Page 68 of Confusing Cade
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CADE
ONE MONTH LATER
The holiday season swept through like a whirlwind, a frenzy of activity that gripped me by mid-December and didn’t relent until January 3rd, when my staff trickled back to the office. Between Christmas parties, fundraisers, year-end meetings, and the full-throttle social scene, Bella Moretti slipped to the edges of my mind.
Truth be told, I pushed her there.
It was just... easier to compartmentalize what happened between us, and to brush it aside. The clamor of holiday cheer left no room to linger on...her. I was grateful for the distraction. And for the open bars that trailed me to every Palm Beach holiday party. A few bourbons or a glass of wine dulled the sharp edges of my thoughts, making it easier to let things lie.
But God, no matter how much I ignored it, her betrayal still cut deep. I'd never felt anything like it, a raw wound that festered even as I tried to bury it under the noise. Over those thirty days we'd been apart, I'd hated her for what I thought she'd done, loathed the way she'd played me like a fool.
And yet, in the quiet moments, I'd missed her with an ache that wouldn't quit.
There were nights I'd stare at my phone, tempted to call just to hear her voice, to feel that spark again. But then I'd seethose damn emails in my mind, hear David's voice echoing about dodging a bullet, and convince myself I was better off, that the regret gnawing at me was a weakness I couldn't afford.
And shortly after lunch on January 3rd, Chris Rowan pinged me on the office Slack.You free right now? Can I swing by?
My schedule was clear, so I told him to come up when he was ready. His message was cryptic, even for Chris, who usually kept things straightforward. He wasn’t one to make demands on my time, and his texts typically carried deference to my role as head of the company. This felt different.
Five minutes later, he stood at my office door. I waved him in, pointing to one of the two chairs across from my desk.
“Still recovering from the Jennings party?” I asked, recalling New Year’s Eve at Paul Jennings’s annual bash at the Beach Club, hosted with his third wife, Maya. Chris had been sprawled on a patio couch, two beers in, gazing at the Atlantic. “That looked like a rough one.”
“Nothing a day of sleep couldn’t fix,” he said.
“I can’t sleep after drinking like that. Always wake up at three AM with a splitting headache.”
Chris shrugged. “Years of practice, I guess.”
I nodded, my eyes catching the yellow notepad in his hand. “What’s up?”
“A lot.”
“That’s one hell of an opener.” I leaned back. “And I’m betting it’s all on that notepad.”
“Yes.”
I sighed. “You know I can’t stand vague.”
Chris shifted, glancing away before meeting my eyes. “I got some information over the holidays. Wanted to dig into it myself before bringing it to you.”
“Good.”
“Henry in IT flagged some issues with the office email. I asked him to look further into it over the weekend, even though he was off. He did us a solid.”
“And?”
“And we’ve got a mole.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “A mole?”
Chris didn’t crack a smile, and my amusement fizzled. “It’s David.”
My hands hit the desk, pressing hard into the wood. “What the hell are you talking about? First Bella is responsible for fucked-up shit, and now you’re saying David’s done stuff too? What the hell?”
“I wrote the timeline down, so I could make sense of it myself.” Chris slid the notepad across my desk, the cover flapping open from the force. “It’s all there. The issues with the city commission, the zoning problems, the whole Promenade media mess... traces back to him. David is the one behind it.”
