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Julian nods and I exhale, trying to force the angry energy from my body.
It’s not so much the money that’s angered me; we’ll make that up without a problem. It’s Graham, one of my analysts. He’s been sloppy for months now. I’ve given him space and time to fix whatever the hell he’s been dealing with, but he’s continued to make mistake after mistake, and hasn’t taken advantage of the passes I’ve given him. I can’t tolerate people who waste opportunities.
A knock on the glass wall of my office draws my attention. My assistant, Tahlia, waits expectantly on the other side of the glass, entering when I motion for her to come in.
“Sorry to interrupt, but Jill just called.” A pained expression fills her face. “I wanted to warn you both that she’s about five minutes out and she’s worked up about something.”
“Fuck,” Julian mutters, echoing my exact thought. He looks at me after Tahlia exits the office. “You have to do something about her.”
I blow out another long breath. “I know.”
“I know you know, Owen, but you’ve been saying this for months now, and I’m telling you that if you don’t act soon, she’s going to cause us the kind of problems we’ll take hit after hit from.” He pauses, giving me that look of his that says he’s weighing up whether to share what’s on his mind.
“What?” I ask. “Just say it. We’re way past the point of not getting stuff off our chest when we need to.” Seven years working together has ensured this, and it’s something I know we both value. Neither of us like operating without the full facts.
“It appears that Jill’s getting extra friendly with the staff.”
I frown, unsure if I’ve understood him correctly. “As in she’s sleeping with them?”
He nods. “From what I’m hearing, yes.”
Thatyesis still working its way through my brain when my office door is pushed open by my ex-wife.
“I see you two started without me again,” she says, her voice filled with the snappy tone that’s become her norm over the last few months.
I met Jill when I was twenty-five. I barely knew myself back then. I certainly didn’t know what kind of woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. It’s taken a marriage, a divorce, and a year of navigating post-divorce life while still working together to show me exactly what kind of woman I’d choose to spend the rest of my life with. It’s not a woman like Jill.
She refused to let me buy her out of the company when we divorced, and I didn’t force her hand because I understood what this company means to her. During our marriage, we built North Management into one of the most successful hedge funds in the United States with more than $40 billion in assets under management. I’d hoped that her fight to keep half of it would mean she’d put our differences aside for the sake of the company’s success. That was a year ago, and since then she’s let her anger and bitterness over our divorce get in the way of her work. North Management might be doing well financially, but behind closed doors we’re a mess of bad decisions and battles for control. I’m close to losing my patience with her. The only thing keeping me in check is the fact I once loved and respected her.
“You’re late,” I throw back, unwilling to put up with her bullshit today. It might only be eight a.m., but I’ve already put four hours in this morning, and those four hours have been filled with fixing a handful of problems she’s caused. If she continues on this path of butting heads with me today, she may live to regret it.
She presses her lips together. “Hardly. Besides, it’s impossible to be late to work when it’s your own damn company, Owen.”
I glance at Julian. “Can you give us a minute?”
The look that crosses his face can only be described as relief. With a nod, he exits my office, leaving Jill and I alone. Something I’m detesting more and more each day.
I undo the top button of my shirt. I suddenly feel suffocated by it.
“You’re off your game,” Jill says before I’ve decided how to broach what we need to discuss. At my frown, she elaborates, motioning at my shirt. “I can’t recall the last time you wore a tie to the office. And is that the only suit you own? I could swear it’s all you wear these days. If you need help at home, I can come and take care of these things for you.”
I run my hand down my face. Is it really only eight o’clock? It feels like this day has lasted a week already.
I ignore the tie and suit comments. She knows I don’t love wearing ties. How I survived six years of wearing them at her insistence is beyond me. If I can get away without one now, I do. “Graham’s out,” I start with. “I know that will likely not sit well with you, but I’m done with tolerating his fuck ups. Maxwell will take over his work until Julian finds someone to replace him.”
Jill has a soft spot for Graham, which is why I’m expecting an argument over this decision. Also, Jill is our COO, so it likely won’t impress her that I’ve taken point on this. However, she surprises me. “I agree with you on this.”
“Good.” I take a moment to consider how I’ll say the next thing on my list of topics to cover with her. Jill has become difficult in almost every way possible. She argues over things she never cared about before our divorce. I’m unsure if she actually cares about them now or if she’s determined to make my life hell. I can’t read her mind any better than I could when we were married, so I can’t be sure which it is. “I took a call from Ron yesterday. He’s not happy.”
She knows exactly what I’m referring to and she doesn’t take even a second to come out swinging with her argument. “He’s an asshole, Owen. You know this, so I’d appreciate it if you’d skip the lecture I’m sure you have planned for me and just move straight onto the next item of business.”
I arch a brow. “You finished?”
She presses her lips together again; a signature Jill move with me lately. “I was, but I can see you’re not.”
“No, I’m not. Not when his business pays for the three homes you own, the body your expensive surgeon is building, the vacations you take around the world, the trainer who practically lives with you, the chef who does live with you, and all the fucking clothes and shoes you buy.” I exhale harshly, frustrated with her and the headaches she’s causing me. I don’t give a fuck about all the shit she buys, but I give a lot of fucks about the business I’ve spent years building. I’ll be damned if I’ll let anyone destroy it.
Venom pools in her eyes. “You can be a real bastard when you want to be. Some days I wonder how I ever made it through six years of marriage with you.”
