Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I twist away and don’t look back, even as he calls my name. Opening his door, I walk out, his silence following me.
Jackson
“Fuck.” I grab the back of my neck. “Goddammit,” I hiss, walking over to the mini bar in my office. It’s barely nine in the morning, but I pour myself a bourbon and down it. What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn’t have spoken to her like that. I’m pissed at my son, not her. I debate going after her, but the damage is already done. And I don’t have the time to deal with her right now.
I pour another drink, the ice clinking against the glass as I sink back into my chair, gripping the letter of disbarment in my other hand.
The fallout from the system errors has officially hit. My biggest client—the backbone of our annual revenue—is demanding dissolution. If they pull out, we’re screwed. Not just financially but in reputation. The moment word gets out, panic will spread, and a domino effect will follow. Other clients will start second-guessing their trust in us, and once that is gone, it will be nearly impossible to rebuild.
We won’t go under, not yet—but this is how it starts.
Every lead has been a dead end. The temp agency? A complete waste of time. No records, no answers, just layers of incompetence so staggering it makes my head spin.
The bigger issue—the one I can’t shake—is who planted that asshole in my warehouse to sabotage us. I have enemies. That comes with the territory. But is someone going to these lengths, risking exposure, financial loss, and legal consequences just to take me down?
Which is why I brought in Craig Stone.
Technically, he’s my lawyer. But more importantly, he’s my longtime private investigator, on retainer for both business and personal matters. Craig’s the guy you call when you want the truth and don’t care how dirty he has to get to find it. He’s sharp, relentless, and has a talent for unearthing secrets most people don’t even know they’re hiding.
I tasked him with digging into my competitors, expecting at least a few breadcrumbs. But he came up empty. Everything’s running like clockwork. No red flags. No clear motive. Nothing that makes sense. Which leaves me with nothing. No explanation. No logical reason for how or why this happened.
All I know is my company is on the line, and if I don’t get ahead of this, everything I’ve built will start to unravel.
I grab the phone and hit Wayne’s speed dial. “Blake Industries—”
“Wayne, it’s Jackson. I know we’ve reviewed the tapes and logs, but I need to know if there was anything unusual before the system went down.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tracing back months prior, even years, does anything stand out as strange, any red flags? Maybe it wouldn’t have raised suspicion at the time, but now it would?”
He takes a moment to think. “That I can recall off the top of my head, I don’t think so. Give me some time to think about it.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Blake.”
I hang up and lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my jaw. There has to be something I’m missing. Some detail, some overlooked connection that would tie this whole damn mess together. I just wish I knew what it was.
Frustration gnaws at me, but I shove it down and bury myself in work, running through reports, cross-checking system logs, and scanning emails for anything that might set off alarm bells.
The chime of my calendar pulls me from my thoughts. Lunch appointment.
I glance at the time. Georgia is set to return in fifteen minutes. Ignoring the reminder, I dive back into work, firing off emails and following up with vendors. By the time I look at the clock again, almost an hour has passed.
And Georgia isn’t here.
I buzz my assistant.
“Yes, Mr. Blake?”
“Was my lunch meeting canceled?”
“Yes, sir.” That little brat.
“Thanks.” She’s pissed. She should be. But she doesn’t understand the weight I carry. She can’t. She’s too young to understand the stress of running a company and juggling a kid. I rest back in my chair and scrub my hands down my face. Fuck, she’s less than half my age. She’s the same age as your son. What the hell am I doing? Pussy isn’t worth everything at risk if we get caught. What would the public, my clients, do if they got wind that I was in bed with a nineteen-year-old college student? My son’s ex. Every answer screams break it off.
Maybe this is my chance. A sign from the universe telling me to walk away before I ruin three people’s lives. But the thought of never touching her again, tasting her again, having her close to me… my chest tightens. I wish I could blame it on heartburn or old age, but I know exactly what it is: I need her as much as I need my next fucking breath.