“You’re here late.”
The voice grates against my nerves before I even look up, opening my eyes to glare at him.
Daniel Whitmore.
He’s leaning in the doorway, all sanctimonious piety and starch. A man who’s made hypocrisy an art form. Even in this city—teeming with liars and villains—Pastor Whitmore stands out above the rest.
I can’t stand men like him. Religious men, who preach the good word of God on Sunday and then spend the rest of the week spitting on every ideal they claim to uphold. He reminds me of the priest who ran the orphanage where we grew up. A man who smiled and accepted people’s praise and donations while he starved us. Who spoke about God while beating us with a belt.
Men like him and Daniel Whitmore are cut from the same cloth.
I lower my hand from my face. “What the fuck do you want, Daniel?” I ask.
He raises his eyebrows at my tone, feigning offense, as if my swearing wounds him. “Just checking in. Have you seen yourbrother lately?” he asks. He runs a hand over his hair—grey, dyed blond, and thinning even with the hair plugs.
“No.” I don’t trust where this is going. “Why?”
He shrugs. “I haven’t seen him around the office in a while. People are starting to talk.”
People like you, I think.
“Has there been a problem with my brother’s work?” I press, closing the security file on my desk. “Has his team missed a deadline I’m unaware of?”
He waves the words away. “We both know his team runs perfectly fine without him.” A thin smile. “Makes you wonder what he’s doing to earn such a sizable paycheck.”
My patience is running thin. “What do you want, Daniel?” I repeat, standing.
Daniel sucks his teeth. “Look, I’m sorry to do this to you, really I am.” He’s not sorry. Whatever he’s here about has him practically glowing with self-satisfaction. “But I thought you should know. There will be a board meeting at the end of the week.”
I blink, mentally reviewing my calendar. “No one informed me of that.”
“Why would they?” he asks, grin widening. “The meeting is about you, after all.”
He pauses there, savoring my discomfort.
“There’s going to be a vote of no confidence,” Daniel says, and my world tilts. “Too many things have been slipping through the cracks lately, and some of us aren’t happy with the direction you’re taking the company. Especially with this new club of yours. Something this expensive, already causing so many problems? And now there are rumors…” He tilts his head, voice dripping with false concern. “People are saying it might be involved in a sex ring.”
Cold dread grips my chest. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Daniel holds up his hands defensively. “We’ve been hearing things. That Oscuro is going to have a special access VIP lounge that offers…more than bottle service.”
My hands tighten into fists. He doesn’t understand. Men like him never do.
Sex work isn’t legal in Fortune City. Not yet, anyway. Mostly because of pricks like Pastor Daniel Whitmore, preaching the idea that sex is immoral, and blocking any legislation that might challenge that.
But what we have planned for Oscuro isn’t illegal. It’s not Second Circle. It’s a private sex club, no money exchanging hands, no sex workers. Oscuro’s VIP level would be a place for consenting adults to explore their kinks and pleasure without shame.
But try explaining that to a man who thinks sex itself is a sin.
“We just can’t have something like that sullying Sterling Enterprises’ good name,” Daniel insists. “Davidson and Smith agree with me, by the way.”
I smile, but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes. “That’s three votes. Out of nine. You need the majority to get rid of me.”
He shrugs again, unconcerned. “Richards won’t like it, once he finds out. He’s always complained about how much money Ashton makes, for how little he does around here. And Deskmukh will vote with him. He always does. You know how these things go, they snowball.”
This mother fucker.
“You really think you can kick me out of my own company?” I ask him, my voice a low growl. “The company I built with my own two hands? When my name’s on the fucking building?”
