Page 15 of The Betrayer
He would what? I snorted. I was still his father, and I was still his boss. What was he going to do, start an uprising in the company? If things were going well, the board would take my side, not his. Besides, I wasn’t there because I knew he could pull it off. This was his night, after all, and he’d earned the spotlight. My being there would only take it away from him.
When I began the company, I hadn’t thought about what it would mean. I hadn’t realized how much I would have to be in the public eye and in what ways. First, of course, the meetings with investors, banks, and the occasional writer working for a magazine had come. As the business had grown, so had the demands on my image—more important investors, more important members of the industry, and even the political community, and then rivals whose companies I was offering to acquire.
However, the media demands had grown as the company had grown, too. More interviews talking about the next up-and-comer, both the business and myself, and the fundraisers and galas followed soon after. They were mandatory if you wanted business connections in this town. And when the company had grown enough, the requests for profiles and interviews had poured in.
When the company went public, instantly, I was the man to watch. Well, Paul and I were the men to watch. We were a dynamic duo, but I was still the face of the company. My face was the one plastered across the world, on every major news media outlet, on the front of newspaper business sections, and in magazines, scrambling to be the first to get the exclusive interview.
Then, finally, had come the tabloids. I wasn’t a socialite by any stretch of the imagination—even I had my limits. But I’d been pictured with several, and even though the paparazzi didn’t waste too much of their time with me since there were much larger fish to fry, they knew they could get an occasional story from me when things were slow.
Paul had hit the roof when the first one had come out, a picture of me holding hands with a visibly younger woman. I still didn’t know why he’d been so upset—who cared who I dated outside of the office? Or that I was pictured with someone else just the next week? I wasn’t picking up underage kids and stayed away from any woman in the company.
At the end of the day, I enjoyed the attention. The smiles, the small talk, the networking, the joking around with television presenters and writers of back-of-the-book articles in cooking magazines who asked me what my ideal dinner party looked like—it was all fun. It was easy.
Which was why I hadn’t written a speech. Not only could I not be bothered, but I preferred to shoot from the hip.
The marketing, on the other hand, was Paul. He was the planner, the crafted façade, the one who made plans and carried them out. The careful planning, the practicing, and the elaborate presentations were all my son’s thing.
And it had worked. I enjoyed walking the links with investors and business owners to make the sale or raise more money. But I was a millionaire before Paul had taken over as COO, and now I was a billionaire thanks to what he had done.
I was proud of the kid and knew that whatever happened tonight, it would go off without a hitch. Paul just had to loosen the reins and get out of his own way, and everything would be fine.
The car slowed, and I looked up from my phone at the glittering lights of the museum. The line of guests walking the carpet had thinned, but I was far from the only one coming in late.
“Thanks for the ride. You got me here quickly.” I returned my phone to my pocket and pulled my wallet out instead, leaning forward to slip the driver another few large bills as a tip, just as I’d tipped Steffanie earlier. And the caddie on the links. And the young kid handling the bar at the golf club. It ensured the best service.
The driver’s eyes widened. “Wow, thanks.”
I chuckled and pushed out of the car, adjusting my bowtie and jacket cuffs. My gold-and-emerald cufflinks flashed in the floodlights illuminating the marble front of the museum and rising over the sidewalk and street. Then they were flashing in the lights of the cameras as the attention on the carpet swung entirely to me. I paced slowly, stopping to pose multiple times, flashing my most roguish smile, answering questions thrown at me by a sea of faces clamoring for a blue-carpet interview behind the velvet rope.
I was truly in my element.
Chapter 7
Paul
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