Page 88 of Billionaire Grump
“Ah. The plot thickens.”
“Three years ago,” Bruce continues, “his bid to become partner—his fourth—was denied. Soon after that, he began slowly siphoning the firm’s money into three separate Bahamas accounts. He’s covered his tracks very well. Incredibly well, in fact. But one of those accounts had ten million dollars withdrawn last week. It was deposited into a new Bahamas account with the name GnarlyDoomRiderX15.”
I stare at Bruce for a few seconds. “GnarlyDoomRiderX15?”
“Yes, sir.”
Josh, you need to be smarter than that. Way too obvious.
“Who the fuck is GnarlyDoomRiderX15?” asks Cash, amused.
“The kid we’re about to hire,” I tell him, “once I make sure we can curb his felony tendencies.”
“Mr. Laine is waiting in the lobby to meet with you, Alexander,” Bruce tells me.
“Does he have any idea why he’s here?”
“I told him you needed some advice about a prenup. It’s one of his areas of expertise. Along with custody arrangements.”
Which is how he was able to pay so little in child support and make sure two of his kids lived lives of quiet desperation. I buzz Esther. “Show Mr. Laine to my office, please, Esther.” To the others, I say, “I’m going to need a minute alone with Mr. Laine.”
The three of them get up and head toward the door. Cash pats me on the back as he walks out. “We’re here if you need us, bro.”
“Thanks.”
While I’m waiting, I pace in front of the wall of windows, staring out at the Empire State Building. Maybe for the very first time in my life, I feel like I can almost relate to the stone-cold grit my father approached everything in his life with. Maybe that’s what having kids will do to a man. Drive you to focus so hard on success and the illusion of safety at all costs, you’re willing to kill all joy as you bulldoze your way toward it.
Actually, no. Fuck that.
I plan on showering my girl with so much joy she’ll be rolling in it.
Naked. Wet. So happy she’ll give me anything and everything I want.
There’s a knock on the door.
I open it, bracing myself against the fury I already feel for this man.
He’s dark-haired, younger than I was expecting. Maybe around forty-five. I’m almost relieved to see he looks almost nothing like Ivy. His eyes are green, not gold.
This observation hits me.
What color eyes will our baby have?
Ivy and I didn’t actually get to the point in that conversation where she told me what she’s intending to do. I made it clear how I felt but it suddenly feels like a glaring omission that I don’t know one way or the other what she’s thinking. And right now she’s alone and I have no idea how she feels or if she’s okay.
I should fucking be there. I’m her rock now. I need to make sure she knows we’re in this together, so there’s not a shadow of a doubt in her mind that I’m all in. Did I do enough?
With a desperation I don’t even recognize, I want her safe. And I want that baby safe. And if there isn’t a baby, then we’ll make one. I’ll take her to fucking Tahiti and keep her in my bed until she’s round with our baby and suntanned and so happy she feels like she’s dreaming me.
I don’t have time for this shit. I need to go.
I don’t bother shaking his hand. “Take a seat, Mr. Laine.”
“I was honored you chose me to work with you, Mr. Maddox. Your reputation precedes you.”
“So does yours,” I tell him, cuttingly. “I’m afraid I’ve called you here under false pretenses, Mr. Laine. And I’m going to make this really fucking quick.”
“Oh?” He’s suddenly uneasy.