Billionaires Dollar Series

He looks through his notes, stalling for time. My tone hadn’t invited follow-up questions, and he’d been briefed beforehand that questions about the article were off-limits.

But what he finally asks me turns out to be far worse.

“Porter Development will soon begin construction of a new hotel and apartment complex in East Seattle,” he says, oblivious to the way my hand grows into a white-knuckled fist. “A number of old buildings will be demolished to make way for this. What’s your take on the naysayers and protests that have risen up in response?”

There’s only one image in my mind.

It’s Skye, her beautiful eyes glittering with unshed tears. The things I’d said-the way she’d walked out-makes my body tighten with shame.

“I have nothing to say regarding that development.”

The reporter’s gaze travel from my eyes to my fists. “Nothing at all? Not even an official statement?”

“No. No mention of the question in the article, either. Is this interview done?”

He looks down at his notepad. “Well, if you’d like-but I have more things to touch on.”

“Email any remaining questions to us. Thank you for your time.” I shake the bewildered man’s hand before striding out of the conference room.

Bryan follows me. “Sir?”

“That wasn’t one of the pre-approved topics.”Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

“It wasn’t,” he agrees. “Neither was the mention of Ben Simmons. You handled that well.”

I force my voice to soften, even if the only thing I want to do is yell at him, at the reporter. At myself. “Not particularly. Let’s start the development meeting early.”

He nods, typing away on his phone to send the appropriate notifications. “The bookstore included in the East Seattle project just sent in their numbers, by the way. Between the Pages.”

Something cold settles around my heart. “Oh?”

“They’re not profitable. I’ll double-check the numbers with our accounting team, but if that’s the conclusion they’ve come to themselves, I have no doubt it’s correct.” There’s undisguised glee in his voice. “Well done, sir. This’ll make the head architects happy.”

I want to punch him.

I want to punch myself.

Ten minutes later I’m seated at the head of yet another conference table, my laptop in front of me. “Give me the latest updates,” I say, though in truth, I want to walk away from this whole project. The only thing I see is Skye with pain in her eyes.

Sam, my head project manager, nods. “Given the newest information, demolition will start next Tuesday. We’ll start by razing this entire area. It’ll take a few days longer than usual on our projects, since we want to preserve as much of the existing pipes and sewage system as possible.”

“Clever,” says Gabrielle, the head architect. The two make a killer team. They designed the Legacy for me. “Although I have to say, I was enjoying testing new designs to incorporate that cute little bookstore. Oh well, now we won’t have to.”

Sam snorts. “Saves us a building nightmare.”

Everyone around the table nods, and I find myself nodding along. It’s a sound business decision. I’ve torn down things before. Before I’d met Skye, I wouldn’t even have thought twice about this. And she’s out of my life now. It shouldn’t matter.

The meeting ends with a promise to reconvene next week. “I want to be there when the demolition begins,” I say, shaking Sam’s hand.

He shoots me a wide grin. “You can be the one to press the button, if you’d like.”

Something roils in my stomach. “Thanks, but I think I’ll leave that to the experts.”

The rest of the day is spent on emails and meetings and phone calls. An unwelcome text from my baby sister as well, which I have no idea how to respond to.

Blair Porter: How are things with Skye? You know I can’t meet her and then hear NOTHING more about her, come on. Give me the latest updates or I’ll badger you to death this weekend. That’s a threat, and I expect your speedy compliance.

I know she would. She’d badger and ask questions until I’d cave, which I always did with her.

Cole Porter: I don’t negotiate with terrorists.

It won’t hold Blair off for long, though. I know that much about my little sister. At the same time, couldn’t people just stop asking me about Skye? Reporters, family members… I don’t have any fucking answers, not for them, and not for myself.

The final straw comes in the car that evening, when Charles asks me too.

“We haven’t stopped at 14 Fairfield Point for a while, sir.” A delicate pause. “Or at the bookstore.”

I grip the cushioned armrest and stare out of the window. “No. And we won’t again.”

“Ah,” he says, his tone heavy with implications. I don’t know if it’s with censure or with approval, but regardless, it’s the last thing I need. My mood blackens further. Nick will be in for a treat when I arrive, I think, and knowing him, he’ll push me on it too.

He does, of course. His arm is draped around the back of the plush booth, a glass of whiskey in front of him. “You’re late.”

“Traffic.”

He glances around the bar, at the other guests, the dark interiors. “We haven’t been to Legacy for ages.”

“I felt like it tonight,” I say, wondering if I’m pressing my luck. I’d wanted to show myself that I could sit in this bar and not think of her.

“Well, I’m not objecting. It’s one of your better developments.”

“Thank you for that ringing endorsement.”

He snorts, a gleam in his eyes. “What’s up your ass tonight, then?”

“What isn’t,” I sigh, thanking the waiter when he brings my drink over.

Nick nods to the bar. A few young men in suits are lounging against it, their hair slicked back, toasting with gin and tonics. “Look at your clientele. Disgusting.”

I chuckle despite myself. “That was us once upon a time, you know.”

Now we always choose a secluded area of the bar, where we’re mostly undisturbed. How times have changed.

Nick shakes his head. “Don’t remind me. At least I never looked like one of those rich punks.”

No, I think, not with his short hair and the dangerous set of his features. Even now, he’s scowling. “How do you get your business partners to agree to work with you?”

“Where did that come from?”