Page 16 of Georgia Guy
“It’s best to be aware of what you’re dealing with,” Joe says confidently.
Nodding, I double click the icon and begin reading. As I scroll, I get the odd sensation of blood draining from my face. I’m likely the complexion of Casper when I look up at Joe with wide eyes and say, “This is even worse than I imagined.”
“May I?” he asks, indicating the screen.
The old Alex would have never trusted anyone else enough to let him see this damning information about my grandfather. But Joe instills me with faith. I have absolutely no doubt about him. He would never use this bombshell revelation against us.
I turn the laptop’s screen toward Joe, and his eyes quickly scan the documents. When he finishes, he looks at me and says, “Wow, that is not what I was expecting.”
“Me neither,” I agree, still not quite able to believe the truth.
We sit in stunned silence for a long moment. Eventually, I say, “I’m not quite ready to talk to my grandfather about this. I need to think about what I want to say first, so I think I’m going to go in to the office for a few hours. Work tends to clear my head.”
I lower the glass partition to instruct our driver to take me directly to the office, then indicate for him to take Joe wherever he would like to go, before returning to pick me up at the end of the day. The professional man nods his understanding before I reclose the divider.
“Are you going to be okay?” Joe asks, sounding truly concerned about my wellbeing.
“Yes. It’s a bit of a shock, but I’ll get through it. I always do,” I assure him.
Taking my hand within his big, rough one, he says, “You don’t have to do it all alone, though, Alex. I’m here whenever you need me. I’m not going anywhere.”
His warm reassurances are exactly what I need. Smiling, I ask, “How did I get so lucky?”
“Apparently, good things happen when you wait outside of a jail for an inmate to be released,” he quips.
I chuckle before saying, “I doubt that’s the case very often, but it sure did work out marvelously for me.”
All too soon, we arrive at my office. Joe gives me a panty-melting kiss that makes me long to stay with him, but I have responsibilities that require my attention.
Making myself pull back, I ask, “Are you available for a late dinner tonight?”
“Absolutely,” he answers immediately.
I cling to him as we sneak in a few more kisses. Eventually, I force myself to get out of the limo by promising myself that the sooner I finish working for the day and face the inevitable confrontation with my grandfather, the sooner I can be back in Joe’s loving embrace.
As expected, the moment the elevator doors open to my top-floor office suite, Brinkley begins rattling off urgent matters that need my immediate attention. Within seconds, I am swept into the constantly churning, high-stakes world that being a CEO of a worldwide conglomerate entails.
Throughout all of the key decisions and strategy calls that I make, Joe is never far from my mind. I think I may be falling in love with him. It’s fast and terrifying, but true. I already can’t imagine going through life without him by my side. I just hope he feels the same way.
The hours pass by in a blur. By the time I reach a break in the action, it’s dark outside my office’s floor-to-ceiling windows that provide a sweeping view of the Atlanta skyline. My stomach grumbles to remind me that I haven’t eaten anything in hours. Just as I’m picking up my phone to request that Brinkley order me something to tide me over until dinner with Joe, my assistant barges into my office.
The normally unflappable man appears stressed. His hair is even askew, which is a far cry from its usual gelled perfection. His voice is frantic when he asks, “Have you heard?”
“Heard what?” I ask with dread already filling my gut.
“Someone leaked your grandfather’s medical records that show he is sterile.”
My heart sinks into my stomach. My grandfather is a proud man. Having the world discuss and make speculations on such a private detail in his personal medical history is going to devastate him.
“And that’s not all,” Brinkley hints in an ominous tone.
As much as I don’t want to hear anything more, I need the bandage ripped off.
At my impatient look, Brinkley adds, “They’re saying that your father and his siblings are your great-uncle’s biological children.”
It’s worse than a punch in the gut. Even though I saw the medical records and paternity tests that indicated this news earlier today, having other people gossip about the scandal of my grandfather’s brother siring his children is too much.
My head is spinning when I say through gritted teeth, “I’m going to kill Harlow. We had a deal that ensured her silence.”
