Chapter 29 #29
Chapter 29
Dante
I sat in my office, fingers drumming impatiently on the mahogany desk as I put calls through with my assistant standing nervously in front of me and Timothy, the head of PR, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a guilty schoolboy.
Both of them looked like they were about to piss themselves. Good. They should be terrified.
"Explain to me," I said, my voice deceptively calm as I leaned back in my leather chair, "How the fuck this happen?”
They were both shaking nervously, their eyes darting between each other, neither one wanting to be the first to speak.
Cowards.
My assistant, Zach, a skinny twenty-something with terrible acne and even worse judgment, finally cleared his throat. "It was unexpected, sir. We had no indication that anyone was following you or taking photographs. The security team didn't flag anything unusual that night."
"Unexpected?" I repeated slowly, letting the word hang in the air like a noose.
"Yes, sir," Zach stammered, his Adam's apple bobbing. "We believe someone may have used a telephoto lens from a distance, or possibly hacked into the club's security cameras and extracted the footage before we could"
"Bullshit," I said flatly, cutting him off mid-sentence. I leaned forward now, fixing him with a cold look that made him take a step back. "You know what I think happened? I think you both got lazy. I think you assumed that just because I pay you ridiculous amounts of money to manage my public image and keep scandals buried, that the work would do itself."
"Sir, that's not…" Timothy started.
"I'm not finished," I said, my voice rising now. "Do you have any idea what this does to me? To the company? To the Belmar name? We're in the middle of a crucial transition period. My father is deciding between me and my brother for the chairman position, and you two incompetent fucks let photos of me with another woman hit every major news outlet in Kington City?"
"We're working on damage control," Marcus said quickly, pulling out his tablet. "We've already sent cease and desist letters to the major publications, and we're threatening legal action against anyone who continues to share the images. We've also prepared a statement denying the authenticity of the photos, suggesting they've been doctored…"
"Not good enough," I interrupted. "I don't want damage control. I don't want statements. I want those photos gone. Completely scrubbed from the internet. Like they never existed."
Zach's eyes widened. "Sir, that's... that's almost impossible. Once something goes viral, we can't just…"
"I don't give a fuck about impossible," I snapped, slamming my hand on the desk hard enough to make them both jump. "I don't want to see any news about it online. I'm giving you just one hour."
"One hour?" Timothy’s face went pale. "Sir, that's not nearly enough time to…"
"Did I stutter?" I asked, standing up now, using my height to tower over both of them. "One. Hour. If there's still news about it circulating, if I can still find those photos with a simple Google search, you'll both lose your jobs. Mark my words."
Zach opened his mouth, probably to protest or beg for more time, but I cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"Get out," I said coldly. "Both of you. Get out of my office and don't come back until you've cleaned up this mess."
I glared at them, watching with satisfaction as they both scurried out like rats abandoning a sinking ship, practically tripping over each other in their haste to escape my office.
The door clicked shut behind them, and I let out a long breath, running my hands through my hair.
That bitch, Hannah.
Of course she was behind this somehow. I didn't have proof yet, but I could feel it in my bones. She was the one putting these ideas in Shailyn's head, the one trying to convince my wife that I was some kind of monster. She was the one stirring up trouble where there didn't need to be any.
Putting her nose where it doesn't concern her.
I paced to the window, staring out at the Kington City skyline, my mind racing with strategies. I don't want to deal with her childish drama right now. The smart play, the one that required patience and finesse, was to avoid direct confrontation. I'm smart enough to know that confronting her is the worst thing to do right now. It would only make me look guilty, only give her more ammunition to use against me.
No, the better approach was subtler. More insidious.
What I'll just do is keep feeding Shailyn's head about how bad of a friend Hannah is, I thought, a cold smile spreading across my face. Keep planting seeds of doubt. Keep making Hannah look like the jealous, unstable troublemaker. So she can push herself away, and then I don't have to do anything.
It was perfect, really. Shailyn would do the dirty work for me, and Hannah would be out of our lives without me having to lift a finger directly against her. I was just settling back into my chair, already feeling better about the situation, when I heard it.
The distinctive sound of wheelchair wheels against the marble floor outside my office.
Fuck.
My door opened without a knock. Of course it did. Tyler Belmar didn't knock. He owned this building, this company, this entire empire. He went wherever he pleased.
"Father," I said, standing up and forcing a respectful smile onto my face. "I wasn't expecting you."
I'm not mentally ready for this.
He wheeled himself into my office. My father's face was set in those hard lines I knew all too well, the expression that meant I was about to get a lecture I didn't want to hear.
"Sit down, Dante," he said, his voice carrying that authoritative tone that still, even after all these years, made something in me want to obey like a child.
I sat.
He wheeled himself closer to my desk, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made most men squirm. I held his gaze, refusing to look away, refusing to show weakness.
He was very pissed and I knew I was fucked.