Conflict of Interest - By Allyson Lindt Page 0,59
his personal life, but he could sure as hell try and find a way to evict Cartee from his professional one.
He pushed aside the gnawing ache in his chest pleading with him to call her, to make it right. She didn’t want him in her bed or anywhere in her life. He didn’t care. Not at all. Not one single little bit.
He draped his arm over his forehead, blocking out the world. Fuck.
He pushed himself up, staring at his laptop, the forum images taunting him of the shared moment—probably the last time he’d get to kiss that amazing woman. The realization devoured him.
Something caught his eye, and he took a closer look. The photo had crappy resolution, like it had been taken from a distance. A phone probably, which didn’t surprise him. But that wasn’t what mattered. It was the user name on the post.
A screen name he’d seen dozens of times during beta tests. One of the perks of being a board member was Cartee’s kid always got a first look at what they were putting out.
Hank’s son had posted the photos. Scott snarled and punched the couch again. That son of a bitch had set him up.
Too bad he didn’t know what to do with the information. He sank back into the cushions again, fury, hurt, and resignation flooding him and making his limbs heavy.
His phone buzzed at his side. He didn’t want to talk to anyone else. Still, he grabbed it, irritation swelling inside when he saw who it was. It would probably serve him to ignore the call, but this was one person he didn’t mind taking his frustration out on.
His tone was flat when he answered. “It’s not my birthday or Christmas, what’s the occasion?”
A smooth, confident voice replied, “I just wanted to talk to my son. Is that a crime?”
“I don’t know, Dad. Is it?” On second thought, this had been a bad idea. His father never called him out of the blue. Why today? Of all the days in the entirety of his adult life, why now?
“It’s nice to hear from you too.” There was no sarcasm in the older man’s voice. It was implied in the flat response. “But since you’re insisting there must be something wrong, I heard you were having some business problems.”
Scott’s eyes narrowed, a sick feeling swimming through him. Something wasn’t right. The entire day wasn’t right, but this was just completely out there. “Where did you hear that?”
“Brokers, traders. Whispers are starting to run through Wall Street.”
Scott clenched his jaw. He was being lied to. “We’re not publicly traded. Wall Street doesn’t give a rat’s ass about us.”
A loud sigh echoed through the receiver. “All right. I had lunch with an old friend, Hank Cartee. Apparently you two do business together?”
Scott choked back his disbelief. “What?”
“He mentioned things aren’t going your way right now.”
Scott stared at the forum name in front of him, too many thoughts swirling in his head to make sense of them.
“I’m not surprised you’re in trouble.” His father’s voice was distant, but as condescending as ever. “You’ve gotten in over your head this time. It would be in your best interest to have someone else step in and take the reins.”
A growl slipped out, and Scott didn’t try and hide it. Rage screamed through him. “Thanks. I’m fine.” He disconnected and threw his phone aside. He grabbed his laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard as he dug deeper into Hank’s past than he ever had before. He followed thread after thread of where his money came from, who he knew, and who he associated with.
His phone buzzed again, and he shut it off without looking. This was going to take a while, and he didn’t need any more interruptions.
* * * *
Kenzie sat in the chair outside Greta’s office, toes tapping inside her shoes, fingers drumming on her knees. A gaping ache throbbed in her chest, and she hadn’t been able to make it go away, regardless of how hard she tried to push Scott’s words from her mind.
It didn’t matter. She still had a job to do, and that included damage control. As much for herself as anyone. She’d spin the pictures as harmless—part of being in character, of fitting in at the charity auction. She could get the word out right, and people would know she was professional enough she hadn’t crossed that line.
Her chest ached in response to the thought, and she took a deep breath.
“Come on in.” Greta stood