The phone clicked off, the sound of my job and reputation imploding.
Fuck. Fucking. Motherfucking fuck!
I smashed my hand onto the steering wheel. This was a fucking disaster. My heart pounded, and I wanted to punch something.
I turned off my traction control and slammed on the brakes, the high-pitched sound of rubber being melted onto the road as I skidded to a stop at the shoulder matched my fury but wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. I put the car in Park, shut my eyes, and took some deep breaths.
This can’t be happening.
A headache started at my temples. Who the fuck was behind this? Why? Who had I pissed off? And why did people believe something like this when the person accusing me won’t even name themselves? How did I get a chance to defend myself? What kind of “proof” did they have to convince people, or did people just believe anything anyone said?
The #MeToo movement had been a long time coming, and men who abused women should get everything coming to them, but I wasn’t one of those scumbags. I was just going to be treated as if I was because it was believable. So many men in positions of power were assholes, and thanks to them, it was so easy to believe any and all accusations, even when there was no proof. And even if Icleared my name, by the time that happened, my whole business and the Knight name could be fucked.
I swallowed the urge to vomit.
When I found out who it was, I was going to sue their asses into the next century.
Finally, I calmed down enough to drive. I pulled onto the road and kept going, even though the desire to turn around and speed home was strong. I had to come clean to Dad. He was going to go ballistic. Maybe I should just put in my resignation now, leave the country till it all died down. Grow a beard, learn to yodel, and become a sheep herder in the Alps.
But no. That’s what whoever was behind this wanted—to see me fail. Why else would they go after me and my company like this?
For the rest of the drive, I considered who might be behind this. There were a couple of CEOs who hated me for landing deals they were after, but that was business. And they were both older and respected. They wouldn’t bother. There was that guy at college whose girlfriend left him for me, which wasn’t my fault. I also had my haters online, not that I posted anything, but last year when I made one of those stupid “most eligible bachelor” lists, plenty of hostile people commented on social media. I didn’t really pay much attention because who cared what the random idiot in the street thought about me?
Maybe I should’ve paid closer attention.
I wanted to call Dan from legal and Emma from PR, but before I did that, I would need to tell Dad. He’d want a say in how all this was handled. If he didn’t get the heads-up first, there would be worse hell to pay.
I punched the code into the security gates at my parents’ seven-bedroom, seven-bathroom beachfront property and drove through. My remote opened the door to the garage attached to the two-story 1930s home. Mom and Dad’s Bentley was in there, aswas Jack’s bronze-colored G-Wagon. Ally, my sister, usually got a lift with Jack. Not sure where my older brother was, but he’d probably turn up later with his latest girlfriend. He changed them like he changed underwear. Mom put up with it because Spencer’s fiancée had died a few years ago, and Mum didn’t want him to be lonely; she also wanted grandchildren, and every new woman on his arm signified potential for progeny. Poor Mom might be waiting a while. I didn’t see any of us having kids any time soon. We were too busy putting in the hours growing the family legacy and trying to make our parents proud, even if Dad didn’t appreciate it.
Not that I was succeeding.
I went straight through the foyer to the living room. The color scheme was similar to the office, except lighter timber and more white furnishings. The coffered ceilings were all white, the walls pale yellow, and a pale-blue rug sat over the parquetry floor. A plush, nine-seater corner lounge sat in the middle of the room, facing the cerulean view, which wasn’t visible since it was nighttime. The huge back porch opened to a rolling lawn, pool house, and inground pool. The warm yellow glowing from the pool house and fresh blue of the pool invited me outside. It would be peaceful and carry the fresh ocean scents, but it would also be cold, and the firepit next to the pool wasn’t lit. Besides, it would only put off the inevitable showdown with my father.
My sister, Ally, grinned and said, “Hey, C! You made it.” The dining area on my right led to the white-on-white kitchen. Jack and Ally sat at the breakfast bar, chatting to Mom, who was helping their five-foot-two Italian housekeeper, Bianca, cook dinner. Mom loved anything creative, including cooking, and she got involved whenever she had time.
“It appears so.” I said hello to everyone, then went to Mom and kissed her cheek. Ally held her arms open for a hug, and I obliged. “Where’s Grandma?” I asked.
Mom sighed. “After the doctor’s visit, she complained of a migraine, so I put her to bed. She was in a ‘mood.’”
I nodded and gave my mother a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. My father’s mother was… an interesting woman. She was strong, having had to put up with my now-deceased grandfather who was like my own grumpy, exacting father. One minute she’d be making a joke or giving us a hug and the next, embarrassing us in public with a loud inappropriate comment or chastising my father. “Mood” meant she’d been difficult at the doctors. She lived with my parents, and it fell to Mom to take time off work to run her around. God forbid my father ever did anything family oriented.
I took a beer out of the fridge—if I got stuck into the hard stuff, I wouldn’t stop until I was unconscious. I was likely about to march into battle against my father, so it was better I kept as many wits about me as I could. I just wanted something to take the edge off, pretend I was about to relax for the weekend.
My brother tilted his head to the side as I sat next to him. “Are you okay?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You look tenser than Uncle Robert’s waistband after Thanksgiving dinner. It’s not still about losing those accounts, is it? I told you that it’s probably not your fault.”
Dad chose that moment to walk in, Aunt Stephanie behind him. “Like hell it’s not,” he said, his face screwed up like he had a porcupine up his ass. If only. “I’d rather not have this conversation in front of everyone. Come to my study.”
I took a swig of beer and placed the bottle on the marble countertop. Sounded like Dad might have already heard my news. It figured that I’d be the last to know—the internet and my father knew before me. Fucking wonderful.
Ally and Jack stared at me, worry etched into their features. My mother was giving my father the stink eye. She was usually on oursides when it came to Dad. She knew he was quick to anger, and he never gave us the benefit of the doubt.
Feeling like I was a teenager about to be grounded for two months after some stupid prank, I followed my father and Aunt Stephanie to his study at the other end of the house. He shut the door to the wood-paneled room. It was the only “heavy” room in the house, kind of like his personality. The rest of the house was infused with Mom’s personality and was elegant, light, and airy, thank God.
I sat stiffly in one of the leather and steel 1960s-inspired chairs in front of his desk. Aunt Stephanie took the seat next to me, while father sat in his chair opposite us. Fuck, was I about to be fired? I ran a hand through my hair, then tried to sit back and not look so… harried. If Dad thought I was nervous, he might think I felt guilty. But I didn’t. I hadn’t done anything wrong.
