Page 292 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

I sigh. “What’s the problem?” I ask.

“The phone lines work and everything, but this place is pretty old, and I think the wiring is starting to go down,” he says. “The electrical seems fine, but we’ve been dropping calls almost as fast as we can make them.”

“That sounds like a pretty big problem,” I tell him.

“It is,” he answers.

I shrug my shoulders and open my palms, so they’re facing up. “Okay,” I say. “What did you want me to do about it?”

IT Guy says, “If I could just get your go ahead to call someone from the phone company—”

“Call,” I say. “If there are problems with the phone lines, it makes sense to call someone to get them taken care of. Is there anything else?”

“Not just yet, sir,” he says. That means “Yes, but I need a valium first.”

IT Guy leaves, but I wait a few seconds before bringing up my phone again to check my messages. Grace’s text reads, “Gonna head home for a bit, get some clothes, maybe a shower, possibly some lube. I’m starting to get sore.”

On a typical day, I like to treat my employees well while also making sure they fear for their jobs at least once a week. Not all my employees, just the ones I bring into my inner circle. I treat them well, but I don’t ever want to appear too human in front of any of them. It hurts my credibility to be seen to have things like empathy or a sense of humor.

Still, when I get to the end of Grace’s text, I know they can hear me laughing outside my office. Even if the door were shut, the walls don’t go all the way to the ceiling.

I cut the laughter short as quickly as possible, but I know someone noticed. It may sound like an exaggeration, but I’d bet anyone what I have in my pockets against what they have in their pockets that laugh bites me in the ass before the end of the day.

You can’t have any sympathy for these people, or they’ll walk all over you. That’s the joy of being the boss. You get to walk over everyone else.

For now, at least, it looks like everyone’s holding back, so I just try to keep my mind on work. It’s not long before I start seeing the fallout from my three-second laugh, though.

Marly comes to my door, saying, “Hey, I gave a call to Claude, and he says he’s going to need something more than you’re heading back to New York. Are there any scraps we can give him, boss?”

You have to want to see it, but it’s right there at the end: My notification that everything’s going to be twice as hard today.

“Marly, have a seat,” I tell her. “You know what? Could you close the door first?”

“Of course,” she says, her face going white.

She closes the door and takes a seat on the other side of my desk.

“How bad is it?” I ask as quietly as possible.

“What were you thinking?” she returns in a whisper. “You know the only clear motivation these people have is the impression you’re the kind of guy who only smiles for pictures.”

“How bad?” I repeat.

“Well, Tripp and about six others decided to get pizza and soda for everyone, but they made it pretty clear they were going to take their time with it,” she starts.

“That’s not so bad,” I say.

“You don’t get it,” she says. “With one laugh, you went from being the high-powered CEO of one of the most successful startups in the last decade to Zach, the cool boss who lets people go out for pizza. The act itself isn’t the problem. The problem is that we’re on thin ice here, and we need everyone working like their jobs are on the line if we’re going to make a go of this very unpopular move before the board decides to put a penny loafer up your ass on your way out of the company. Are you sure you know what you’re doing here?”

See, along with being a lawyer, Marly’s also my mole. More than that, when Jacque and I were just getting the company put together, Marly was also my mentor. It’s a role she hasn’t yet shed, and if I have anything to say about it, she never will.

“It can’t be—” I start.

“It wasn’t the laugh,” she says. “The laugh was just permission. I’ve been hearing a lot of people talking about how this whole trip is insane. Nobody knows why you’d want to move the headquarters from Manhattan to wherever we are. I’m pretty sure if they did know, you’d be on your way to the ground with your golden parachute before the end of business. New York can’t wait until next week,” she says. “You have to get back there now and start plugging holes or this whole ship’s going down.”

“Not today,” I tell her.

She raises an eyebrow.

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