Page 1 of The Betrayer
Chapter 1
Paul
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IGLANCED DOWN AT MYwatch. It was 4:00 PM, and every movement of the hand inched me closer to the evening.
Behind me, I could see the path in the industrial carpeting I had already worn with my pacing, but it wasn’t going to get any better.
Not tonight.
Tonight was my company’s major gala. Our first significant gala, and it was going to be one for the records—if everything went well. That wasn’t a given, knowing it was our first and who was involved. Or, instead, who we had to rely on.
Every vital member of the company would be out there, all the executives, all the investors, and a ton of media. It was very nearly a circus. In the morning, everything that happened tonight would be plastered across the news channels, newspapers, magazines, blogs, and social media. Everyone, from our supporters to our detractors, would dissect everything from what people—and we—wore, to the speeches, to the auction items, to the pageantry and food.
Everyone would witness our triumph or failure.
My pulse shot up higher, which I had previously thought was impossible. Sweat trickled down my neck, under the collar of my tuxedo shirt. I dug into my pocket and pulled out a small bottle, twisting open the top to pull out a single, small pill that I downed without water.
Everything had to go well tonight—everything hinged on it. Everything I’d built hung on a thread.
My tuxedo and shoes had been specially ordered from Italy months in advance to ensure they arrived on time. My assistant and the event planner had double- and triple-checked everything, from the guest list to the swag bags, to the timing of the first canapés. They were doing a final walk-through now. I had even gone over the music list this morning to ensure everything was in its proper place.
Everything had been planned down to a T, and no hair was out of place. I had to be ready to bring it home. Tonight, and the success of our company, was on my shoulders.
Because it surely wasn’t going to be on my father’s.
He was the single wild card I couldn’t account for this evening. Would he show up on time or late enough that he missed half the party? Would he even show up at all?
The thought threatened to drench my suit, leaving its glistening fabric damp and dull. Of all the people I should have been able to count on to help make tonight perfect, to want to make tonight perfect, he should have been it. But William Finlay was anything but reliable, even if he was still the CEO of the company.
Truth be told, our titles should have been reversed—I did far more of the job of CEO than he did. In the past five years since I took over as COO, Chief Operating Officer, I had brought the company to new heights. I’d cultivated investment and growth opportunities, courted investors, and, finally, taken the company public.
Tonight’s event, a combination of a charity fundraiser and gala event, would serve as a testament to how far we’d come as a company. But it was also a celebration of how far I had taken the company, the accomplishments I’d made as the COO over the high but not lofty heights my father had initially managed to climb.
There was no limit to where our company could go from here, and I was the one who had taken it there. This was my night to shine and show the world my company, and I had arrived. If anything fell flat tonight, I would, too.
My path took me across the room to the enormous picture windows overlooking the bright New York skyline. I grabbed a tumbler of whiskey, watered down now as the ice had melted, and pushed out onto the balcony.
The late afternoon air was chilly for an early Autumn afternoon, the breeze instantly cooling my sweaty skin. I moved to the balustrade, leaning on the top of the railing and taking a deep breath. A sea of buildings stretched as far as the eye could see. Far below, car horns honked, only a part of the cacophony that made up the perpetual roar of the city drifting up from the streets.
I inhaled another breath in through my mouth and felt my chest rising and then falling slowly as I let it out. I was the COO of a major corporation, and I knew how to work under pressure. In fact, it was my favorite place to be, the place where I could most be myself. That was when the ideas flowed, where I could sink to that place where only work existed, where I could follow the single path to the best solution. It was where I could shine, find my best self, and be exactly who I was meant to be.
So, where was that calm now? Why couldn’t I find it like I usually did?
My hand shook as I tipped the glass back, and the sip of whiskey burned only slightly as it trickled down my throat. I shouldn’t be mixing it with the pill, but it was only one sip, and I needed them both.
I had to be the calm, cool COO everyone expected. The one I usually was. Thankfully, I could feel the pill beginning to work, my shoulders coming down from my ears, and my pulse slowing. With the light breeze drying the sweat, I felt a little more in control.
The past few weeks leading up to this gala had been stressful, to say the least. Throw in a huge acquisition, which I planned to have as the centerpiece of the evening, and I hadn’t gotten much sleep lately.
From just a small business drawing in millions six years ago, I’d helped guide the company to becoming a multi-billion-dollar powerhouse. Yes, my father had started it, but this company was my life. I’d started there as soon as I’d graduated, every ounce of my being bent on making it even more successful, on reaching the dreams I’d set down for myself and for it.
Never mind that this would be on all the society pages and significantly impact the reputation of the company and my career. Never mind that this would set the tone for future galas and fundraisers if there were any at all. I had done so much to build the company, and I couldn’t let it down now.
I couldn’t let myself down.
Pushing away from the railing, I downed the rest of the watered-down whiskey and strode back inside. I had to be my usual self, the self-assured COO who had made a name for his company and his family. Not this kid who was an anxious, falling-apart mess. I would leave the messes up to my father.
