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Before I can decide whether to return the call or not, Paula, my PR rep, comes running up to me, her face contorting like someone is shoving something up somewhere something shouldn't be shoved. "We need to talk," she pants.
"Yeah, Paula, I... don't think I want to talk to you," I say, backing away. "I'm guessing it has something to do with this message from my uncle." I wave the post it in front of her.
"Mr. Baxter." She sounds like she's about to reprimand me for something, and frankly, I'm still smarting from some of the lines that Clarissa landed on me the other day.
I point to my assistant, who's pretending that she's not eavesdropping on the conversation. "Can you tell Hannah instead, and then she can tell me?"
Paula huffs impatiently, so I give in and gesture for her to go into my office. I seriously consider locking the door behind her and hightailing it out of there.
"Get inside," Hannah commands, coming up behind me, clearly trying to block my escape.
"Hey, Hannah, I'd just like to remind you that you work for me."
She shrugs. "Technically, I work for Baxter Enterprises. You want to pay me out of your own pocket?"
My head shakes so hard, my brain almost comes loose. "Hell no, I don't know who negotiated your contract, but I think you're way overpaid."
"Younegotiated it for me."
"Maybe I'm not such a good businessman after all."
She shoves me as hard as she can, which isn't very hard at all, but I still pretend to go flying. "Just go inside!"
"Don't make me send you to one of my brothers!"
"I'd gladly go!"
I pretend to stomp into my office with a sulky scowl, but when I see Paula's voice, it dies on my lips.
"Okay, what did I do now?" I say, sinking into the leather couch.
She drops a stack of photos on top of the coffee table in front of me. "See for yourself, sir."
With a frown, I pick up the photos. Instantly, I recognize the location as the street in front of Leanne's apartment. The rest of the subject matter, I've actually been trying to forget. But can't. Me, leaning in so close to a woman, it almost looks like we're kissing.
Clarissa.
One hand is tucked under her chin, the other braced on the car over her head. It looks much more intimate than it was. Too bad they can't see her face because if my memory serves me correctly, they'd see her looking at me with pure and unadulterated loathing. Hatred aside, the photograph does paint the picture of two people caught in an embrace.
"Oops?" I say.
Paula's face tells me that her reaction to these pictures is not "oops.". "Mr. Baxter, what did I tell you just a week ago?"
I sigh. "You said that I was not allowed to be... flirting... with women."
"I'm pretty sure I said'manwhoring. '"
"That sounded a little too crass for me. I'm a classy gentleman." I lean back onto the couch and lift my feet up onto my coffee table.
"Mr. Baxter!" she yells, her face turning red, looking like she's on the verge of stomping her foot like a toddler.
I stop talking for a minute because I understand that she has a genuine worry that her job is on the line. Not everyone is as privileged to work at a job where their name is on the plastered-in-neon lighting on the side of the building. I take a breath and straighten my face. "Paula, would you relax? It's nothing. This was... definitely not memanwhoring. Trust me. It was just a conversation. A veryunwhoreyconversation." I jab my finger on Clarissa's head. "Anyway, do you know what that woman is?"
"Does it matter?" she exhales.
"It will when you learn about who it is. That's Clarissa Masters. That's Terry Masters's daughter. As in the chairman of the board."
Her head falls forward as she grabs her side. "I think I'm going to be sick."
