Page 1 of Dirty Nasty Billionaire: Part 4

Chapter 1

GizmoGossip - A Statement from Nixon Blake

Nina March, staff reporter

Well guys,we’ve had a good run, but it appears it’s all over now. We should all blow through our bank accounts, tell our families we love them, and wait for the end. The apocalypse is coming. Because Nixon Blake, the uber-private founder and CEO of Scour, has released a statement concerning his affair with the intern.

Buckle up, folks. Here it is.

I deeply regret taking advantage of Ms. Masterson and her position as an intern with the Business Lab Program. As her supervisor, I should have maintained a strictly professional relationship. The abuse of power was reprehensible, and I take full responsibility. Ms. Masterson was nothing but professional and capable who more than earned her spot with the BLP, and my deepest regret is that her bright future may have been marred by my actions.

I will be taking a brief hiatus from the day-to-day at Scour, leaving the company in the capable hands of my VP of Operations, Randi Powers. When I return, I will not be speaking again on the matter, or any personal matter. My focus is, and always has been, the future of Scour.

So apparently he’staking the #MeToo line, and saying there was no relationship, but that he abused his power. I can’t help but wonder what Ms. Masterson would say about that, as we’ve heard from leaky Scour employees that she’s no longer an intern with the company. Was it light workplace harassment, or something more?

***

“You’ve gotto leave this apartment.”

It’s been a week since I officially quit Scour. A week since Nixon released the statement. The rest of America moved on pretty quickly, though I did spend several days turning down interview requests. We’re still the talk of the tech blogs, of course, and I imagine that’ll probably continue until, oh, I don’t know … forever? This is probably some of the juiciest gossip they’ve ever had. I heard the reporter who’s been covering the Nixon Blake beat actually got a promotion out of it.

Good for her. At least one of us got a job out of me sleeping with my boss.

Elise let me wallow for the first two days, but by the third she was starting to prod me to put down the Ben & Jerry’s and get off the couch.

So I did that, but I still couldn’t bring myself to leave the apartment. I didn’t know where I’d go. It’s not like I can afford to go shopping or hit the bars. I’m out of a job, remember?

But as the days ticked by, I slowly started to formulate a plan.

“I’m leaving the house today, I swear,” I say, aiming the remote at the TV to turn off my Grey’s Anatomy binge. In a week I made it through eight seasons. I was starting to feel like maybe I should apply to medical school (eight seasons of Grey’s and I felt qualified to perform an appendectomy already), but then I remembered that blood makes me squeamish. So instead, I’d come up with another plan.

“I’m going to campus to pick up transcripts and meet with a couple professors to talk about recommendations,” I tell her. “I think I’m going to apply to grad school.”

Elise arches an eyebrow at me. I’ve never expressed any interest in graduate school before.

“What are you going to study?” She asks.

“I don’t know, I’m thinking maybe informatics? I could get a PhD and be a professor. By the time I worked through the degree and the dissertation, hopefully everyone will have forgotten about me. Besides, college campuses are much more forgiving of sexual indiscretions.” I shrug. It seems like a good enough plan, I don’t think about the tens of thousands of dollars in student loans it will require.

“Stop it. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Elise says. “I mean, it’s a fine plan, and I’ll support you in whatever you choose. But I don’t think things are as one as you think they are. I mean, Nixon’s statement seemed to really help.”

“Yeah, great. Now I’m a victim of harassment, which seems to have worked out really well for all the other women who were actually harassed. I bet if you asked them they’d say it was a career highlight,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Just don’t count yourself out yet, ok?”

“Oh, I haven’t. I’ve got an interview at the pub down the street for a waitressing gig,” I tell her.

“You didn’t.”

“Hey, I can’t apply to grad school until the fall. I’ve gotta earn a living somehow until then, right?”

* * *

On my way to campus,I engage in my secret shame: checking the gossip blogs for any news about Nixon. He made good on his promise and took a hiatus from Scour. The company stock took a slight dip for the first two days, but it quickly recovered as they prepared for the launch of a new generation of the Scour tablet.

But no one has said a word about where Nixon’s gone. He hasn’t been seen anywhere, so maybe he’s holed up in his apartment, just like me. Only at least I have soapy medical dramas, ice cream, and a roommate to keep me from going insane. I don’t think Nixon even has a television in his apartment, and though he could obviously stream something on any one of his devices, he doesn’t seem like a binge watcher.

No, if he’s at home, he’s sitting alone in his empty apartment, staring at a wall, a thought that makes me nauseous every single time.

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