Page 19 of The Mogul: Leonard

7

Leonard

“Please, tell me you found a solution,” I plead with Oliver as soon as he enters my office.

His scowl tells me he is not in a good mood, and when he sits in front of my desk huffing, I know it won’t be a pleasant conversation.

“I looked at the file you gave me, and, as you already know, the money disappeared.” He confirms but doesn’t answer my request—or at least, his non-answer is confirmation enough.

“I didn’t tell you to look at the files. I told you to dig deep into them and dissect them if necessary.” I answer with the same annoyance I got from him.

As his scowl deepens, I’m met with an aggression in his eyes that catches me off guard. I find myself struggling to communicate with him lately, and I fear this could start to impact our relationship. We’ve been friends since college, but this is the first time I’ve felt at a loss as to how to approach him.

“It’s barely over a thousand dollars, and you want me to spend my time on it. You’re a billionaire. Do you really need that fucking money?” he spits, and I lean back in my chair, studying him.

“It’s not that, and you know it,” I say calmly despite the frustration boiling inside me.

“Yes, yes. I know. They’re stealing from you and blah blah blah. The point is that they didn’t do anything else. You lost that money. So what? Maybe they just wanted to demonstrate they were able to steal from the genius Leonard Walton. Big deal,” he minimizes, and I’m baffled.

“It is a big deal! Someone managed to steal from me. I run a cybersecurity empire, and they were able to hack into my system. Can you imagine the consequences if this news gets out? We’ll go down quicker than a shooting star,” I exclaim vehemently.

It’s his turn to study me with a small, irking smile curving his lips.

“What if your empire does crumble? You have your billions; we all do. Is it the end of the world if you shut down everything?” His question is a mixture of challenge and something else I can’t pinpoint.

“Yes, it is. Because you know that it was never about the money. I’m not doing it to amass even more wealth,” I respond.

“Is that true? It seems like you're expanding your existing business. You never seem to be satisfied,” he replies.

I find this hard to believe. We've discussed this acquisition countless times, and I thought he had a good understanding of the deal. It's frustrating to keep having this conversation again and again.

I don’t have time to answer because someone knocks at the door and I welcome the interruption. I’m having a hard time going back to fight him on something that everybody in this company is happy about. It’s like he made it his mission to make me pay for something I don’t even know I did.

“Come on in.” I can’t hide the frustration in my voice.

Trish peeks her head into my office, and a frown appears when she spots the scowl on Oliver’s face. “Is it a bad time?” she asks before stepping inside.

“No, come on in.” I smile at her, hoping she gets that I would rather rip my nails off with a pair of pliers than continue my conversation with him.

She hesitates a moment before a grin appears on her face, and she struts into my office with a magazine in her hands. She puts it on the desk before me and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Raphael’s little sister-in-law?” she asks in a singsong voice.

I frown. “What are you talking about?”

She points a finger at the article in the magazine, and it takes me a few seconds to realize what it is.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I blurt out when I see the pictures covering the pages.

There are three of them, all from the party. Roxanne and I are dancing, and we look like we are seconds away from ripping each other clothes off. My hands are on her back, and hers are on my neck, but the gaze we are exchanging is so full of lust and sexual tension that I have a hard time denying I was flirting with her.

“I swear we were just dancing,” I answer firmly.

She chuckles and sits on the free chair across from my desk, smugly smiling. She is always trying to set me up with a woman because she doesn’t want me to die alone. Her words, not mine. She’s having a field day with this article. The bold yellow title across the page says, New Flame for Leonard Walton!

“Yes, I know you didn’t fuck her on the dance floor, but is it serious?” She pokes me for details.

“Nothing. Nothing is going on!” I almost shout. I don’t want her to get any crazy ideas about what is happening in those pictures.

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