“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your small press.”
I sighed as I spun for the door. “Okay. Suit yourself. I guess we’re both losing today.”
“You’ll risk everything for that whore?”
At least, with that whore I was alive. “I’m just honoring my husband’s last wish.” I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Speaking of whores, when was the last time you hired one?”
He snorted. “Unlike you, I don’t have to pay for sex.”
Always so classy. I made a full turn to look him in the eye. “How about married whores?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and the color in his face vanished. I knew I hit a nerve.
“I was really surprised to find out Stew Goodman, Zoey’s husband, is on your payroll now. Has been for a little less than four months. Is it your way of keeping him in the dark or is it unconscious guilt?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“C’mon, Fletcher. You’re too old to lie.”
He smirked. “You can’t prove anything.”
“Can’t I? Okay. I think you should know I went to pay Zoey a visit last night or to be precise I was watching Zoey’s house in Mr. Duncan’s car when she went out and drove to Hotel Indigo Premiere. I surprised her on the street, pretending I’d bumped into her, and I asked her what she was doing there that late. She babbled something lame like picking something up for afriend. Anyway, she was so nervous, so I gave hera hug.”
“You bugged her,” he gritted.
“Like she bugged my apartment.” When Fabio swore on his daughter’s life he wasn’t the whistleblower. I thought maybe there was a one percent chance he was telling the truth. Then it hit me. I’d always suspected my office was bugged. My apartment could have been, too. So I searched and found the little shit that looked exactly like the one she gave me to use on Fabio. I truly admired her intelligence. She was so smart, pushing all suspicions away from her, pointing them all at someone else to convince me she wasn’t the spy. “She had access to my place. To thinkIhad let her in, only so she could betray me to serve you.
“But lucky me, now I have a song of yours, too. A rather short one. Like two minutes.”
He swore under his breath, his face dark red now.
“I think I’m going to enjoy listening to your song at Stew’s office.”
“Goodman doesn’t give a shit about his stupid wife. He’s screwing a temp,” he said.
“Yes. His stupid wife has mentioned something about him hitting male menopause. Anyway, if he doesn’t care, I think your employees will enjoy listening to your song more when I go play it out there in the middle of the whole press.” I sauntered away, heading for the door. “The whole two fucking minutes of it.”
The heels of his Italian shoes scurried to me, racing me to the door. “Gabi, you’re not going to do this because we’re friends. You can’t throw away twenty years in the air.”
“Can’t I? Believe me, I’d love nothing more than to do exactly that.”
“Fine, you win. I’ll take Brighton, we exchange songs, and I’ll never bother you again.”
“You should have taken that deal when I’d offered it because nowI’m not negotiating.”
“We’re always negotiating, so just name your fucking price.”
I grunted. “I’m not interested in your fucking money, but you will do exactly what I’m saying. Fletcher House will manage and fund Brighton, but it won’t be swallowed by FH. It will remain independent. All the author’s contracts stand. All employees, except your bitch, will remain on the payroll. You will run Brighton, give it the funds it needs to grow but with the spirit and culture of Brighton. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll leave me the fuck alone. Erase my name from your memory.”
“Okay.”
“And by the way, I wasn’t drunk.” After what Fabio said, I went to the hospital and checked myself. “It was an accident. I didn’t kill them.” Tears cracked my voice, and I was about to break. I swallowed them, though. I wouldn’t show any weakness in front of that coldhearted ass. “So if you mention my son ever again, I’ll cut your balls off in your fucking sleep.”
He nodded quickly. “I promise. But what are you going to do if you’re not running Brighton anymore?”
