New York Billionaires Series

His voice reaches me as I open the door out of his office. Against the New York lights streaming in through his window, he looks like a sentinel. A quiet guardian, a warrior of old. “Bye, Freddie,” he murmurs.

The door shuts behind me with a finality that bruises and I race down the hallway toward the elevators, the hated, blasted things, and for the first time I think I’d be happy if they drop me all the thirty-four floors to the bottom.

A hard chest stops me and I stagger back, looking up at the man who’s stepped out of his office. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Clive holds my elbow a second too long to steady me. “That’s all right,” he says, eyes widening as he sees the tears on my face. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, absolutely. Just… allergies.” It sounds just as stupid spoken out loud as it did in my head.

“Allergies?” Clive looks from me to the office down the corridor, at those incriminating letters emblazoned on the oak door. His eyes widen. “Ah. I see. Did he hurt you?”

What? “No, of course not. We were discussing work.”

“Work?” He releases me and steps back, eyes narrowing. “You work in Strategy, right? One of the junior trainees. You organized that Thanksgiving thing he suddenly decided to throw.”

There’s no way to surreptitiously wipe tears from your cheek, so I just go for it, forcing spine into my steel. “That’s right.”

Clive nods. “Interesting. And you’re sure, absolutely sure, that he didn’t hurt you?”

It’s an odd question. So is the gleam in his eyes, a gleam that turns my stomach from sad to uncomfortable. Suspicions form in my mind. “He didn’t.”

“Good. Had to ask.”

“I’m heading out,” I say, stepping past him. “Goodnight, Mr. Wheeler.”

Clive gives me a nod, gaze lingering. “Goodnight, Miss…”

“Frederica Bilson.”

“Frederica Bilson,” he echoes. “That’s right. Good night, then.”

I make it home without sobbing, but the tears burn at the back of my eyes like a party-crasher or an unwelcome guest. They’re in good company with the suspicions Clive had brought up, twisting into fear in my stomach. He’d realized right away that there’s something between Tristan and me.

My hand trembles around my phone. I can’t talk to him. Not so soon.

Not yet.Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

And yet I’ve worked for this career, and so has he. If my suspicions are correct… I have no other choice but to be professional and suck it up.

I dial Tristan’s number.

It takes him five long signals to pick up. Had he been back at the holiday party? Still in the sheltered silence of his office?

There’s no knowing, but the voice on the other end is weary. “Freddie…” he murmurs.

“Clive saw me on the way out of your office. He saw me, and he saw my… he saw that I was crying. I think he put two and two together.”

Tristan’s voice snaps into competence. “Okay. What makes you think that?”

I pace the tiny space of my apartment. “He knew. He asked me if you hurt me.”

“He asked what?”

“He asked it twice.”

Tristan’s shock on the other end of the line is profound. Mine, however, isn’t. I can’t keep silent as the suspicions bubble out of me. “Are you sure he’s not the mole?”

“Of course I’m sure,” is the response, but something about it sounds reflexive. Rehearsed.

“He’s been asking Toby, one of my co-workers, for information. Information about projects that Toby doesn’t usually report to him about. That last time I heard, it was regarding the Stanton case.”

“Ah.”

“And remember that meeting, over a month ago, where he couldn’t make it? You went in his stead.”

“I remember.” A hard note creeps into Tristan’s voice. “Yes, the pattern matches up. He was away that day for personal reasons, and a week later we found out that… Well. He could have been selling the strategy you pitched to our competitors.”

“So you believe me?”

“It’s plausible.” A rough sigh, and it’s everything I feel too. It’s a sigh of I can’t take any more of this shit. “Clive was with me from the very beginning. He was my right-hand man when I took over, the one person who seemed to welcome it when Acture Capital bought the company from the old management.”

“Maybe he wasn’t so welcoming after all.”

“No, maybe he wasn’t.”

“But, Tristan, he knows. About us.” My voice grows feverish. “He might use it somehow. It could cause some really bad publicity for you.”

“He won’t use it.”

“How do we know that? Can we stop him?”

“We will,” Tristan repeats, and this time there’s no mistaking the steel in his voice. It’s unbending. “If he’s the mole, the things this company can do… I’ll take care of him. No one will find out about us, Freddie. Your reputation is safe.”

“Okay.” I sink down on the edge of my bed. “But how?”

As far as days go, this one has been too intense for my liking. If I slept for a week, I doubt it would be enough.

“I’ll tell him you were my eyes and ears in Strategy. Give him one truth to keep his eyes off the other.”

I nod slowly. “Okay.”

“I’ll handle it, Freddie. Go to your family,” Tristan says. “I’ll keep you informed if anything happens, but it shouldn’t. Not after I’m done with him.” Perhaps the calm ruthlessness beneath his voice should scare me, the mixture of threat and reassurance. But I know him, and I know his values, and it leaves me with a sense of peace.

“Thank you,” I breathe.

“Are you in your apartment?”

“Good. Thanks for calling me,” Tristan murmurs. “I understand that it was… difficult. I appreciate it.”