Page 68 of Anyone But You
Being rescued and returning to civilization should’ve felt like a relief. Like the end of a nightmare and the beginning of the sweetest dream. But the truth was that reality wouldn’t wait for us to catch our breath. I had seen my first glimpse of the headlines of our rescue and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
From Boardroom to Beach: Billionaire’s Survival Raises Questions About Mental Fitness.
FAA Launches Probe into Jet Crash That Left Billionaire Stranded.
Knox Ramsey Undergoing Psychiatric Evaluation—Board Demands Clearance Before Return.
Victoria Caldwell: The Assistant Who Won’t Leave—Is Knox Ramsey Being Silenced?
Is It Love or Leverage? Tabloid Sources Raise Elder Abuse Concerns in Ramsey Case.
That elder abuse claim really chapped my hide. I was 49 years young and could still run circles around Victoria.
I was overwhelmed.
The headlines were relentless with speculation regarding my mental and physical health, and Victoria was getting picked apart by the media. They were determined to unearth anything from her past that would paint her as the villain instead of my savior.
The FAA and police wanted answers I couldn’t give them, and the board was digitally breathing down my neck. Getting bitten by a poisonous snake sounded a hell of a lot better thanreturning to a corner office that would feel more like a prison of glass and steel with million-dollar views.
Truthfully, I don’t know if I have it in me any longer.
“Who is this?” I asked, motioning towards the bleach blonde in a pink pantsuit that reminded me of Barbie and chewing gum.
“This is Amelia Cranson. She is a publicist from Stratus PR Group,” Doug explained.
I grunted.
“What happened to Blackwell Communications?”
“They couldn’t handle the magnitude of your disappearance,” he answered.
“And you’re telling me this twenty-three-year-old can?”
Amelia smiled broadly, showing off perfect white teeth achieved by the occasional whitening and Invisalign.
“With all due respect, Mr. Ramsey, Ms. Caldwell began her career with you when she was only twenty-three.”
“And did,” Victoria piped up. I glared at her before returning my attention to the young woman.
“Now, look here, Polly Pocket.”
Victoria snorted and tried to cover it with a cough, but it didn’t work. Her shoulders shook with laughter, and I gave up when Amelia joined in. The SUV turned into the giggle factory as the women wiped tears from their eyes.
“P-Polly Pocket… that’s a good one, Knox, but please behave,” Victoria requested as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.
“I’m just calling it how I see it,” I replied with a shrug.
“Wonderful. Since we’re just ‘calling it how you see it,’ then you don’t mind if I have a turn?”
“I don’t mind at all,” I answered confidently.
“Perfect. Here’s what your return looks like from the outside, Mr. Ramsey. You’re the CEO of a billion-dollar company who vanished for three months. You reappeared with your assistant,who is half your age, clinging to your arm, and somehow, it was already leaked that Ms. Caldwell is your “spiritual wife.” You have not released a single public statement, opening up the media to control every aspect of the narrative. The board is whispering about keeping your VP in place permanently, and investors are questioning your mental fitness, leadership, and most of all, your judgment. The families of those who died in that crash want answers and are threatening lawsuits, claiming that your last-minute demands put the flight and employees at risk. The public wants answers, and the speculation grows with every silent second that passes. They want to know about the crash, Victoria, and whether you’re capable of running Ramsey Acquisitions Group. I am here to salvage both of your images, and no pun intended, but I can’t hold back the sharks forever. So… you can make your jokes and call me names, but I’ve heard it all before.”
“No one has ever called you Polly Pocket before,” Victoria interjected. Amelia smiled softly.
“No, that’s a new one, but this isn’t my first rodeo with dealing with assholes who undermine my intelligence and expertise.” Amelia’s gaze ticked towards me. “Let’s make this very clear, Mr. Ramsey. I have nothing to prove, but you do.”
“Oop,” Victoria whispered, turning her attention to the window and the passing scenery of reporters and cameramen who clamored outside the airport gates, nearly busting their asses to get a picture of us through the tinted windows.
