Page 24 of Point of Contention

“Drag brunch, actually. Atlantic City.” Blaine inclined his head, smirking as he played along.

Swiveling his head to Scott Stanley, Travis quickly asked, “Scotty, pitcher or catcher?”

Scott nearly spit out his coffee, covering his mouth as he laughed.

“Oh, wow, okay,” Lucy rose quickly to her feet, her chair scooting back loudly in the stunned silence. Lifting both hands to placate the trustees seated around the long table, she said, “Without allowing this inappropriate line of questioning to continue, I think we can all agree that we understand Mr. Wilder’s point—”

“Do we?” Travis tucked his hands into his pockets as he focused on her. “Because from where I stand, we’re wasting company time debating Cabot’s ability to lead a company we already decided he was more than capable of leading and we’re doing so based on the fact that a few news outlets implied his bedroom proclivities might lean a bit taboo. Which, as I have just demonstrated, is none of our fucking business.” He paused to let that statement hang in the air.

I leaned back in my chair and waited.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, esteemed members of the board, I have actual work to attend to.” Travis strode to the door, pausing to look back at us with his hand on the doorknob. “I, for one, vote to move forward with the decision we made not even four weeks ago. Cabot is ready to run this operation.” Turning his attention to my father, he inclined his head. “Mr. Reed, with all due respect, sir, your time is up.”

To a chorus of gasps, Travis opened the door and left the conference room.

Biting back a smile, I rose and followed him out.

Let them stew on that for a bit.

Chapter Nine

Rylan

Standing in the understated waiting room of Turn the Paige, a boutique press with a focus on women’s fiction, poetry, and sweet romance, my hands were clammy as usual and my stomach was in knots. The receptionist eyed me, no doubt recognizing my face from recent tabloids. I knew that everyone at Reed Tower would know about what I’d done with Cabot, but I hadn’t anticipated what it might feel like to enter the publishing worldelsewherewith this giant scarlet letter plastered across my chest.

It felt like absolute shit.

Every time I lifted my gaze, I caught her watchful stare. The desire to flee was heavy and hard to ignore. But I didn’t want to run from what I’d done. I didn’t want to appear ashamed or in the wrong. And I definitely didn’t want to burn this bridge, even if I returned to the internship.

I’d never intentionally done what they said about me. Regardless of how it looked, I hadn’t gone after Cabot for career purposes. What I started with him was real—at least, it had been on my end—and I refused to be ashamed. I was sad about how it all blew up at the end, disappointed in the way I allowed him to eclipse all else, and heartsick over losing so much in the process, but I was not ashamed.

What he introduced me to was special. And private. Andmine.

So I sat straighter. I lifted my head.

And I met her gaze.

And this time, she looked away first.

Heh.

“Ms. Blake?”

To the right of the reception desk, an older woman stood in the doorway, her long silver hair braided and draped over one shoulder. Through bright purple frames, she watched me expectantly with a friendly smile on her face—no judgment in her eyes.

Maybe she didn’t know.

No, that was a silly thing to hope for.Of courseshe knew.

But, maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t hold my public shaming against me.

I returned her smile and rose to my feet, drawing in a shaky breath to steady my nerves.

As I reached her, she extended her hand. “Paige Matthews. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well, Ms. Matthews,” I said as we shook hands. “Thank you for making time for me.”

“Of course. Right this way.” She led me down a hallway to an office in the back, then motioned for me to sit down in a chair at her desk. “Your resume is lacking, as I’m sure you know, but your education makes up for your lack of work experience.” She smiled kindly. “I’m quite impressed.”

---