Page 22 of The Mogul: Leonard

I know, but I want to be clear with him that I’m not taking my shots with her. I don’t want any misunderstanding about it.

“I know, but this magazine insinuates that there’s flirting between us, and while Roxanne knows it’s bullshit, you don’t, and I wanted to clear the air with you.”

He grabs the magazine and chuckles. “It looks like you’re going to fuck any second.”

I groan. “Don’t, just don’t.”

“Listen, I’m not going to give any credit to this kind of magazine. If I have a problem, I’ll talk with you. And, by the way, she’s an adult; she can do whatever she wants. I can worry about her decisions, be there if she fucks up, but I’ll never impose my will on someone else,” he points out.

I know. Raphael is one of those men we should clone because he’s so supportive of equal rights that he ran for senator to change things from the top.

“But the real question is, why are you stressing about those pictures? You’ve never cared about something so trivial.” He nails me to the chair with a single glance.

I sigh and take a moment to collect my thoughts before answering. There’s a lot going on right now, and it’s difficult to pinpoint a problem—maybe because they’re all equally troubling.

“We’re preparing for the acquisition, which is stressful enough. But I asked Oliver to look into the missing money, and he practically freaked out. So now I not only don’t have an answer for that missing money, I have a pissed-off head developer making my life a living hell.” I look at him and notice the frown deepening on his forehead.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but can you put aside your pride and ask Roxanne for help?”

I look down at my hands in my lap. At this point, the situation is so bad I’m considering it. The only problem is, I don’t know how I’d handle her refusal to help me. In her eyes, I’m the bad guy, the monster to fight, and this thought affects me in a way I didn’t think was possible.

8

Roxanne

“He just took you home? You’re a liar!” Spike barges into my bedroom without any respect.

I put my head under the pillow and groan. What time is it? He rips the pillow from my head and throws something on the bed.

“I hope you have an excellent reason for waking me up, or I’m going to rip your head off,” I hiss when I look up at his angry face.

Why is he pissed off? I’m the one who should be in his face about how he woke me up!

He scoffs and picks up the magazine on my bed and slams it down again. That pisses me off even more. Who does he think he is?

“What is it?” I ask because his behavior suggests it’s life-or-death.

I pick up the magazine, and I’m suddenly awake. On the front cover of the gossip section, there is a picture of Leonard and me dancing at the party. It wouldn’t be a problem if I weren’t eye-fucking him. Damn paparazzi.

“So what?” I grumble, throwing the magazine aside.

I turn on the bed, grab my pillow, and go back to sleep. Neither Spike nor Leonard is worth losing sleep over. Not for something as stupid as a magazine that everyone will forget about in a couple of days.

“So what? Are you for real? You told me you were going alone to the party. Then you told me he just gave you a ride because your car broke down, and now these pictures come out. Do you think I’m stupid? It’s clear as day you two are fucking!” he almost shouts.

I’m done. I’m fed up with this bullshit of a jealous boyfriend.

“Who I fuck is none of your business, but as I told you time and time again, I never did, and I never will!” I spit.

“Yeah, sure,” he scoffs. “I don’t believe you. Did you see how you’re looking at each other?”

“I don’t give a shit if you believe me or not. This is none of your business!” I yell, sitting up.

I’m so done with his antics. It’s like living with a toddler who throws tantrums for the stupidest reasons. He’s possessive and suffocating, and I’m not even his girlfriend. Not that I would let it go even if I were. I don’t tolerate this shit from the person I’m dating.

“You’re fucking the enemy, and it’s none of my business? He’s the kind of person we fight! He’s the billionaire who becomes rich fucking over his employees. We don’t sleep with those assholes, we fight them. Do you have no moral compass?” he accuses me, disgusted.

“This is rich coming from you. You don’t fight those people. I do it. You can’t keep a job for two days straight. You’re not exactly an example of discipline. You screw over those poor owners trying to make ends meet by going to work stoned. You have no right to talk to me like that. Stop acting like a jealous boyfriend.” I know I’m being too harsh, and it was a low blow talking about his job, or lack of it, but I’m honestly done with him.

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