Page 21 of Austin

When I turn back at the table, I see Bryce is still poring through the financials, and Missy is searching through her binder. Pyle, on the other hand, is looking my way with pinched brows. Her gaze isn’t on me; it’s focused on Stefanie.

Missy leans back in her seat and crosses her legs. “Take the papers home and study them. Your father and I will discuss it with you in greater detail at a later date.” Her arms are draped gracefully on the chair as she continues, “In the meantime, we have to keep this company as sharp and sexy as possible to attract even more buyers. Our first venture is going to stem from San Francisco and go into the heart of Hollywood.” She puts her hands in the air like she’s showcasing a marquee as she says, “The secret world of street racing.”

My stomach falls with her words, especially when she immediately looks my way.

“It’s been done a thousand times before,” Bryce drawls as if bored with the idea.

But Missy doesn’t miss a beat. “Not the way we’re going to do it.” She rises from her seat and grabs the remote control from the table. The screen comes alive with raw footage of races. “Drag racing, highway and road racing, cannonball runs,” she says, listing off the different variations of street racing. “Across the country, these races are not sanctioned. They’re dangerous, and they have law enforcement cracking down.”

That doesn’t sound very sexy, I mouth, just in time to see Vin Diesel’s and Paul Walker’s faces on the screen. I should have known this was going to be her tie-in.

“The beautiful Paul Walker died at the hands of a skilled driver as they were taking a drive at a charity event. It woke up the nation. People are more aware than ever about the dangers of racing.”

The proposal is more impressive than anything she’s capable of. I raise my brows toward Bryce, who gives me an eye roll. We both know she has zero credit in putting this together.

Nevertheless, she continues, “Despite his death, Fast & Furious is a box office gold mine. The franchise has generated over five billion dollars worldwide. This story has the sex appeal from the film already built in. It has the audience from the movies, and it has the social concern of the people who are seeing the rise in street racing increase with each film.”

The screen continues to play videos from the film and morphs into real-life crashes, deaths, and chaos from the reality of street racing. I turn away from the screen. Not because of the street racing, but because of the images of crashing.

The death that follows.

The memory of the hurt.

The pain of loss.

It all hits me hard.

“We get the picture.” Bryce grabs the remote off the table and turns the television off. With a huff, he leans back and adjusts the clip on his tie. “You did an excellent job on that presentation, Marcus.”

“Thank you,” Marcus says quickly before stepping back into the shadow of the doorway.

Missy doesn’t look too pleased with him acknowledging that he did all the work. With a wave of her hand, she motions for Marcus to approach the table. His head is bowed as he takes ten steps toward her. When he reaches her, she curls a finger, telling him to move even closer. He bows down to put his ear up to her mouth.

Despite the closeness, she practically screams into his eardrum, “Get me a latte.”

Marcus jumps back. “Coming right up.”

He scurries out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Bryce tries to be the voice of reason. “I know you’re new as a shareholder, but this isn’t the type of thing we do. Our editors and staff put these stories and campaigns together.”

“This is what I did when your father made me head of sales four years ago. Now that I’m an owner in the company, I want to do things this way. Story ideas come from the top and trickle down.”

I rub my eyes with both hands and press the heels of my palms into the sockets. “I take it, you have advertisers lined up?”

“Not yet,” she says with disdain. Then, she proudly adds, “I have already commissioned the newspaper to start on the local scale. We have our best reporters on the scene to uncover the masterminds behind San Francisco’s street racing.”

I hold my hands up in a stop motion. “You have no right to do that. Bryce is the president of Print Publication, I’m the president of Digital Media—”

“And I’m twenty-five percent owner of the entire company,” she says with a gleeful smile.

The sour taste of her words burns in my mouth.

“Austin is right,” Bryce chimes in. “That is my division. I’ll talk to our editors and see who is the best to carry on the story.”

My eyes widen toward Bryce in a silent plea.

“I’ll do it,” a voice chimes in.