Raine (Gods of the Fifth Floor #2) - M.V. Ellis Page 0,14

last time I’d been so angry, and for me, that was really saying something. But, as the guys had the jump on me in terms of being pissed off about the whole scenario, I decided to park it for a moment. I needed to know more about the situation.

“What about the non-compete?”

“It’s solid. Three months. They were on gardening leave for that time.”

“But it’s been what, six, seven months? You mean to tell me that they found and started new jobs, got their feet under the table with a new client, then got these ads written, approved and shot all in the three or four months since their gardening leave ended? It’s fucking bullshit. They must have broken the non-compete.”

“No doubt. Even more so when you think about who Free PE’s agency of record is.”

“Shit. PPBW.” Realization bloomed like flowers in springtime.

“Correct. Which is headed up by...?” Beck took over from Nate, staring me down as I thought about what he was saying.

“Which is headed up by... Peter-mother-fucking-snake-in-the-grass-Morgan.” The twins’ father.

“Bingo.” What a fucking shit-stain of a man.

“So, you think it’s a case of ‘insider trading’? That they were working on the brief while supposedly on gardening leave, before formally taking up their roles three months after they left here?”

“I’d be prepared to bet a kidney, and this is what our lawyer will be working to prove when this shit goes to court, which it inevitably will.”

“What do you mean, inevitably? Surely, we’re filing a complaint like, yesterday?”

“All in good time.” This was Nate again. “For now, we have bigger fish to fry, like how the fuck we’re going to explain all of this to Carlisle and not have them become our first loss. Because, I can tell you right now that if I were them, and this happened, I’d jump ship and run for the hills before the agency even had a chance to explain.”

I really couldn’t believe what was happening. The twins and I had fooled around a little, but I’d made it clear from day one that it was just that—fooling around—and they’d both been fine with that. And even if I hadn’t said anything to them, anyone who’d been in the industry more than half a hot minute knew my reputation. I was legendary as the king of the one and done. If there was a level of commitment below that, even, that was me.

The twins had been happy with that arrangement, if it could be called that. Until they weren’t. Well, to be more accurate, one of them wasn’t. Charli was the sensible, more pragmatic of the two, and Breanna was more flighty. She caught feelings, much to the disappointment of both her sister and me.

Charli and I tried to shut it down before it became a problem, but we failed, I guess. Shit got kind of ugly, really just with Breanna, but as they are a team—Breanna is a copywriter, Charli an art-director—we decided it would be best for them to look for their next big adventure elsewhere.

As was standard procedure in the industry in these and similar circumstances, they were offered a “golden handshake”—an extremely attractive severance package in return for three conditions being met. The first was that they would not work in any agency, or basically anywhere, for a period of three months.

The second was that when they did start new jobs, they were not to work with, for, or on any brand, product or service that could be considered competitors of any they worked on at BR&ND. Again, very usual, and part of their original employment contract with us.

The third condition was that on accepting the package, they were waiving their right to future recourse to litigate. In essence, they couldn’t come after us later with an unfair dismissal claim, or any claim, for that matter. Once it was all signed off, and they’d gone, as far as we were concerned that was the end of that. Apparently, we’d been naïve.

“But we can’t just let them get away with this. It’s obvious they broke the non-compete. We need to sue their skinny asses off.”

“I’m not saying they don’t need to be dealt with, because of course they do. But think about it logically. If this goes to court, it will mean revealing the whole sordid affair—and I mean those words literally.” God, Nate was so fucking judgmental, it was painful. “They will make you out to be a predator of the ‘come and sit on my casting couch’ variety who