“I know,” he says, so quiet, so calm.
Me? I can’t help the spike of anger that rises on his behalf.
“What do you mean, ‘I know,’ Nate? These are your ideas! That’s your presentation! It’s copy-and-pasted,” I whisper-yell, each word dripping in disbelief, but he's no longer fazed.
Carter seems to catch sight of our commotion, his smile growing wider as he moves on to the next slide, continuing his presentation as if he hadn’t passed someone else’s work as his own.
“You know it’s not the first time he’s done this,” Nate responds, and I hate to realize that he’s right.
That blond, no good motherfucker stole his idea back in university, ran away with it, and built a company from it. Now he’s at it ten years later, doing the same.
CHAPTER 24
NATE
“And you didn’t bother telling me this earlier!” Melanie screams into the phone.
After calling my lawyer to explain everything that went down at the conference and getting the best course of action to reclaim my work, I called Melanie.
Why, you ask?
At the time, it seemed like the most professional thing to do. Someone had to inform my Unofficial Official PR Agent that Carter motherfucking Crawford stole my work,again.Especially when it’s the slideshow I was supposed to present tomorrow.
No matter how this plays out, I come out looking like the bad guy.
For reasons beyond me, people worship the ground Carter walks on. And even more so after the presentation ofhisso-called invention. News outlets are reporting that major airlines are already pursuing him for the idea. That SkyWayAirlines is so impressed that they might give him the deal on the spot.
I’d present the same thing out of spite, but realistically, it’ll make me look like I was the one to rip off his work—not the other way around. So until I can prove that his presentation ismyintellectual property, nothing can be done.
Melanie’s voice filters back through the line, edged with that same screechy disbelief. “How come no one informed me about such a major event in your life?”
I ignore the statement. I didn’t call to rehash things with my cousin, who was twelve years old when this went down the first time.
“Melanie, I’m just looking for a solution. As it stands, I’ll be presenting the same thing tomorrow,” I say as calmly as I possibly can.
I’m met with a loud sigh as another voice booms from across the room.
“Can you believe it?” Vivienne yells into her phone. The stress and panic are visibly etched onto her face as she paces back and forth.
“Evelyn, don’t you dare call him a hot villain! You’re being too generous. And to answer your question, Sutton—no! I will not be delving into the events following your suitcase swap!”
Roommates. Got it.
I should probablytell Vivienne that airing my crisis to her cohabitants isn’t the greatest idea for security reasons, but I have a sister. I get it. These girls need to get it off their chests somehow.
“Nate. Did you hear what I said?” Melanie asks, her voice even more irritated than before.
“No.”
“I said we need to retaliate. Do him as dirty as he did us.”
“Absolutely not.”
A tinnitus-causing gasp forces me to pull the phone away from my ear.
“You’re telling me that your university ex-best friend tries to ruin your reputation by setting a spark off your plane, summons your fake fiancée’s ex-boyfriend to stir drama in the tabloids, prevents us from paying off bad press, then steals your presentation, and you’re not going to meet him at the same level he’s been playing at?”
I get where she’s coming from—it’s all infuriating—but I refuse to stoop to his level.
