the office, calling me nonstop. I’ve gotten her message, but apparently she hasn’t received mine.
“Tricia’s refuting the legitimacy of the NDA.”
I let his words sink in. During our divorce, she agreed to sign the NDA and legally cannot discuss any matters pertaining to our relationship during any period of time, married or otherwise. “I fail to see how that’s an issue. She’s contractually-”
He cuts me off, “She can refute it, although she has no footing.”
“Then how is this a problem?”
“I’ve received several calls from Andrea, and it is apparent that Tricia has reached out to several editorials and is taking bids for her story.” My blood runs cold as I drive down the highway. My heart pumps harder in my chest and I try to focus and not be consumed with the anger that’s barely contained.
Her story. As though she’s anything other than a gold digger. I gave her everything, and the moment she found someone else, she left me. She thought she had it made with me. But I worked too much. Always bitching that I needed to make more, but be home more. She was impossible to please.
I tried. I fucking tried. I slam my fist down on the wheel. At least karma bit her in the ass and the asshole she cheated on me with left her. It would’ve been better if I could have proved that she was cheating. Then she would have walked away with far less.
I take in a deep breath, pulling off of the interstate and getting closer to my penthouse.
“She has nothing to lose, Lucian. We can sue her afterward, but the damage will be done.” I swallow thickly, hating that one mistake so many years ago can continue to cause me damage.
“And what do you suggest?” I ask him.
“We can pay her, or the magazines, but I imagine she’d be cheaper.” I scoff and look out of the window as I drive into the private garage and key in my personal PIN. I check the time, it’s six forty. My little treasure should be waiting for me.
“She’s not getting anything. I refuse to pay her one cent.”
Just as I say the words, the sound of an incoming call comes through the background.
“It will be expensive not to pay her, Mr. Stone. We can always pay now and sue later.” His tone holds a hint of a warning, letting me know he doesn’t approve, but I don’t give a fuck. He works for me, and I don’t care how much money I have to spend to make sure she doesn’t profit off a damn thing from me anymore.
“No. She gets nothing.” I end the call and answer the next, pulling my black R8 in next to the Aston Martin. I’m on the fourth floor of the garage. It’s private and all mine. I glance around the space as I answer, “Stone.”
“Mr. Stone, this is Andrea from the agency, do you have a moment to speak with me?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and wish I could ignore these problems. Public relations is a pain in my ass.
A long inhale calms me slightly as I say, “I’m listening.”
“Given the current climate, I’ve been working with Alena and we feel it may be best if we were to combat the possibility of your ex’s story being released with a different form of press.”
I open my mouth to remind her that in my opinion, no press is good press. I don’t want to be seen anywhere. I can’t even stand the business articles from Forbes and Business Insider. I’m not interested.
“I understand that you prefer to stay out of the limelight, so to speak, but in my professional opinion…” she pauses on the phone and I find myself watching the digital dash, waiting for her to continue. “May I be frank with you, Mr. Stone?”
“Yes.” I prefer if everyone were frank so I didn’t have to deal with fake bullshit.
“Your wife has held this over your head for years, and her story is going to come out whether she profits from it or not, doesn’t matter. She’s going to go through with this. I think it’s best that we create an appearance now that will refute the picture she intends to paint.”
I swallow thickly, staring straight ahead through the windshield at the grey cylinder blocks of the garage. I’m numb to this. There’s nothing that she can really do to hurt me. I glance at the elevator. I just want to get upstairs to