Grumpy Boss by Hamel, B. (best non fiction books to read TXT) 📗

I almost felt bad for Desmond. It’d been so long, and he still carried the grudge like a weight on his back. The letter was unhinged, and I couldn’t imagine the kind of man that wrote it. It must have been hard for him, seeing me succeed over the years, while he toiled away in his minor financial firm, making lazy, uninspired trades, doing well enough for himself, but never thriving, never growing beyond his own mediocrity.

That was something he never understood: without me, he was just another guy.

Meanwhile, I’ve grown, started other companies, invested wisely, made a name for myself. I could only imagine the resentment festering.

“At least now we have a way out of this mess,” I said, hitting the envelope down onto my desk.

“Should I forget about making contact with Giana?” Jack asked, sounding hopeful.

“No,” I said. “I want to show her this, and her husband. Get in touch.”

He grunted and shook his head. I could tell he thought this was a terrible idea, but I didn’t care what he wanted. So far, his ideas hadn’t gotten us out of this mess, and now it was time for something drastic.

Millie was that next step.

“Whatever you think,” Jack said, and turned away. I watched him go, wishing he’d trust me more—but almost happy that he didn’t. It was better if he pushed back against my ideas. That way, I could better sense which worked, and which didn’t.

Millie leaned up against my desk and crossed her arms. I was tempted to reach out and run my fingers down her back, or pulled her long, thick hair. Instead, I swiveled away, and looked out the window.

“Sabotage by a former business partner,” she said softly. “And he admits it in a letter. I mean, you could go to the police with this, can’t you?”

“Maybe,” I admitted. “Or to the courts. But he knows I wouldn’t.”

“And why not?”

“Because even though he tried to fuck me once, I’m still loyal,” I said, watching the clouds drift past. “We were friends once, and I’m not the kind of man to forget about that, just like I won’t forget what he’s done here.”

She didn’t say anything, and walked back to the table. I glanced in her direction, and she watched me, a contemplative look on her face, before she shook her head and went back to skimming financial documents.

She probably thought I was crazy, but let her. Desmond wasn’t a bad man. Misguided, angry, and jealous, but not evil.

I’ll destroy him, but I’ll do it my way.

7

Millie

We landed in Memphis the next morning and drove a rented Lexus out into the suburbs. The houses all looked the same: large white columns, stone or brick front, quiet cars parked on black top driveways. Rees didn’t speak much on the trip and I didn’t push him—I could tell that letter weighed on him, even though I didn’t totally understand what it all meant.

The GPS on Rees’s phone directed us down a long, gravel drive through a thick copse of large old growth oaks. Leaves scattered around on the grass and ahead, at the peak of a slow hill, sat a large house with white shutters and a porch all around. Several cars were scattered out front, and a young woman sat on a rocking chair, smoking a cigarette and drinking from a mason jar.

Rees parked and killed the engine. “This might get tense,” he said.

“You told them we’re coming, right?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said, and ran his fingers down the steeringwheel absently. “But that doesn’t mean they want us to show up anyway.”

I craned my neck to look at the girl on the porch. She was in her early twenties, tan, flawless skin, thick head of hair piled up in a messy bun, full, pouty lips, and I knew it had to be her. Rees avoided her gaze, but she kept staring, with a haunted, angry look. I tried to imagine what she might be feeling: rage toward Desmond, loathing toward Rees, and an exhausted bitterness toward a world that was overly obsessed with celebrity.

“We should go talk to her,” I said.

Rees glanced up and sucked in a breath. “It’s funny,” he said, without smiling. “Me and her were good friends before this happened.”

“That’s probably why it happened.”

“You don’t think men and women can be friends?” He tilted his head toward me.

“I didn’t say that.” I pushed open the door. “But she’s famous, and the media loves a story, even a fake one.”

I climbed out before he could answer and stood leaning against the roof of the car. The girl raised her glass toward me then took a drag on her cigarette. Rees got out a second later and glanced at me before waving once at the girl.

It was her, all right. She stood as we approached. Even in sweats, I could tell she was gorgeous, and I had a strange, dizzying sensation, like meeting an idol in real life. Except I didn’t really know her, not really. She was mostly famous in Italy.

“Hello, Rees,” she said without a hint of an accent. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Hello, Giana.” He stopped at the base of the steps. Giana leaned up against the railing and stared down at him. She had dark brown eyes and wasn’t wearing a bit of make up—and that made me all the more jealous. Behind her, some noise from inside wafted out through the windows: a guitar strumming a complicated sequence of chords. “We need to get some things straightened out.”

She laughed and shook her head. It was almost coy. She took another drag of her cigarette then stubbed it out on the wooden floor and kicked it off the side. “You know Linus isn’t happy with you.”

“I assume you told him about the letter from Desmond.”

She made a vague gesture then looked down at me. “Who is this pretty girl?”

“Giana, this is my assistant, Millie.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

Giana touched