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I pause. He doesn’t normally ask so many questions. “I did on the way here. They’ve all been made aware of the wedding. I’ve set up different media interviews and exclusives with them to ensure they’re silent until we’re ready to make the announcement.”
“The announcement must be made soon. What are you thinking?”
“There’s a gala thisweekend. High press, a good cause, and tons of people there. It’ll be the perfect time to announce to the world about Winnie and me. On Thursday, we’ll be giving an interview to Ruby Robinson about our love story. She’s hungry for it. She’ll run the complete story on Sunday.”
“Good job, son.” Dad swipes his hand over the yellow legal pad he always carries with him. It’s filled with the messy notes he takes during every meeting. I’ve tried countless times to get him to at least organize his notes, but he never listens.
My back straightens with the praise from my father. I’m thirty-five years old, and I still find myself wanting to impress him. As I get older, the pressure to earn enough of his trust to completely take over Moore Hotels looms.
I was raised to become the CEO of the business, but being raised to take it over is only half of the job. For Dad to actually step down, he wants me to earn it. And I spend every day of my life trying to do that. Not necessarily because I want anything to do with the franchise, but because it’d be the ultimate stamp of his approval.
“I’m thinking we need to personally handle this Blake kid,” I offer, pulling out one of the chairs and taking a seat. I haven’t met the sorry-ass excuse of a man who is blackmailing Winnie, but I’m eager to just have afewminutes with him. To threaten him within an inch of his life so he knows not to even dare to talk—let alone think—about Winnie again.
“Why?” Dad questions, pinning me with a curious glare. The light hits the gray strands of his hair. He’s trying to fight aging however he can, but he’s getting older. It’s not as easy for him as it used to be to work all day, to travel from hotel to hotel when needed.
I mull over his question for a moment. After seeing the fear and betrayal in Winnie’s eyes after what this Blake guy did to her, I’m aching to teach him a little lesson.
My jaw tenses as I think through what answer I want to give him. It isn’t the truth. Or at leastthatversion of the truth. If I tellthatto him, he’ll question why I care. It’s the same question Iasked myself the moment I watched Winnie disappear from the tiny office at Bishop Hotels. I felt it in my chest that I cared about the comment she made.
I cared that she told me she wouldn’t trust me. It never mattered to me if anyone but my father trusted me. If they did what I wanted, why would I need their trust? I trust no one. I don’t expect anyone to trust me.
But her words hit hard, harder than I cared to admit because I wanted her to trust me, and I despised the man who took advantage of that trust. I feel this intense need to make him pay, and I keep telling myself this because this woman’s about to be my wife.
Is that actually the reason?I don’t care to think long enough on it to determine if it is.
“Archer,” my dad barks, pulling me from my thoughts.
Before I can ask him to repeat his question, he beats me to it. “Why would I give a damn about talking to this kid? No one will run anything on him. He has no leverage. He’s not stupid enough to go show that video to anyone else without getting paid for it.”
I frown, despising the thought of him even having possession of the video at all. “I don’t like loose ends.”
I don’t move underneath my father’s intense stare. Whatever he’s trying to figure out with his scrutiny, he won’t get from me. “Whatever you do, make it discreet,” he finally answers.
There’s a reason my family always comes out on top. We know how to cheat the system, how to get what we want. And what I want is to know Blake will never come for Winnie again. He should pay for even daring to blackmail her.
With a nod, I stand up and walk to the door. “Always do,” I tell him before walking out. There’s no use for us to exchange any other words. I have work to do—and I have a man to take down.
The moment I step out of the doors, my assistant is running to me, his phone in his hands as he looks at me with expectanteyes. Luther has been with me for eight years now. When my previous assistant decided to stay home with her kids instead of working, it took me over a month—and countless interviews—to find someone I felt could keep up with me.
Luther’s resume sucked, but he blew his interview out of the water. I’m lucky to have him. He knows my next move almost better than I do. So when I gesture for him to follow me, he’s already got his notes app open ready to do whatever I ask of him.
“I want you to do research on a Blake Billings for me. He’s a former employee of Bishop Hotels. I want to knoweverythingabout him. Where he lives, who he’s worked for, his family history, all of it. And I want it on my desk before I leave tonight.”
“Got it,” Luther responds, his fingers furiously flying over his phone’s keyboard. One thing I love about Luther is that he never asks questions. He does as I ask, and he does it well.
I let him take whatever notes he wants as we make it to my office. It’s a large room, one with a fantastic view of the city. I’ve never lived anywhere but Manhattan. I hate crowds, but I love this crowded city. I walk to my desk, already not looking forward to the mountain of paperwork that’s on it. At least Luther has it in neat piles with sticky notes that tell me the order of priority.
“Anything else?” Luther asks me as I take a seat at my desk.
“There’s one more thing,” I tell him, leaning back in the chair.
“What is it, Mr. Moore?”
“I need you to call St. Michael’s church and set up a wedding for tomorrow afternoon.”
“And who should I tell them is getting married? Should we send a gift?”
I put my hands behind my head. “No gift. The wedding is for me.”
