Grumpy Boss, Hamel, B. [free novels to read TXT] 📗

I didn’t believe it, just to see what you’d say. It’s true that you two are together, isn’t it, and that’s why you won’t sign.”

Rees looked at me, and I sat there, eyes wide and surprised—not sure what to say. The reporter must’ve told it to Desmond, or he found out some other way, though I had no clue how. And I realized then that maybe, just maybe, that hadn’t been a reporter at all, and it felt like I might be sick.

“That’s right,” Rees said, and I squirmed in my seat as Modesto stared at me like I was a harlot—as if he had any right to judge, based on his gaudy home and all the disgusting millions he spent on himself instead of on people he could actually help. “I’ve been seeing Millie, and I don’t plan on stopping. But I wouldn’t sign even if that weren’t true.”

“I see,” Modesto said, and stopped walking again. This time, he faced Rees, with a sharp edge to his expression. “I think we can’t do business, you and me. I think you should maybe leave.”

“Modesto—“ Rees started.

But Modesto spoke over him. “I think you brought a harlot into my house. You know how I feel about loose women, Rees. I don’t appreciate this, not one bit.”

Rees stood, and I leaned back in fright. His eyes were wide, nostrils flared, shoulders tensed, hands balled into fists. I thought back to that first meeting, to him cracking Mirko in the face.

“Rees,” I said, warning.

“You won’t talk to her like that,” Rees said, staring at Modesto—and to Modesto’s credit, he didn’t back down. “You will apologize for calling her a harlot.”

“This is my house, Rees,” Modesto said. “I do not scare easy.”

Rees took a step forward, and Modesto flinched.

“Stop it,” I said, getting to my feet. “Enough, Rees. He’s an asshole, but you’re not going to hit him. Stop right now.”

Rees grinned, showing all his teeth. “Lucky you, Modesto.”

“Get out of my house.” Modesto’s voice shook as he walked away. “I’m showering. When I’m done, I want you both gone. Get out of my home, and get out now.”

“Gladly,” Rees said. “You fake fuck. I know you’ve been sleeping with your pretty little bible interns, you asshole. And your stupid cross is tacky as hell.”

Modesto walked off, shaking his head, and Rees stood there vibrating with rage. I gaped at him, and once Modesto was out of the room, I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help myself—that was such a crazy display of pure rage, and calling the cross tacky was hilarious.

“Is that true?” I asked him as we headed upstairs to get our things. “About the interns?”

“Probably,” he said, and grinned at me. “There are rumors. Based on his reaction, I’d say yes.”

I sighed, shook my head—then stopped him and kissed him. He kissed me back, hand on my hip, and grinned viciously.

“Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said, took my head, and tugged me along after him.

18

Rees

Jack leans back in his chair and stares at me over his computer screen with the biggest frown I’d ever seen. Millie squirmed in the chair beside me, and I let the silence stretch for a bit, waiting for Jack to say something to soften the blow, but it never came.

“How bad?” I asked finally.

“Bad,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re about twenty percent short of our goal. And there are about two weeks left to make it up.”

“Twenty percent is millions,” Millie said, and she leaned back, staring at Jack with a blank look on her face. She wasn’t used to dealing with big numbers like this, so the idea of missing that much likely hit her harder, but even still. She was right—twenty percent was a huge gap to make up, especially without Modesto.

“Franky, it’s even worse if we take our original estimates,” Jack said, drumming his fingers. “These new numbers are severely downgraded. I’m talking, this is the bare minimum to be viable. If we can’t raise this capital, we’re finished.”

I let out a breath and glanced toward the windows. The sunlight glittered off the building across the street and I could’ve sworn I saw a conference room full of people having the exact same conversation we were having, only about a different company, under different circumstances—but the idea was the same.

It was always the same, everywhere. Never enough money when you needed it.

“I could put in my own,” I said. “Make up the shortage myself.”

“You could,” Jack agreed. “But then you wouldn’t make any profit yourself, and it would look pretty god damn pathetic. We’d have to disclose that, you know.”

I shrugged a little, glanced at Millie. “What do you think?”

She shook her head and laughed a little. “I think I’m was over my head,” she said.

I smiled at her and resisted the urge to put my hand on her knee. Ever since Modesto’s, it felt like our relationship bloomed, like it was beginning to take root and deepen between us. We hadn’t done anything more, not physically at least, but we talked the entire plane trip back, and most of the night after that on the phone. Now I wanted to show her affection, but I couldn’t, not in front of Jack. As far as he was concerned, Millie was my assistant, and my fake girlfriend, and nothing more.

Though really, I wondered if it would be such a bad thing, if we made it real.

“Jack’s right,” I said, putting my knee with my palm. “I can’t put in more of my own money. I’ve put in enough, and any more would look terrible. But we also can’t be short this goal.”

“Thank you for so eloquently explaining the issue,” Jack said drily. “But we still don’t have an income source.”

“We need to approach Desmond,” I said.

Millie leaned back and shook her head. “What, you think he’ll invest?”

I grinned at her. “Of course not. But we need to get him to back off.”

“There’s no way he’ll listen,” Jack