Page 3 of Georgia Guy
“Hold on, I didn’t disclose any information that isn’t true.” My self-defense only serves to make the spitfire angrier.
“You had no right to share anything about us. They weren’t your secrets to tell.” It’s clear that if she could shoot venom-tipped darts with her angry glare, I would be her bullseye target as she adds, “I’m going to make sure you pay for your role in this.”
“Wait… Are you the one who had these bogus criminal charges filed against me?” I’m stunned that the well-known socialite would stoop to this level, but her proud smile gives me the answer to my question.
Putting it all together, I add, “And the reason the judge threw the book at me during my arraignment.”
Looking every bit like a Cheshire cat with her wide grin, she says, “My grandfather plays golf with Judge Hardy.”
Lifting my hands to showcase my freedom, I say, “Despite all of the questionable strings you pulled, I’m a free man, Al.”
The irritation vibrates off her in nearly visible waves as she practically spits the words, “Don’t call me that. Only my closest friends and family are allowed to call me Al.”
“Okay, then,Alexandra.” Her pursed lips make it obvious that the overexaggerated way I draw out her full name irritates her even more. She’s practically fuming as she openly glares at me, and it suddenly strikes me that I’m actually having fun bickering with her.
Suddenly, she drops her top-of-the-line cell phone into her classy, leather handbag and stands up. In a brisk tone, she says, “You know what? I’ve decided that your new punishment for crossing my family is going to be that you have to help me fix the damage you caused.”
With that, she flips her long hair over her shoulder and flits away, obviously fully expecting me to jog after her and beg to do her bidding.
I hold back for a long moment, telling myself that she isn’t my boss. Eventually, curiosity gets the better of me, and I do the only thing that makes any sense in this moment. I follow the intriguing woman.
3
ALEXANDRA
One of the best things about having obscene amounts of generational money is that very few people dare to cross my family. And the ones who do, pay for it.
With great wealth, comes great power. I try never to take advantage of the lavish amount of privilege I was born into, but I will do whatever it takes to protect my family. If that means putting up with the a-hole that tried to take us down, while the two of us fix the damage he caused, then so be it. I’ll suffer through this time with him, in order to set things right.
When I get to the driver’s side of my brand-new Mercedes, which I had illegally parked in my haste to face-off with Joe, I whirl around to instruct him, “You can follow me to my office in your car.”
The clueless man is all smiles as he walks to the passenger’s side of my car and climbs in, saying, “I’ll ride with you. I was arrested at work and delivered to jail in a police cruiser, so I don’t have a vehicle here.”
He’s acting like I’m doing him a favor. I clench my teeth together as I slide behind the wheel of my car. This is supposed to be a punishment for him, but the blasted man seems to be enjoying himself. That’s the last thing I want––to reward the person who tried to ruin my family’s reputation.
After making an illegal U-turn, I head toward the tall building where I run my empire. I drive too fast. It’s always been one of my secret pleasures, but I take my speed-demon ways to the extreme today in the hopes of rattling the man beside me.
Joe remains as cool as a cucumber and looks like he’s having the time of his life. One would never guess the precarious situation he is in by looking at his relaxed posture and satisfied smile. I’ll drive us safely, of course… I’m not a lunatic. But that doesn’t mean he’s off the hook. He messed with my family, and no one gets away with that.
We don’t speak as I park in my primo, reserved spot in the garage next to our building nor in the elevator on the way up to my executive suite of offices on the top floor.
When the elevator doors slide open, Joe lets out a low, impressed whistle as he looks around my plush office.
I ignore the tingle of pride that flutters in my belly over his obvious approval. Brinkley and I hand-selected every single item on this entire floor to make it feel like a home-away-from-home for us, and there’s no denying that we did a fantastic job.
Brinkley’s eyes nearly pop out of his head at the sight of Joe. In an instant, he stands and swishes around his desk to greet us. “Well, hello, Mr. Biceps. If there’sanythingyou need from me, just say the word, and I’ll jump on it.”
If Joe is bothered by Brinkley squeezing his upper arm or openly flirting with him, he gives no indication of it. I can’t help but be impressed that he doesn’t seem to have that toxic masculinity streak that so many straight guys have where they either fear or ridicule gay men.
Joe thanks the other man, but doesn’t make any requests, so I say, “Please bring tea service and a snack tray to the Executive Conference Room, along with a powerful computer for Joe. We have a lot of work to do.”
“On it,” Brinkley answers, already moving to make my requests a reality.
By the time we settle in at the conference table, Brinkley arrives with a laptop. He makes quick work of getting Joe logged into the office wi-fi, before hurrying off to get our refreshments.
Giving Joe a no-nonsense look, I say, “The story with the private information about my family that you stole and sold for a profit has already been pulled from theAtlanta Bugle, and all of the responsible parties on that end have been fired.”
Joe cringes at the last word, but I keep my gaze steady on him, wanting him to know how serious I am about this infringement.
