Chapter 8
CURTIS
It was Friday, the end of an exhausting week, and I was doing the two-hour drive to my parents’ weekender in The Hamptons for our usual family dinner.
I had my overnight bag—I needed to clear my head, and a weekend by the beach was just the ticket.
Even though talking to my father wasn’t any way to relax, I could avoid him by going for a run and then hiding at a nearby café with my siblings.
Part of what had made me tired this week was hating myself.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Donut Girl, even though nothing could ever happen.
An unwanted smile forced itself onto my face when I thought about our boardroom interaction.
The way she babbled when she was nervous, and those gorgeous eyes I couldn’t help staring into.
And that body—tall, long-legged, all woman—curvy, plump tits and ass.
Squeezable. She definitely had assets I wanted to grab.
I’d even gone down to the kitchen on Wednesday morning for a donut—which I never did—hoping to see her.
But I only saw a few of the marketing people, plus her boss, Destiny.
I’d made small talk, trying to find out if she was on her way for a sweet treat, but I only found out that since our collision, Destiny was the one doing the donut runs.
I’d obviously had some kind of effect on her. Hopefully it wasn’t all bad.
She’d been starry-eyed for some of the donut incident, but I’d been sufficiently assholish to her in the meeting, which I was pretty sure cured her of any crush she might’ve had. It was sad that the only woman to have really gotten my attention for a long time was off-limits.
I could admit I felt guilty keeping quiet when Victoria had given her a hard time, but as cute as Donut Girl was, we expected a certain professionalism at Knight Advertising, and I shouldn’t go soft because she made me hard.
Yeah, so I’d had a couple of dreams about her that had me staining the sheets like a fifteen-year-old, but I put that down to not having had sex for six months.
Women were hard work, and it was just easier to keep to myself while I was trying to prove myself at work.
Not that abstaining had helped the company’s performance… apparently.
I was ten minutes away from my parents’ when my phone rang. I answered it on speaker. “Curtis here.”
“Hey, Curtis. It’s Sunshine Farraday. Have you got a minute to talk?”
Sunshine was one of the big stars we represented—Knight Advertising was a company that represented talent and ran company advertising campaigns.
It was easier to negotiate deals between different companies and our stars, and it made us one of the biggest agencies in the world.
She was a top box-office draw, one of the highest-earning female leads.
We’d represented her since she was eighteen, before she’d hit the height of her current fame at twenty-five.
I tamped down the uneasiness burrowing in my gut.
Her tone was… off. Using my best relaxed voice, I said, “Always for you. What’s up? ”
“I’m not sure how to say this, but I’m thinking of relocating when my contract is up in August.”
Silence.
Yep, I called it. I ignored the nausea sliding up my throat while I thought of how to respond. Who was I kidding? It couldn’t get worse, so I might as well be forthright. “Can I ask why?”
“I would prefer not to say, but you’ve represented me for so long that I feel I owe you an answer.” More silence as I concentrated on the darkness in front of me and pretended I didn’t want to crash my car into a tree. “Um… there have been rumors.”
My hands ached as I strangled the steering wheel of my 911. Not again. “What rumors? There’s no hard feelings here.” Lies. “But I need to know what I’m dealing with. I would really appreciate it if you could enlighten me.” First our advertising clients, now this? What the fuck was going on?
“I’m not sure how to say it, but here goes.
There’s a rumor going around that you pressured a young singer into sleeping with you to get representation, and when she refused, you threatened her and told her you’d make sure she was blackballed at all the other agencies.
I’m sorry, Curtis, but I can’t in good conscience be associated with you after that. ”
So many thoughts whipped furiously around my brain. “Who’s saying these things? You know it’s not true, right? I would never.”
“Of course you would say that.”
Anger burned through me. “Because it’s true. How long have you known me? Did I ever do that to you? Do you really think I’m that kind of a person?”
“I’m sorry, Curtis, but my dad wants me to cut ties—we can’t risk it. We won’t be renewing my contract. I wanted you to know ahead of time, so it didn’t blindside you.”
Oh, God, I had to salvage this. “But what if I can prove I didn’t do anything? Will you at least hold off making a decision till I can get to the bottom of it?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. We’ve started talking to other agents, and I don’t want them thinking I’m not serious. My dad wants to get me the best deal possible.”
This couldn’t be happening. I wanted to plead for her to just take a minute and give me a fair chance, but Knights didn’t beg.
That was one of the first lessons my father taught us.
Even if a deal was going down the drain, retain as much dignity as possible.
Never let them see any weakness. “Right, I see.”
“Again, I’m sorry, Curtis. I have to go now. Bye.”
The phone clicked off, the sound of my job and reputation imploding.
Fuck. Fucking. Motherfucking fuck!
I smashed my hand onto the steering wheel. This was a fucking disaster. My heart pounded, and I wanted to punch something.
I turned off my traction control and slammed on the brakes, the high-pitched sound of rubber being melted onto the road as I skidded to a stop at the shoulder matched my fury but wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. I put the car in Park, shut my eyes, and took some deep breaths.
This can’t be happening.
A headache started at my temples. Who the fuck was behind this?
Why? Who had I pissed off? And why did people believe something like this when the person accusing me won’t even name themselves?
How did I get a chance to defend myself?
What kind of “proof” did they have to convince people, or did people just believe anything anyone said?
The #MeToo movement had been a long time coming, and men who abused women should get everything coming to them, but I wasn’t one of those scumbags.
I was just going to be treated as if I was because it was believable.
So many men in positions of power were assholes, and thanks to them, it was so easy to believe any and all accusations, even when there was no proof.
And even if I cleared my name, by the time that happened, my whole business and the Knight name could be fucked.
I swallowed the urge to vomit.
When I found out who it was, I was going to sue their asses into the next century.
Finally, I calmed down enough to drive. I pulled onto the road and kept going, even though the desire to turn around and speed home was strong.
I had to come clean to Dad. He was going to go ballistic.
Maybe I should just put in my resignation now, leave the country till it all died down.
Grow a beard, learn to yodel, and become a sheep herder in the Alps.
But no. That’s what whoever was behind this wanted—to see me fail. Why else would they go after me and my company like this?
For the rest of the drive, I considered who might be behind this.
There were a couple of CEOs who hated me for landing deals they were after, but that was business.
And they were both older and respected. They wouldn’t bother.
There was that guy at college whose girlfriend left him for me, which wasn’t my fault.
I also had my haters online, not that I posted anything, but last year when I made one of those stupid “most eligible bachelor” lists, plenty of hostile people commented on social media.
I didn’t really pay much attention because who cared what the random idiot in the street thought about me?
Maybe I should’ve paid closer attention.
I wanted to call Dan from legal and Emma from PR, but before I did that, I would need to tell Dad. He’d want a say in how all this was handled. If he didn’t get the heads-up first, there would be worse hell to pay.
I punched the code into the security gates at my parents’ seven-bedroom, seven-bathroom beachfront property and drove through.
My remote opened the door to the garage attached to the two-story 1930s home.
Mom and Dad’s Bentley was in there, as was Jack’s bronze-colored G-Wagon.
Ally, my sister, usually got a lift with Jack.
Not sure where my older brother was, but he’d probably turn up later with his latest girlfriend.
He changed them like he changed underwear.
Mom put up with it because Spencer’s fiancée had died a few years ago, and Mum didn’t want him to be lonely; she also wanted grandchildren, and every new woman on his arm signified potential for progeny.
Poor Mom might be waiting a while. I didn’t see any of us having kids any time soon.
We were too busy putting in the hours growing the family legacy and trying to make our parents proud, even if Dad didn’t appreciate it.
Not that I was succeeding.