Page 102 of Dirty Boss

Then, that afternoon, I got another email—this time from Tiffany’s lawyer. She was petitioning the court for a review of our custody agreement for Charlotte. I stared at the words, not understanding. Then my phone rang.

“Tiffany,” I growled as I picked up. “What’s this about our custody agreement?”

“I’m trying to do right by our daughter, Vaughn. You work long hours, and you’ve asked me to take her on your weeks regularly. I don’t want her being raised by a nanny, no matter how great Billie is. And I’m not going to be asking for more money, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not giving up time with my daughter,” I barked.

“You won’t have to,” Tiffany answered, sounding tired but calm. “I’ve kept track of all the times you asked me to take her during your custody time, and I’m just asking for our agreement to reflect the current status quo. I’ve let the nanny thing slide too long as well. Our current agreement has the right of first refusal. When you can’t be there to take care of her after school, she should be coming home to me. That’s what my lawyer said, and that’s what I’ll ask for in court.”

I stared at my computer screen, not understanding. The lawyer’s letter jumbled before me, and I rubbed my eyes to try to make it make sense.

Tiffany filled the silence, her voice soft but unyielding. “I’m doing what’s best for Charlotte, Vaughn.”

“You’re talking to me like I don’t care about my own daughter.”

“I’m doing what’s best for Charlotte,” she repeated. “If you can’t be there with her, she should be with me. And you’ll be free to work on your businesses as much as you need to.”

There was nothing else to say, so we hung up. Heat burned the back of my throat, and my blood rushed through my veins, making my body tremble and shake.

I was losing everything—I’d already lost everything.

My business. My daughter. Alba.

All the things that mattered to me were slipping through my fingers, and even with a fortune at my fingertips, there wasnothing I could do about it. Tiffany would win in court, no doubt, because she was right about how little time I spent with our daughter. Alba had walked away from me without looking back.

But my business could be saved—maybe. If I felt like bankrupting myself.

I sat in my corner office as the sun went down, setting the skyscrapers of the city ablaze. I sat until the lights came on, until the hum of the cleaner’s vacuum started up down the hall. The noise made me think of Alba, and I finally pushed myself back from my desk.

I stood, and then froze. Where would I go? Back to my empty house? To the penthouse apartment that had never felt like home? Over to Alba’s, so I could stand outside her window and beg her to take me back?

Every option seemed terrible, so I took none of them. I sat back down, woke my computer up, and worked.

Maybe if I saved my business from ruin, I would feel better. Maybe if I did one thing right, it wouldn’t feel like the entire world was crumbling down around me.

THIRTY-NINE

ALBA

It tookme three weeks to notice that both of my most recent rent payments had been returned to my account. I needed the extra cushion now that I was jobless again, but the thought of owing money made me itchy all over.

Gina, the redhead building manager who’d taken up residence in the lobby office, clacked on her keyboard and squinted at her screen when I asked her. “We’ve received your rent payment already. You said it was returned?”

“The last two rent payments. Ever since I moved into the bigger apartment.”

“I’ve got your rent marked as paid through to the end of the year.” Gina spun around, her office chair squeaking with the movement.

“What?”

“It says it right here.”

“That can’t be right.”

Gina shrugged.

“And when am I going to be moving back to the studio? Has the mold been removed?”

“You’re not moving back to the studio,” Gina said, frowning. “We’ve got your lease updated for apartment 815.”