Page 21 of Ms. Fortune

She shrinks slightly at my question as though she doesn’t think I’ll like her answer. I’m starting to think I won’t like it either.

“I had all the calls forwarded to an answering service.” She cringes, expecting a harsh response from me. “I hope that’s okay. It was too crazy to handle here.”

“Actually, that was brilliant.” I nod, considering. “We’re getting the real business calls or messages, right?”

“Well, theoretically, yes. But there haven’t been any legitimate business calls yet.”

I close my eyes and count to ten in my head. Did I do the wrong thing? Is this entire Brandon Carmichael scheme blowing up in my face? I hadn't considered that this could backfire and be bad for business. I suppose I should have weighed that possibility, considering the scandal he’s going through. I’d thought LC Consolidated was bulletproof, though. At least Sora thought so.

Now I know it’s all a matter of perception, and our clients and potential clients aren’t perceiving this as a good thing for them. What the hell was I thinking? I can’t date Brandon, pretend or not. It was a ludicrous idea in the first place, and I let his God-damned dimples sway my decision-making process in his favor. Getting involved with him will ruin everything my dad built up. It’ll get me caught up in the web of Brandon’s trading scandal, which could sink our company and my dad’s legacy. I need to fix this.

I turn my phone back on momentarily to send Brandon a text. I ignore all of the alerts that go off and start typing. He’ll understand my change of heart. Shit, he probably won’t care. It was all a game for him.

ME: I’m sorry, but I can’t go through with this. I need to call off our agreement. I hope you understand. I wish you the best. -Normandy

Shutting my phone off again, I turn to Chelsie. “Right. We need damage control.”

She sits up and nods. “I’ll grab Bianca.”

Chapter 15

DO I WANNA KNOW?

BRANDON

The text from Normandy calling our agreement off is not what I wanted to see this morning. I try calling her, and it goes straight to voicemail. Of course, she’s probably got her phone off. I call Mischief Motors directly and get an answering service. I leave a message, but I can’t leave this as it is. I need to talk to her.

Things went so sideways last night with the paparazzi showing up; I feel as though I’m leaving her to deal with all of this on her own. I would help her with all of this if she returned my call. I want to help her through this. She may think this is all fake, but this is my life. Dealing with the press is what I have to do daily. It’s the main ingredient in our fake dating plan, after all. I hate that it’s overwhelming her. That is the last thing I want to do.

I have Diane postpone my morning meetings and coerce Taylor to ride with me to Mischief Motors. He’s not happy with the plan, but he’s learning that I don’t like to be constrained by my security, and if he wants to keep me safe, he needs to keep up with me when I go off the rails.

This adventure allows me to drive Betty again, much to Taylor’s dismay. There are no blackout or bulletproof windows, no anti-roll cage, no run-flat tires, no reinforced gas tank, just a plain old car. Emphasis on the ‘old.’ There is absolutely nothing safe about this car, and I love it.

“I’d like to reiterate my strong objection to this activity, sir. For the record.” He glowers as he watches his men clear a path on the other side of the gate for me to drive through and get on the road. “Especially since we don’t know anything more about Ms. Blake’s potential involvement with the criminal underworld of Vegas.”

“You really think Normandy is actively involved with the mob?” I can’t believe he thinks that could be the case.

“I can’t say one way or the other at this point, which is the problem.”

“Well, your objection is noted. And ignored. But I think we know that by now.”

Once we’re clear, I gun it, and the highly fuel-inefficient engine doesn’t disappoint. We take off like a rocket. I see the paparazzi in the rearview mirror scrambling to get to their cars to give chase, and I can’t contain my smile. They’ll never catch us. Unless I were to hit all the red lights on Tropicana Avenue, which of course, I do.

“Smile for the cameras, Taylor,” I say, nodding my head toward the car next to us, where the driver is pointing a colossal camera lens right at us. Taylor doesn’t smile but keeps his eyes intently on the surroundings. I smile and wave, then take off again as the light changes. I beat them to the next light, and they get stuck. It’s ridiculous how little things like that can entertain me. Vegas in the daytime can feel like a ghost town on some streets, so the lack of cars in front of me is enticing.

“Sir.”

I reluctantly let off the gas and ease down to the speed limit. “Fine. Any updates on what we discussed last night?” I didn’t get much sleep, thinking about the possibility of Normandy being in danger. I can’t help but wonder if she knew about her father’s troubles with Calnetta. It also makes me wonder if those troubles contributed to why the business is in such a state. It would make sense.

“Nothing yet, sir. But I’m still following up.”

“I’ve said this before, you don’t have to call me, ‘sir.’” I can’t help but cringe a little inside every time he says it. It makes me feel old. I appreciate the respect it conveys but hearing it so often in one conversation borders on annoying.

He nods at me, but I can tell he’s thinking, ‘Yes, sir.’

We pull up to Mischief Motors, and the gate is unsurprisingly shut, with a group of paparazzi milling around in front. Hopefully, that means I was correct in coming here instead of Normandy’s house to find her. I push the button on the intercom, ignoring the cameras being shoved in my face and the questions being thrown at me. After a beat with no response, Taylor pulls out his phone.

“Let me get someone inside.” He finds a contact and starts a call. “Wayne? Taylor Moore from Citadel Security here. Mr. Carmichael is outside the gate and would like entry to the depot. Can you assist?” There’s a pause as he listens to the reply. “Very good. Thank you.” He disconnects the call and turns to me. “It’ll just be a minute.”

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