had influence, and then ties it back to Houston and the board, she looks like she was involved somehow. It doesn't matter, she can't be named in any of this.”
"You think she can’t handle bad press?"
"This isn’t a Page Six blurb. She’s a surgeon. She’s in the middle of a residency. This story makes it look like she slept her way onto the board’s radar. That’ll follow her longer than it’ll follow me."
Dorian runs a hand through his hair, muttering, “Jesus, man. You’re this close to blowing up your own strategy for a woman that you knew for less than two weeks, and you haven't seen or talked to since?”
"You're such a dick."
"Then work through this with the lawyer. Come up with a legitimate plan. Don’t go rogue."
"I need to talk to Harrelson."
He stares at me. "Cole. No. You can't call her, it signals there’s blood in the water. You’ll be confirming the entire narrative."
"I'm not calling her. "
His brow furrows. "Then what?"
"I'm flying to Palm Beach."
Dorian blinks. "You’re joking."
"I’m not. I need to look her in the eye. I need to understand how bad it is, and what it’ll take to stop it."
He crosses his arms, silent for a long beat. “You know this isn’t about damage control anymore.”
“No. It’s about owning the damage.”
Later that afternoon, I pull my cap lower as I walk into Café Luna with my shoulders hunched like I’m any other guy grabbing coffee. The tables outside are packed with tourists snapping photos of their lattes. Inside, it’s quieter, tucked away, private, even.
I didn’t pick Citrine even though Laurel suggested it. Of course she did. I couldn’t stomach the chance of seeing Sam walk in. Not her. Not now. Not here. Not when I still don’t know how much she knows.
I chose a corner table facing the door. My hands shake slightly as I check my phone, even though I told Angela to handle everything that comes in.
Laurel Harrelson walks in with the kind of poise that pisses me off for no good reason. Not because she’s confident, but because she has every reason to be. She already got to me once in New York. Now I’m here, on her turf, and we both know what that means.
Her dark blazer’s sharp enough to draw blood, and her heels click like punctuation as she weaves through the tables. She spots me in seconds and offers a smile that’s more curiosity than kindness.
“Twice in one week,” she says as she pulls out the chair across from me. “I’m flattered. ”
I don’t return the smile. “You said the story was moving forward, but you didn't give me any indication it was coming out. You said I had until the end of the week to get you my answers.”
She sets her phone on the table, face down, and smiles. “Everything you tell me is on the record unless otherwise specified.”
Of course it is.
I study her face. She's already won and knows it.
"What do you want, Ms. Harrelson?"
"The truth. Pretty simple concept, right?" She leans back, completely at ease.
"You already have your story. Shell company, hospital acquisition, potential conflicts. What else is there?"
Her smile sharpens. "Oh, Mr. Houston. I haven't even gotten started yet."
My stomach drops, but I keep my expression neutral.
"I know the timeline. March 15th, King's Holdings purchased Good Samaritan's outstanding debt.
March 22nd, you arrived in Palm Beach for a meeting with some board members.
March 24th, you paid cash for a house here, right beside Dr. Samantha Taylor.
" She counts off on her fingers like she's reciting a grocery list.
She knows everything.
"Sounds like corporate business to me."
"Does it?" She tilts her head.
"Yes," I reply without flinching. She's fishing.
"Because I also know about the personal entanglements. The neighbor situation and the after-hours visits. Were those meetings considered corporate business? I might not know everyone's part in all of this. Yet."
My jaw tightens. "I'm not following."
"Sure you are. Here's what I find interesting, though. Did she want her mom's legacy to shutter because of all the pressure? Because as soon as you left Palm Beach, after the vote, she moved to Atlanta."
The words hit like a physical blow. My chest constricts, but I force myself to stay still. Don't blink. Don't react.
But inside, I'm reeling. Why did she move? Did all of this push her out of her home, away from her only family?
"That's news to me. We haven't spoken recently."
Harrelson watches my face carefully. "Hmm. Interesting. Funny timing, don't you think?"
The café noise fades into background static. Sam left. Not just angry, not just avoiding me. She packed up her entire life and moved to another state.
I did this. I drove her away.
"I still don't see the story."
"The story is that a billionaire engineered a covert takeover of a nonprofit hospital, then voted to gut its community programs, all while sleeping with a woman whose family built that legacy. A woman who had no idea who you were. It’s not just sex.
It’s power. It’s deception. And it stinks. " She stands, smoothing her skirt.
I don't respond. I'm not sure what to say.
As she walks out, she turns around and looks me square in the eyes.
“You think this is about two people hooking up? It’s about one of them holding all the cards and never showing his hand.”
She walks out without waiting for a response.
I stay seated, staring at the door long after it shuts behind her. My pulse ticks in my throat. I’ve just been peeled open and laid bare, because every word she said was true. Or close enough to hit like it was.
I scrub a hand over my face.
Christ.
After recovering from that disaster of a meeting, I drive back to my beach house. As I walk in the door, Angela's name flashes on the screen.
"What is it?"
"Mr. Houston, Mr. Blankenship from Kings Holdings' board called. He wants to speak with you tonight. Says it's urgent."
Of course it is. "Put him through."
I walk to the couch and sit on the edge. The leather is cold and stiff under my legs.
"Cole, I'm sure you've seen today's coverage." Blankenship's voice is polished corporate smooth, but there's an edge underneath.
"I have."
"We need you to step down. Temporarily, of course. Just until this blows over."
The words land like punches. I grip the phone tightly. "Gerald, this is speculation. Nothing's been proven. You know this is not something that will sink us."
"The optics are terrible, Cole. The entire Meridian deal is in jeopardy because your name is attached to it."
"You're asking me to step away from my own company?"
"We're asking, not voting. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
Translation: Do this quietly, or we'll force you out publicly.
"How long?"
"Until the story dies. It could be weeks, it could be months. But you're toxic right now, and that toxicity is spreading to every deal you touch. "
The line goes quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. I stare at a spot on the wall where normal people might hang family photos.
"Cole? Are you there?"
"Yeah. I'm here."
"Good. We'll handle the transition internally."
I end the call without responding.
I sit in the dark for twenty minutes, turning the phone over in my hands. The ocean crashes outside, but I can't hear it over the blood pounding in my ears.
She left Palm Beach.
The thought circles back like a vulture. Sam is gone from her home because of what I did. Because of the choices I made without telling her who I was.
I dial before I can second-guess myself.
"Laurel Harrelson."
Her voice is crisp, professional. It's past nine, but she answers like she's been waiting.
"It's Cole Houston."
A pause. Papers rustling in the background.
"Ready to talk?"
I stand and walk to the window. Sam's house next door is completely dark and empty.
“I’ll give you something. But I want something in return.”
She laughs lightly. “That’s not how this usually works.”
“Then let’s make it work differently.”
“What are you offering?”
“Perspective. Context. A version of the story that will give the real story. With on-the-record quotes from me.”
“So damage control.”
“Call it what you want. But if you’re going to drag people through the mud, you should at least know who they are first. ”
She pauses. “Go on.”
“Not yet. I’ll meet you. In person.”
“You do love your face-to-face meetings, don’t you?”