Page 18 of A Forgotten Promise

Money can buy everything: charges dropped after Cormac Quinn assaults a journalist.Thank God for good lawyers. Not that I can digest that I had to pay off the loser. He was no journalist. He was a paparazzo.

Cormac Quinn leaves a high-end club with a stripper.Shit, that’s who she was.

“I thought the idea of online media is to save paper.” I toss the printouts across the desk, back to him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He throws his arms up in exasperation. “Hale called me—didn’t even bother to call you—to say that they are pulling out.”

“Bullshit.”

My confident comeback is a feeble attempt to stay in control while my life is spiraling down.

I can’t even blame this on my old man. He might have triggered me, but I’ve indulged in the anger like a spoiled brat. Goddammit.

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you,” Xander continues. “But I didn’t sign up to have the CEO arrested a month after we founded this business, or have all our associates questioning his sanity every single day.”

“My personal life is nobody’s business.” I stand up, my chair rolling and hitting the glass wall behind my desk with a thud.

“Screw your life, Corm. Your personalimageis this company’s business. Fuck whoever you want, drink, party, get high, but do it discreetly.”

It sucks to be scolded by a man who’s four years younger than me. At twenty-seven, he already hit the 30 under 30 list twice, the fucker.

“It might be too late for that.” Declan walks in, followed by Cal van den Linden who closes the door.

Well, look at the impromptu partners’ meeting.

“I talked to three board members at Atlas Ventures, and they gave Hale an ultimatum: either you’re out or he is. Guess which option he is rooting for?” Cal smirks and sits down on my white leather sofa on the other side of the room, casually, as if he is enjoying this. He probably is.

While we found some resemblance of decent professional behavior, there is no love lost between us.

I glare at the men in front of me, and for the first time in… well, ever, I don’t have a quip on my tongue. While I don’t give a shit about my personal reputation, I give a shit about losing money, or my business rep.

Fuck. I press the button of my internal line.

“Yes, Mr. Quinn,” Larissa says in her soft Russian accent.

“Get me AetherTech on the phone.” I rein in the poison in my voice.

While Larissa is more than capable of shaking off my verbal assaults and even returns them, I need to exude calm in front of the three people glowering at me right now.

My brother, Declan, knows nothing about the betrayal from the man we called Father. He has enough on his plate with two small children whose mother is MIA, and a major pain in his ass.

And who, unlike me, despite his personal turmoil, acts as our Chief Financial Officer with integrity and the utmost work ethic.

While I run to nightclubs to drown my issues, he escapes his at work.

Xander joined our quartet with enthusiasm and probably regretted it ever since. From what I know, his antics are probably even more scandalous than mine, but the fucker manages the discretion he’s just demanded from me.

And then there is Cal, who is married and settled, and so fucking happy I want to claw his eyes out.

I am failing all of them, but I won’t admit it.

“Mr. Cherynowski is on line one.” Larissa’s voice interrupts our silent glaring contest.

“Vladislav, how are you?” I pick up the receiver and widen my eyes, but none of my partners move to leave.

Fuck them. I reach for my chair and sit, turning it. The skyline of Manhattan spreads in front of me, giving me a false sense of privacy.

“Better than you, I guess,” the AetherTech’s CEO chuckles.

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