Page 87 of Heated Takeover

“Not just something,” he answers. “Someone…”

“Who is it?” Jim asks. “Which one of my dirty employees is embezzling from my company?”

I let the ownership aspect of the statement slide because I am just as concerned as he is, though I show it with more reserve.

“You’re not gonna like this, boss,” Rick says.

“Well, out with it already,” Margaret snaps impatiently.

Rick turns the screen to face me, and I take in the words he speaks. “All of the money, from day one, including the accounts it is being sent to…is linked to Reese and Garrett.”

Aside from a few four-letter words, the room goes quiet. Jim looks devastated. Tuck looks amused. Margaret simply nods her head once. I…am not surprised. After Janice leaves, the rest of us stay in an attempt to configure our next move.

“I recommend being quiet for the time being,” Rick says. “Until investigators secure the evidence Janice identified–”

“This is not some random employee who has fucked me over! It’s my daughter! My own flesh and blood!” Jim shouts. The boom of his voice bouncing off the walls of the boardroom and quite possibly penetrating them.

“Jim, darling, I understand your feelings of grief and betrayal,” Margaret attempts to calm him. But man to man, I can already tell that it isn’t going to work. It’s not just betrayal. It’s fucking backstabbing.

Jim picks up his phone and starts dialing. We all know what he’s doing.

“James,” Margaret warns him, but Jim holds up a finger to hush her. She bites her lip and sits back in her chair.

“Jim, we need to be cautious,” I tell him. “There is a lot of money on the line. Especially for you. Most of it was from before, and if they haven’t spent it–”

The phone rings once and then makes an odd, familiar sound. “We’re sorry. The number you are trying to call has been disconnected.”

Jim hangs up.

“Well,” Margaret says, literally lighting up a cigarette in the office. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

Chapter 33

Natalie

I love my job.

I do.

But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t often completely wear me out. Today’s event was at the Miami Beach Convention Center, one of the largest convention centers in the area. They offered to host an annual hospitality meeting where owners and CEOs of over fifty major resorts gathered for food, dancing, awards, and of course, drinking. A lot of drinking.

I do enjoy a glass of wine or a fancy cocktail as much as the next person, but as an event coordinator, event director, booze always makes it harder to keep things under control. People, especially rich people with access to high-end open bars, get buzzy, then they get tipsy, and eventually a good handful of them go beyond that. And the next thing you know, you’re having to make sure no one is getting too clumsy around the champagne glass fountain or hopping up on the guardrails outside. All it takes is one fancy party and about three grand in Dom Perignon to make some of the world’s most prestigious people act like college freshmen at a frat party.

I am exhausted.

As Dylan, Charlie and I walk out at the end of the night, we are more or less the last to leave. Other than the cleaning crew and a couple of stragglers, it’s pretty quiet and my ears actually feel muffled from the sudden lack of chaotic sound.

“Now that was a party,” Charlie says as the three of us walk in a line to the parking garage.

“Don’t you know, Charlie, that’s how it always is when you get to hang around with Ashford and Blythe’s director of events?” Dylan says, and I roll my eyes. She laughs, linking arms with me. Charlie takes the other one.

“That was not a normal event,” I say. “It was the second largest event outside of the annual charity gala.”

“You mean the one where you met Mr. Ashford?” Charlie asks. I would have come to an abrupt halt if they weren’t on either side of me, literally ushering me towards the street.

“Dylan,” I whine, but she waves it off.

“Sorry. I told Charlie about your rendezvous with Marcus,” she admits.