Chapter 1
ONE
HARRISON
Six Months Ago
Before she signed away “the final terms” of her life.
The last time I flew out of New York City, I vowed never to land my plane in this place again.
I’d done all I could do there—bought and sold companies, made a killing on Wall Street, built and burned almost every bridge I ever crossed.
For eight years, I’d kept my distance, letting my reputation as “Mr. Cutthroat” and “Mr. Steal Your Company” spread to other cities.
Seattle. Miami. Los Angeles.
To anyone who actually believed the words the journalists wrote about me, they were all “victims” of The Cross Effect, a phrase so infamous that Webster’s was considering adding it to their dictionary.
Alas, my anti-New York stance changed one night last year, when an elderly CEO called me with one hell of a deal for his company: six hundred million dollars for a coffee shop that only rivaled Starbucks—the very place I actually despised—and a chance to return to my place as the top billionaire in Manhattan.
Then again…
I looked down at the stack of open lawsuits I needed to sign off on by the end of this flight.
Pushing up the window shade, I clicked my pen and started reading through the newest onslaught of people who wanted to sue me.
Mr. Cross belittled an employee so terribly she cried herself into a two-week coma. (She also claims that Mr. Cross’s “demanding hours” and “distracting looks” endangered her sex life.)
Mr. Cross caused severe emotional damage & trauma by insulting a Bugatti salesman for wearing “a cheap-ass suit.”
Mr. Cross sneakily purchased Company A in good faith, but fired every employee days later after purchasing its competitor, Company B.
Okay, I might be guilty of this last one…
Maybe.
Checking the “might consider paying for this one” box, I made it through thirty more cases before needing a break.
“Can you please just settle this second-degree burn case with Leighton Taylor?” My advisor, Aaron, plopped into the seat across from me.
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because you’re racking up legal fees for no reason, and you’re not going to win any money.”
“It’s not about the money.” I looked at him. “It’s the principle. People need to learn to stop suing me in hopes of getting a big payday.”
“That’s not why people sue you, and Miss Taylor is only asking for a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Only?” I arched a brow.
“You did accidentally spill your morning coffee on her, and it’s not like that amount of money affects you.”
“First of all,” I said, closing the files, “I’m glad you said ‘accident,’ because that’s exactly what it was. I even offered to pay her nonexistent medical bills with a year’s worth of therapy, because that’s what this woman actually needs.”
“Harrison…”
“Second of all—” I refused to buy into any emotional games. “It was an iced coffee, so how the hell did she get burned?”
He smiled. “No third of all?”
“Of course, there is,” I said. “Third of all, she should be apologizing to me for wasting my time.”
“Right…” He rolled his eyes. “I just think that now would be a good time to show a bit of goodwill, to help your reputation. Don’t you care about your legacy?”
I gave him a blank stare.
“Now landing at Teterboro Airport, Mr. Cross and guests.” My pilot’s voice came over the speakers as the plane began its descent.
“Surely you want your biographer to have something nice to say about you when you’re dead and gone,” Aaron prodded. “Please…”
“Okay, fine.” I tapped my fingers against the woodgrain. “You can tell my lawyers that I’ll happily settle with Miss Taylor.”
“Good.” He smiled. “For the full one hundred thousand?”
“For a cup of iced coffee and a ten-dollar gift card to reality.”
“Forgive me for trying.”
“You’re forgiven.” I smiled, ignoring his glare until we made it to the hangar.
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I grabbed my files and moved to the front of the plane. Then I waited for the pilot to step out of the cockpit and open the door.
Below, a red carpet and a line of black luxury cars awaited my arrival.
I stepped off with Aaron and slid into the first car while my remaining core staff slid into the others.
“To your new Manhattan residence or your future headquarters here, sir?” the driver looked at me through the rearview mirror.
“Depends,” I said, glancing at my watch. “Which one is closer?”
“Your residence, sir.”
“Okay, that’s first.”
He nodded, and before I could look through more lawsuits, my personal cell phone sounded.
Confused, I waited for the name to appear onscreen.
Edward Lewis. The man who was selling Sweet Seasons to me.
“Yes, Mr. Lewis?” I answered.
“Hello, Mr. Cross.” He coughed. “Have you, um, landed in New York yet?”
“Yes, seconds ago. Are we still on track for our signing session this evening?”
“No, uh, that’s why I’m calling. There’s a huge issue on my end.”
“Then I suggest you fix it before I arrive at headquarters,” I said. “The signing is just a formality, remember?”
“I’m not backing out of our deal,” he said. “I’m just asking for some time to break the news to my employees.”
“Come again?”
“My employees.” He stuttered. “I need to tell them that Sweet Seasons will have a brand-new owner starting tomorrow.”
“You’re just now telling them?”
“I couldn’t find it in my heart to do it any sooner.”
Red flag number one.
“The script is very simple, Mr. Lewis.” I paused. “Hello. I sold my company to someone else. The end.”
“Yeah, but… These people are like family to me, remember? We have deep, long-lasting relationships. I’ve been at some of their weddings and baby showers.”
Red flag number two.
“This deal has been in the works for damn near a year, Mr. Lewis.” I couldn’t believe this shit. “I kept it private on my end from the media and everyone else like you asked, but you’ve had plenty of time to drop breadcrumbs or slowly let your people get a clue about what’s coming.”
“I know, but please…” He begged. “I just need a little bit more time before you take over. Even if I don’t break it to everyone, there’s one person that I have to tell—my special secret weapon that I’ve always mentioned to you.”
My blood simmered as I looked out the window.
I’d lost count of how many hours I’d had to listen to him brag about his “number one employee” and “secret weapon” on the phone. This person practically pissed sunshine and rainbows with how highly he regarded them, but he never, ever slipped to give me a name.
Part of me thought it was all in his mind and he’d made this person up.
“She deserves to be told about this personally, Mr. Cross,” he was still talking.
“It’s a she?”
“Yes,” he said, “and I can assure you that she’ll be a super asset to you as well after you take charge.”
I’ll be firing her (and everyone else) weeks from now…
“Okay, go ahead, Mr. Lewis,” I said, slightly giving in. “Take all the time you need to break the news to your secret weapon.”
“Really? You mean that?”
“No.” I set an alarm on my phone. “You have until tomorrow morning.”