Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
Miller
I’m slightly frustrated. It’s been a disastrous day, with every meeting bringing nothing but bad news.
Projects going stale. Employees quitting. Human resources going rogue without telling me. Hearing whispers about my relationship from a few people outside of my inner circle. And more reporters knocking on my door than I would like.
I’ve done my best to stay out of the limelight.
There aren’t too many people who know who I am, let alone what I look like. When I’ve done events, I’ve done my best to stay in the shadows. I don’t want people to know about my business. In my recent years, I’ve become quite the philanthropist. Making sure that when I donate, they don’t make a big deal that it was me who did it. I would rather be an anonymous source than a visible one.
Even with InterMind Technologies, I have people who make press statements, and who show up to things on my behalf. So much so that I can remain in my ivory tower, work on projects and the future. I don’t have to get dressed up and try to impress anyone, or answer questions.
Except for the case when journalists possess my personal office number, email, and cell phone.
I’ve run through the address book of my mind and there’s no one that I could imagine who would betray my trust like so, and provide those details to anyone.
Which is puzzling to me.
And a reason why Tobias Matthews is sitting in front of me at nine at night.
“Sir, she refused to sign the NDA. She could be the very person who spoke to the press or, hell, anyone. I mean, honestly. Have you seen her? She works at a freaking diner, of all places.” He shakes his head. “I’ve been fielding calls all day from reporters who are asking a lot of questions about your girlfriend and yourself. We’ve received copies of gossip rags putting out content about you and, alternatively, this Denise Watson. It’s in your best interest that we make sure there’s an agreement in place, just in case. It’s highly likely that she is spreading information to get her name out there.”
My blood boils, my fists are tight with anger and there’s nothing more that I want to do other than reach across this table and wrap my hands around his neck.
“You better shut your mouth.” I glare.
“What?” he looks confused.
“Everything that you just said is far beyond apprehensible.”
“Exactly. I don’t even know what you thought you were-.”
I stand up abruptly. My chair flies behind me, hitting the wall, no doubt putting a dent. I lean over the table and grab him by the collar.
“Sir?”
“You’re fired,” I hiss.
“Ex-excuse me, sir?”
I push him back down and straighten.
“You’re fucking lucky that there’s a table between us. Otherwise, your face would be bloodied and you would be grasping for air.”
“Sir?”
“Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover?’ Because that’s exactly what you did. You don’t know her. You have zero right to pass any judgements. You are a shirt and tie. Fucking replaceable, and tomorrow morning, there will be somebody in your position, minding their own fucking business and not acting like a pretentious asshole.”
“Sir, I meant nothing by it.”
“You may excuse yourself. Security downstairs will take your badge from you upon leaving the premises. Grab whatever shit you have here, and I never want to see you again.”
“Sir?”
“Get. Out!”
He stumbles out of the office and I walk over to the phone on the desk, press for security and inform them of Tobias’s departure with the company.
I grab my sweatshirt off of the chair behind my desk and look at the time on my phone. It’s still not too late to head over to Denise’s house. I’m almost out of the door when my cell vibrates. I look to see who’s calling, and it’s an unknown number.
Weird.
“Hello?”
“She’s pretty,” a female says on the other end.
“Hello? Who’s this?” I stop in the doorway.
“Your new plaything. She’s pretty. But it looks like you’re slumming it, Mil.”
“Becky?”
“Ding. Ding. Ding.”
“Becky, what are you talking about?”
“Her place is kinda dumpy though, don’t you think?”
“Becky, where are you?”
“Oh, you know, just hanging out.”
“Where are you?” Today is the day of fuckery, it’s never ending.
“What’s her name? Is it just as ordinary as her apartment?”
“Becky, what are you doing?”
“She’s a waitress too? Oh, Miller, Miller, Miller. Are you bored?”
“Becky, don’t make me repeat myself. Where are you?”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. But I would like to see you.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Honestly, Mil. You and are unfinished business. I would like to see you.”
How can this day get any worse?
“When and where?” I ask with resignation.
It’s hard to believe that I’m actually entertaining this idea. The moment I heard her voice, I knew she was the one. My personal information is in the hands of reporters because of her. I am certain about it. Consequently, she has violated the non-disclosure agreement.
I shouldn’t be going to meet with her. I should be sending my lawyer over to her instead. But right now, I’ve got to make sure I ask her the questions directly. I don’t want to hear her answers through a third party. I want it straight from the horse’s mouth.
My driver pulls up to the address that Becky gave me. I look out the window and notice that it’s a bar. I walk inside and it’s dark with a musty smell inside. I look around. There is people all over the place. Yet, there is one woman who is noticeably different. Despite being a dive bar, it’s surprising to see Ms. Rebecca Winchester, Heiress to a top NYC clothing brand, here.
We dated for a year, if you could call it that. She wanted marriage, and I wanted a steady fuck. We did little outside the walls of either of our homes, and when her birthday came around, and I didn’t give her a ring, she blew up at me. She stood up in the middle of a quiet restaurant and threw a tantrum. That was the last time we were together. I ended things as soon as my driver stopped in front of her building.
I see her long blonde hair, pulled tight into a ponytail. She’s sipping on a drink with an umbrella, looking casual as she watches the bartender move around in front of her.
At one point, I considered her to be attractive. She maintains a poised and polished appearance. Despite having no worries, she dramatically reacts as if the world is crumbling when things don’t go her way. She is the ultimate example of a spoiled brat.
I stride to her and take the empty seat beside her.
“This better be good,” I say, staring straight ahead.
“Come back to me, Mil. We were good together.”
“Were we?”
“We totally were made for one another. You with your good looks, brains, and charm. And me, with my background and good looks. We’re like Barbie and Ken.”
“I call bullshit on that.” I laugh.
“You laugh now, but look. We’re of the same breed. Only I know your eclectic tastes and can satisfy your needs. You never have to wait around for me. I’ll always be there for you and hell, I will always look fabulous.”
“Are you mental?”
“You know that we’re meant to be together. Come on. We’ve had enough time apart. You’ve had your fun. Now it’s time for our time.”
“Becky. If I recall, our last interaction was from when I didn’t buy you a diamond ring for your birthday. If I didn’t want to marry you then, why would I want to marry you now? I didn’t seek you out.”
“Yeah, but you’re here now. That should say something, right?” she asks with hope in her tone.
“You’re fucking insane.”
“You know I was around in a crucial part of your career, right? I paid attention. I know you met with a lot of important people. I might know a thing or two.”
“Do you not recall signing something? You know, like a non-disclosure agreement?”
“Oh, those things have end dates, and I’m sure that my date is over.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news. But my NDAs have no expiration date.”
“I object.”
“Nice choice of legal jargon there. Did you give my contact info over to reporters?” I turn fully to face her and question.
“You can’t prove that I’ve done anything.” She shakes her head. Suddenly, her tone changes from confident to worry.
“My lawyers will be in contact with you. In the meantime, keep my name, my business and anything having to do with me out of your mouth. Leave my girlfriend alone. Don’t go to her work, follow her anywhere, or to her apartment.” I stand up.
“Miller.” She pouts.
I hold my hand up. “Enough. Rebecca. I want nothing to do with you. Not now, and not in the future.”
I pivot on my heel and start walking away from her.
“Miller? What about the Ferguson Files?”
That has me stopping in my tracks. I don’t turn around.
My lawyers will take care of this.
I can’t have her talking anymore.