Page 17 of A Forgotten Promise

Donovan Hale is closer in age to my father than to me, which makes his patronizing spiel worse in my eyes for some outlandish reason.

“While AetherTech is a cutting-edge tech company,” he continues, “it’s not one of those hipster startups. The company is controlled by people with more traditional values.”

I smirk. “And they’re still driven by profits.”

He leans forward, tapping the ball gently with his club and, thank fucking God, doesn’t miss. “All I’m saying is that while I appreciate you were the first to warm up the deal, there are others who can see it through.”

The first, or the only? They were after AetherTech for months, and only got their first meeting thanks to me and my partner, Xander, and his connections. Donovan fucking Hale dares to threaten to steal the negotiations away from my firm?

But I know when to choose my battles, so I miss the hole. Twice. Smiling, I shrug at my opponent. “Congratulations, Don. You play a mean game.”

I extend my hand, and he shakes it.

“I promise to be on my best behavior.” I wink at him.

“I don’t trust you, Corm.”

“But you need me to get significantly richer.”

I doze off on the way back home, which makes me feel even shittier because a brief shut-eye only messes with my head and my body.

The helicopter drops me off on the roof of my house, and as much as I want to go straight to my bed, I need to eat something first.

I pull out one of the foil-covered dishes. My chef comes twice a week and leaves meals for me. I eat out so often that my housekeeper ends up feeding her family with most of them.

Without registering what I’m warming up, I shove the dish into the oven and pour myself a tall glass of water.

I consider getting a glass of whiskey but drop the idea. I might have been reckless lately, but I’m not stupid.

Movement behind my window catches my attention. The oven dings, and my stomach growls. Chicken masala aromas permeate the air. Fuck, I’m hungry.

I sit on the kitchen island stool and don’t bother serving myself a portion, but dig into the baking dish. I open my security app.

A few spoonfuls and clicks later, and I drop the cutlery and run outside.

“Motherfucker,” I growl, opening the service door at the side of my house.

The man going through my garbage, a long lens hanging from his shoulder, startles and, unfortunately for him, freezes.

While the paps love my pictures when I’m out, my house has been spared. I hit my personal low when I brought a woman here last night. In fact, I vowed to clean my act because of that.

But seeing a stranger trying to make a quick buck trespassing on my property ignites the rage that has been simmering inside me all day. All month. Several months.

And I forget my vow to clean my act, or my promise to Donovan, and before I think better of it, my fist connects with the intruder’s jaw.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Xander storms into my office on Monday morning.

The youngest of the four partners at Merged, Xander is our Chief Strategy Officer. He is highly intelligent, and annoyingly passionate.

This is the problem with having partners. They fucking butt into your business. All. The. Time.

I open and close my sore fist, but I don’t move otherwise. Seated at my desk, I let him have his tantrum.

He marches across my bright, large office toward my desk. “I called all the favors to get you a golfing Saturday with Hale, to make sure this goddamn deal is still ours, and you fucking hit the headlines as soon as you shelved the clubs.”

He throws down printouts detailing and exaggerating the unfortunate events of Saturday evening. Was I right to break that asshole’s nose? Of course. Should I have done it? Probably not.

Reckless billionaire CEO assaults an innocent citizen.An innocent citizen swiping through my garbage and trespassing to profit.

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