Page 90 of Mr. Perfect

Which is why I stayed on here at Stonewall.

I report to Alexander now. I sold him two percent of my interest in the company, just to give him peace of mind that the empire he built would never be threatened by the whims of another partner.

He agreed to sell the company if I wanted to, even after I sold my controlling interest. But by that time I had figured it out.

I want this.

I want what he has.

A family. A fresh start with someone I trust.

Things I had been denying myself ever since I heard that accusation back in college.

Giving away my money to self-select myself out of the company of other billionaires was never going to get me that. It feels good. And I will never give up the charity, but they don’t need me to pretend to work as I write checks. I never did anything meaningful anyway.

Stonewall does though. Camille is successful over in Europe. And Heath, even though I do consider him a total pig when it comes to women, is making major inroads in China. He’s not coming home anytime soon.

So here I am. CEO of Stonewall North America.

And here I am. Still alone.

“Mac?” Stephanie yells. “Ellie is on!”

I’ve had regular updates from Ming about Ellie. We’ve had a standing Friday evening appointment since the week Ellie walked out, but that’s all been about business.

Ellie stopped looking for a publisher for her book.

She got a new editor.

She found a cover designer.

She got the book formatted.

She found a printer.

She pushed publish.

That was last week’s report, so there are no more meetings about Ellie Hatcher’s book release progress. And I haven’t dared to ask even one personal question. I refuse to discuss Ellie like she’s a thing that needs to be planned and plotted.

But every minute—every second—of every day, I wish I had.

Does she have a boyfriend? Does she ever talk about me? Is she happy?

I won’t ask, but I want to. I won’t ask until Ellie agrees to see me. And she hasn’t. I’ve asked her at least two dozen times to meet me somewhere. Drinks? Lunch? Dinner? A weekend at my house?

No. No. No. Hell, no.

All that was in text messages. She won’t take my calls. And she hasn’t answered a text in over two months.

Face it, Mac, she’s moved on. Just like she wanted to. She’s remade her life, her book is on sale, and she’s only here for the interview on the Tuesday Book Review segment of the Living Life show. A low-budget news program with the worst ratings in all of Stonewall Entertainment. Their ratings finally hit the rock-bottom threshold, and even though I hate to cancel shows, I was going to have to do it weeks ago to save more prosperous shows, but Ming said this was the only show she’d agree to.

Ellie and her principles. She won’t take promotion from me—her exact words to Ming. She won’t build a career on contacts and favors. She doesn’t care if she never sells a single copy of her book, she will do this her way or not at all.

So here we are.

She has sold books. Plenty of them, from the reports I’ve gotten. So I guess it’s true, she didn’t need me.

“Mac!” Stephanie yells from the other side of the door. “Hurry! You’re going to miss it!”