I lost.
The phrase looped in my mind so many times it no longer had shape or meaning. However, its impact didn’t change.
Every time it echoed in my head, it triggered the same gut punch. Released the same dark, oily sensation that slithered through my veins and formed a bottomless pit in my stomach.
It was the feeling of losing, which was infinitely worse than the word itself.
I tossed back my scotch. It didn’t erase the bitterness coating my throat, but it did insulate me from the stares and whispers. To an extent, anyway.
Three days had passed since the CEO election results. In that time, I’d carried out my job per usual. I took meetings, congratulated Russell, and fielded endless calls, emails, and messages. At night, I went to Isabella’s house, or she came to mine, because now that the vote was over, I didn’t care who saw us together.
We didn’t discuss work, but in the hazy hours between late night and early morning, when I buried myself inside her and she came apart in my arms, we found ways of comforting each other without words.
The bartender slid another glass of scotch across the counter. I nodded a curt thanks and glanced around the bar. Valhalla was packed. It always was on a Friday, which was why I deliberately showed up tonight.
People could talk all they wanted, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of hiding away and licking my wounds like a whipped dog.
I was Kai Young, dammit.
I managed to take one sip of my fresh drink before a familiar, oily voice ruined my appetite.
“Well, well. Look who’s out and about so soon after their defeat.” Victor Black oozed onto the seat next to mine, reeking of smugness and tacky cologne. “You’re braver than I thought, Young.”
“You’re in New York an awful lot these days.” I arched a disdainful brow. “Has D.C. finally banned you from its city limits?”
Trading insults with someone like Victor was beneath me, but I needed a distraction with both Isabella and Dante out of town. She’d flown out to California for her mom’s birthday the night before, and Dante and Vivian were in Paris for the weekend.
“What can I say? New York has gotten so interesting these days.” Victor’s breath wafted over in a cloud of vodka. I grimaced. The man was clearly drunk out of his mind, not that he had much of a brain even when he was sober. “It must be humiliating, losing your family’s company to an outsider. To Russell Burton, no less.” He shook his head in mock disbelief. “If I were you, I’d never show my face in public again.”
“One can only hope,” I said coolly, fighting the slow creep of anger beneath my skin. “And if I were you, I’d worry more about your own company. It won’t be around much longer.”
My lawyers were already tearing the National Star apart for libel and defamation, but that was only a distraction while we dug deeper into the parts that could topple the entire Black & Co. empire. The threads were there. We just had to locate and unravel them.
Victor’s mouth twisted. “That silly defamation lawsuit? It’s nothing. Do you know how many lawsuits we face and win every year?”
“More than there are brain cells rattling around that overly gelled head of yours, I’m sure.”
I indulged in another sip of Macallan and took great pleasure in the scarlet flush adorning Victor’s cheeks.
“You want to know what your problem is?” He leaned in, his eyes glinting with malice.
“I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.”
“You think you’re so fucking smart. That you’re better than everyone because you went to fancy schools and grew up with a silver spoon shoved up your ass. You have no idea what it means to work for something the way Burton and I do, and you were so blinded by your superiority complex—your belief that no one could possibly touch you because you’re so above them—that you didn’t see what was right in front of you. I even slipped you a little hint at the Saxon Gallery.” Victor shook his head.
So he’s the one who left me that note. He did it to fuck with me, no doubt. I should’ve connected the dots earlier; besides Isabella, he’d been the only one close enough to reach my pocket.
But that wasn’t the part I was stuck on. What he said before that was.
“Your pride is your downfall, Young,” he said. “And I’m here to document it every step of the way.”
I let him ramble on. He was too bloated on overconfidence and cartoonish gloating to notice his slipup.
You have no idea what it means to work for something the way Burton and I do.
Russell was based in London, so I hadn’t seen him in person since the election. He’d sounded shocked and overwhelmed when I called him, but something had been off. He’d almost sounded too shocked, like someone trying to convince their friends that they hadn’t known about the surprise party beforehand. I didn’t give it much thought at the time because I’d wanted to get off the phone as quickly as possible, but in hindsight…
Russell Burton, Chief Operations Officer. Handles all internal affairs, oversees the company’s day-to-day administrative and operational functions…
Realization struck with sudden, blinding clarity.
I bit back a curse and stood, ignoring Victor’s blathering. He’d moved on from the vote results and was currently spouting nonsense about his house in the Hamptons.
Twenty minutes later, I locked the front door of my penthouse behind me and dialed Tobias’s number.
It was two a.m. in London, but he picked up as expected. The man never slept.
“What do you want?” Irritation ran hot and bitter beneath his voice. It was the voice of someone who’d been forced to give up something they wanted only to watch a lesser peer take it.
I knew the feeling well.
“About your withdrawal from the CEO vote,” I said. “We need to talk.”
