Chapter 34
At ten sharp, I take my seat at the boardroom table, along with Frank and Don, the human resources VP. I’ve dressed the part—navy power suit and sleek French knot. The casual look of Bayside is gone. Here, I’m all business.
Drew Marshall saunters in ten minutes late. He’s in his mid-forties with wheat-blonde hair, wearing a tailored Armani suit. He carries himself with the air of an entitled blueblood, who’s never faced real consequences. My father tends to hire in his image.
“Sorry, folks,” he says with mock sincerity as he grabs a bottle of water from the credenza.
A spread of coffee, muffins, and drinks sits untouched on the conference table—a thin veneer of civility masking the tension in the room.
He flashes a too-bright smile. “It’s a damn shame our morning has been hijacked by baseless claims. But here we are.
” His gaze turns to me. “Nice to have you back, Alexandra.”
I nod curtly, keeping my expression neutral.
Once Drew is seated at the head of the table next to me, Don begins, “I’m assuming you read through the complaint?”
“It’s a joke,” he says smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks with deliberate nonchalance. “Some disgruntled employee. Completely fabricated. Anonymous says it all. We shouldn’t be giving any credence to this. You know how it is in the current climate—guilty until proven innocent.”
Don nods, overly sympathetic. “I hear you, but we’re obligated to investigate any complaints, anonymous or not.”
“There’s nothing to investigate,” Drew snaps, his eyes darting to me. “We should be strategizing damage control to ensure this stays contained, not entertaining fairy tales. Theodore assured me I had his complete support.”
Of course, he did. Drew’s his golden boy. But fighting him head-on won’t get me answers. “If the allegations are false, we’ll craft a strategy to address them.”
“There’s no if,” he fires back.
“All right.” I let that go, keeping my cool. “In order to do my job, I need the facts. Let’s start with what can be corroborated. Did you host a party at the Platinum Hotel on Sunday night?”
“That’s not uncommon. It was a networking event mainly for industry people who attended the conference.”
“How many attended?”
“Twenty, maybe thirty.”
“Drinks were supplied?”
“That’s standard when hosting an event.”
“Was anyone noticeably drunk?”
“I wasn’t babysitting.”
“Were there drugs?”
“Not that I ever saw. But I wasn’t spying inside bathrooms.”
“Were young women in attendance?”
His composure falters a fraction. “No one underage, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Did you proposition any of the women for sex, offering or implying a job or career advantage?”
“Are you serious?” His eyes narrow, disbelief etched into his expression.
“The allegations are serious,” I reply evenly. “So, yes.”
“Come on, Alexandra,” he says with an arrogant smirk. “Do you honestly think I need to get a woman drunk or promise her a job to get laid?”
Before I can even respond, I hear a commotion outside. A woman’s muffled protests grow clearer when the door explodes open with a resounding crash.
“Sir! Sir! You can’t—” Drew’s assistant stumbles in, frazzled, trailing after a familiar, furious figure.
Chaz.
On my God.
He storms into the room like a force of nature, his brown eyes blazing. He heads straight for Marshall, but his forward momentum slows when his eyes land on me. Everything shifts. Shock ripples across his face, quickly followed by confusion and betrayal.
“Call security!” Drew yells, his voice pitching an octave higher with panic.
The room is pandemonium, but my attention is centered on Chaz. I can only imagine this somehow involves Sophia and how quickly this could escalate.
“No one needs to call security,” I assert, pleading in silence with Chaz to leave.
But he doesn’t back down. Instead, he turns to Drew. “You sick son of a bitch. That was my sister.” His voice is low and lethal. “You can call whoever the fuck you want.”
I leap out of my chair, stepping between Drew and Chaz’s raised fist, my heart hammering. “We should talk outside,” I say firmly, hoping he’ll listen, but he’s too riled up.
“So you can calm me down? Placate me? Feed me some bullshit? You know what he did, and he’s not getting away with it. I will beat this motherfucker into the ground before I let that happen.”
Security barrels into the room, heightening the tension and my fear.
“Miss, please step aside,” one of them orders.
“The situation is under control.”
“No, it’s not,” Drew shouts. “This lunatic just threatened me.”
The officers advance.
“I said to stand down.” My voice echoes sharply. “Now!”
“On whose authority?” the security officer asks.
I have no choice. It’s inevitable, anyway. “I’m Alexandra Townsen. My father owns this company.”
My secret crashes around me. Its jagged edges slice through the space between us. Chaz’s expression twists into disbelief. Hurt. Disgust. His anger so tangible that I flinch from the heat of it.
His eyes burn into me. Then he exits as furious as he arrived. Only now, he’s bearing something more—the knowledge of who I am.
“Why did you let him go?” Drew accuses, his voice thick with indignation.
“Would you rather have caused a bigger scene with a man defending his sister against you? Do you like what kind of headlines that would make?”
I don’t stick around for a response.
Moments later, I find Chaz on the street just as he reaches his Jeep.
“Chaz! Wait!” I shout.
He ignores me, wrenching the door open.
I rush forward and grab his arm. “Please let me explain.”
He jerks out of my grasp, his voice like a whip. “Explain what, Alexandra? That you lied about everything?”
“I didn’t know who your father was then.” The words tumble out. “It’s a horrible, tragic coincidence. If I’d known—”
“You would have what? Been honest? Told me the truth?” he asks with derision.
“Yes. I was coming back tonight to tell you. I’m so sorry you found out this way,” I say, fighting back tears. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
He laughs bitterly, but under it is the pain I caused.
“What did Marshall do to Sophia?” I ask, my voice trembling.
“Don’t.” His hand shoots up between us. “Don’t act like you care. All that big sisterly advice about her being wary of Marshall when you had firsthand knowledge of all this shit. You knew what he was capable of.” His voice cracks.
“I’m so sorry, Chaz,” I say. But it is woefully inadequate. “How . . . how is she?”
“You’re not getting any information from me to spin or cover up.
Isn’t that what you do—clean up inconvenient messes for your father?”
His words strike like a dart, fast and sharp enough to pierce my heart. “I would never cover for someone who hurt Sophia or any other woman. I won’t let Marshall get away with this. Let me talk to Sophia—”
“That’s never going to happen.”
“I want to help, Chaz. I give you my word.”
“I wouldn’t give two cents for your word.”
And with that, he climbs into the Jeep and slams the door.
I watch him drive away, tears streaming down my cheeks, hugging myself, shivering. But it’s not the cold air I’m feeling.