Page 68 of Scrooge

“We are here. What’s the latest?”

“Charges have been dropped. Police saw no evidence of assault on your part. They have put it down to self-defense, and he has been charged with a class-A misdemeanor. Assault on Haylee and creating a public disturbance,” Laurent says, and I grind my teeth as my eyes stay peeled to the various redundant paperwork in front of me.

“I want to bury him,” I grit out.

“Already on it. I have the security team digging into his position. I don’t think he has a lot for a Wall Street finance guy. Works for one of the big banks down there. I’ll gather some more intelligence, and then I can plant a few media stories. He’ll lose his job, will find it hard to get another one, and run away with his tail between his legs, another victim of the city. Getting chewed up and spit out like many people do who hit New York, expecting big things,” Laurent says.

“Good. Now what's our plan?” I ask, getting into the other issue—the media.

“Well, you both stay out there for a few days, let things die down a little, then hopefully everything will calm down so you can return and get back to normal. Although the media have really grabbed on to this.”

“I mean, we knew it would raise some interest, but this all seems pretty intense…” I question, as I start putting the paperwork into a pile, all destined for the shredder.

“You are a man of stature now. Saving a homeless woman, then stepping in to protect your fiancée. It all makes for a very compelling story. They might even make a romance movie out of it.” I hear the humor in his voice and I huff a laugh.

“She has changed you, you know,” he says, and I sigh.

“I know,” I admit, feeling a flutter I’ve never experienced before her move through my chest.

“You smile now. You even laugh. You haven't done that for over twelve months, when we were back in the European office. Even then, it’s not like you were very happy.”

I want to push back, but there’s no use. He’s right. I was a miserable asshole, and I’d be a stupid asshole to let the woman who’s brought me to life get away.

“I want to throw out the agreement. Void it, destroy it. Shred it. Have Sheridan aware of that fact,” I tell him. The whole decision feels better and better every time I say it.

“Really?” Laurent asks in a voice that sparks excitement and surprise. “So, you two are, like… really engaged, then?”

“It might be a long engagement, but I like the look of my ring on her finger and her head on my pillow.” I’m smiling like a fool as I think of her. Her beauty, her body, her mind, her heart.

“Well. Consider it null and void. Also, the holiday party is coming along well, just so you are aware. Food trucks are now all organized, Christmas carolers all confirmed, and we have had an overwhelming response to the RSVPs. Almost a hundred percent attendance from the staff, and we are sitting at a ninety percent attendance from outside stakeholders and suppliers,” he says, and I raise my eyebrows.

“That’s good. Jillian can help you with anything from Tucker Toys. I’m trying to keep Haylee away from the store for a little while. Give her a break.”

“All sorted. I spoke to Jillian just before. Did another media briefing with her and her family. They are great. Smart people, secure at home. The holiday party is giving them a financial injection for their seasonal trade, so being closed for a few days here and there because of the media hasn’t slowed them down.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. I finish sorting the papers and open the top drawer, seeing the usual stationery before I spot a yellow envelope tucked inside.

“Well, I will leave everything with you. I’ll have my cell on me, so call me if you need to. Otherwise, I plan for us to be here for two days or so, just to get over the majority of the craziness.”

We say a swift goodbye before I end the call, pulling out the envelope, intrigued.

I rip it open, the envelope sealed tight, nothing written on the outside, but I feel a thick pile of papers. I pull them out, assuming it is some financial statements or something. But what I find shocks me. My cell rings as I stare at the paperwork. It’s Logan, no doubt he’s heard and seen all the media articles and images online, but as I shuffle through what I am seeing, I ignore the call, not having the brain space to talk with him.

“What in the world?” I say out loud as I flick through the leasing agreement of Tucker Toys. A contract of sorts, signifying that the lease on Tucker Toys is to remain on a set fee for the future of the business until John Tucker deems it necessary for change. It is unusual. Our lease agreements are tighter than this, always have been. And to give full control over to the tenant is unheard of. I flick to the final page and see my father’s familiar signature, and it’s dated almost two decades ago, when I was merely a teenager, Haylee even younger. But if that isn’t shocking enough, I then look next to it and see another signature.

Haylee’s father has signed it as well.

31

HAYLEE

Iwalk into the room and sigh, immediately flopping onto the large bed. Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths. My body tired, my mind exhausted, my cell now pressed to my ear.

“So, lover boy flew you to the Hamptons?” Jillian says, and I hear her walking around at home, her and the kids now at my parents’ place. I open my eyes and turn so I am on my back, looking around the room before I completely lose my breath. There, on the wall, is a brightly colored piece artwork. The one I loved at the Maddison Miller Gallery, the one I dragged Alex to see on our very first date. From memory, it was worth over fifty thousand dollars.

“We are canceling the agreement,” I tell Jillian absentmindedly as I stare at the beautiful painting, swallowing thickly as I wait for her response. She is quiet, then I hear a door close on her end, obviously now hiding in her bedroom.

“Say that again?”

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