Only One Touch (Only One #4) - Natasha Madison Page 0,5
the best ideas while on this fucking treadmill.
The television plays in the background as I make my list of notes. The beep of the treadmill lets me know I’ll be slowing down. My running goes from full speed to a slow jog, giving my breathing a chance to return to normal as I cool down. I grab my water bottle and finish it as the treadmill comes to a stop. Grabbing my towel, I wipe the sweat away from my face as I make my way to my bedroom. The penthouse was the first real big thing I bought for myself. It set me back close to ten million, but it was just what I wanted.
The two-floor penthouse has floor-to-ceiling windows in every room, providing a lot of natural light. I head into my bathroom, opening the shower door and starting the water while I peel off my sports bra and black shorts. Stepping into the massive shower, I let the water run over my long brown hair as I wash.
When I step out, I slip on my terry cloth robe and wrap my hair up to walk to the kitchen. The kitchen is all white with black marble countertops. The stainless-steel appliances are not used that much since I’m rarely home. I think the only time I use the stove is on Saturday and Sunday. The fridge is always fully stocked, thanks to my cleaning lady who comes in twice a week. I start the Nespresso coffee machine, then grab my milk and pour some in. Going back to the fridge, I pick up the turkey sausage and a couple of eggs to start my breakfast while I drink my coffee. I’m taking out the stuff for my shake when my phone rings, and I grab it without looking at the name.
“Hello,” I say, looking over at the clock to see what time it is. It’s just after eight—early for a Saturday morning—so that could only mean one thing. Shit is going down somewhere.
“Becca, it’s Adrian.” I stop moving in my kitchen when I hear the voice of Adrian Kirkpatrick, publicist to five of my clients. He sounds out of breath. I can tell he’s either walking somewhere or running. It’s only six where he is, so he was definitely woken up.
“This better be a fucking wellness check,” I say, but my stomach tells me otherwise. I turn on SportsCenter right away to see if I missed something.
“I’m on my way to bail out Andrei,” he says, and I close my eyes as I hear his car starting.
“What happened now?” I ask. I know I’m not going to like how this conversation ends.
“He was caught speeding on the I-9. When they searched him, he had cocaine on him, and when they tried to detain him, he assaulted the officer.”
“For the love of fucking Christ,” I say, putting my head down. The towel falls off my head, and I put the call on speaker. “I’m done.”
“Oh, come on, Becca,” Adrian huffs out, and I can almost see his face. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Not that big of a deal?” I repeat, my voice staying calmer than the rage coursing through my body. “Not that big of a deal would be him being cited for jaywalking. Possession and assault are totally a huge fucking deal.” I raise my hands in the air and shake them.
“I admit, it isn’t going to look good,” Adrian concedes, and I roll my eyes, “but I think we can put a spin on it.”
“Spin it?” I ask, but I’m really not asking. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. This can be him starting over. People will relate to him.” I don’t think this will ever happen. I don’t tell him that the only thing anyone will wonder is how many times we can give this guy a chance.
“You can do whatever you like,” I say. “My office is going to be issuing a statement that we are parting ways and wishing him well.” I grab my phone and text my brothers that we have a problem.
“How is that going to look on your side?” he says, and I chuckle.
“It’s going to look like we don’t stand for this shit. We aren’t going to condone this behavior. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you bring in. Our company has a name to uphold and an image to protect, and having this isn’t something I want—”