Page 133 of Ten Day Affair
"Transparency, my ass. You didn't protect anything by confirming the hit piece. Conjecture versus direct quotes. I think you shit the bed on this one. I don't know what your play was, but I know there's more to this than you're saying. It better not be only about that woman. I swear to God…"
My fingers tighten around the phone.
"Kings Holdings appoints a new public face. Spin my exit as part of a planned transition. You take point on acquisitions while I move back to development."
"That's your solution? Musical chairs with the board structure? You fuck us and then peace out?"
"It's better than letting this spiral into a federal investigation."
Dorian's exhale carries through the speaker. "The fallout's contained. Barely. But Harrison wants a full review of every deal we've touched in the past two years. Every shell company, every acquisition. You realize what that means?"
"I know what it means. You don't have anything to hide with me gone. I'll give him whatever he needs. Kings Holdings will survive this."
"Do you? Because I'm starting to wonder if your head's been screwed on straight since Palm Beach. Three months ago, you would have buried this story with the journalist, if necessary. Now you're giving interviews like some penitent CEO at a congressional hearing."
"This quiets the chatter and the digging. There's nothing else for her to dig for."
"Christ, Cole. There's nothing else to dig for because you gave it to her. You accomplished nothing."
The line goes quiet except for the hum of engines. Dorian's breathing comes through heavy, frustrated.
"I need to know you're still in this. Because if you're having some midlife crisis about doing the right thing, I need to adjust my position accordingly. I don't do business with saints."
Am I still in this?
"We can talk more after I'm back in the city."
The call ends with a sharp click. I open the water and down half the bottle in one swallow. The plastic caves in with the loss of volume and no air to replace it.
I slam the bottle down and pick my phone back up. I scroll to Sam's contact information.
What would I even say?
The phone goes dark in my hand before anything comes to mind.
The elevator opensto my penthouse, and I toss my keys onto the marble counter. The sound echoes through the empty space. My assistant left the day's mail stacked beside the coffee machine, and there it is, the Wall Street Journal, my quote printed in black ink below my photograph.
I knew the Journal would pick it up from the AP. It was only a matter of time.
Houston Enterprises CEO Orchestrated Hospital Acquisition Through Shell Company.
The words look different in print. It's more permanent somehow.
I flip through the pages, scanning for any mention of Sam's name. Nothing. Relief floods through me, followed immediately by the hollow ache that's been eating at my chest for weeks.
My laptop sits open on the kitchen island. I pull up the news coverage, scrolling through article after article. I've become obsessed with making sure Sam is scrubbed entirely from any of this.
The business blogs picked it up first, then the financial networks. My phone buzzes with missed calls from reporters, board members, and investors.
But still no mention of her.
That's what matters.
I open my drafts folder and find the email I started writing to Sam three days ago, before I talked to Laural Harrelson. The cursor blinks after two sentences.
I need you to know that you were never part of this. What happened between us was real.
The words look pathetic on the screen. I delete them and start again.
