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Being an introvert doesn’t mean I can’t snap on the charm and charisma when needed. I’m damn good at my job even if it’s exhausting.
As of this morning, I’ve confirmed half a billion dollars’ worth of investments, and the wire transfers have already begun. The networking I’ve done over the last six months, traveling around the country, worked. Because of my willingness to sacrifice my time for the good of the company, we will have the most successful fiscal year to date. I know that. So does everyonewho expects me to take over the position of chief executive officer when my father retires.
I might be the quiet Calloway, but I can makeanydeal happen, and Ialwaysget what I want.
I stalk down the center aisle and the crowd parts for me like the Red Sea. Brody falls in line beside me, stopping anyone from getting too close.
Once Weston and I were old enough to legally be sexualized by the media, we gained celebrity-level attention. Weston dating A-list actresses didn’t help and my father’s affair with a supermodel, only added fuel to the fire. It’s always been difficult to be in public situations and stay under the radar.
Some people wish for fame. I don’t give a fuck about it.
I don’t care about the ego shit. I want to run a successful company that takes mining ethics seriously without a spectacle. Is that too much to ask?
Our demand always increases when the paparazzi and tabloids take our personal lives into their own hands. Weston says it’s good for business. The numbers prove it is. So, I’ve learned to deal with it and navigate it the best I can, even when they turn me into a thirst trap, disrespect me, and sexualize anything I do. Over the years, I’ve been particular about what I show the world, and I try to write the narrative as I see fit. Oftentimes, it works. Sometimes, it backfires. It’s a risk I’m willing to take as I strive for a somewhat-private life.
“Where are you going?” Brody asks when we’re in the foyer of the W.
My eyes are zeroed in on the exit. I want to leave.
He crosses his broad arms over his chest. He’s ex-military, and he used to work for the Secret Service before joining me. The man takes zero shit. I might be scared of him if he wasn’t family and hired to protect me.
“I called for the car,” I explain, pulling off my suit coat and tie and handing them to him.
He passes them to one of the interns who is following behind him, not too close though. “Do something with this,” he tells him. “We’ll be back.”
Some heads turn as I approach the double doors, but I’m a master at ignoring everyone. I pretend no one exists because it’s easier.
After I remove my cufflinks and drop them in my pocket with my tiny sketchbook and pen, I roll my sleeves up to my forearms.
Three feet away from the exit, I’m stopped by Mr. Martin.
He’s smiling. I’m not.
“I assume the issue was handled?” It comes out cold.
“Yes, sir. Yesterday.”
I give him a firm handshake, and he glances down at the watch on my wrist. That tinge of guilt flares again, but I push the thoughts away.
Why does it matter? She took what was minefirst. She was inmyspace. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t search for trouble. No, trouble fucking foundme.
When I step outside, I let out a relieved breath. Brody stands beside me, his eyes scanning the perimeter.
“Mr. Calloway,” a voice says at my side, grabbing my attention. She’s wearing a W housekeeper uniform, like the one Alexis had on yesterday.
I look at her, raising my brows, aware she has something to say.
“My best friend isn’t a thief,” she states. “She’s one of the most trustworthy people I’ve ever met. You’re wrong for getting her fired.”
“I beg to differ,” I tell her as Brody rushes forward, moving me toward the limo.
She fades into the crowd as I slide across the leather seats, thankful for an escape. Brody takes the front passenger seat.
“Where are we headed, Mr. Calloway? Home?” Nash asks. He’s been my driver since I was sixteen.
The car pushes down the narrow street. It’s not the first time I’ve asked him to pick me up after a conference this size to decompress. I do have a limit to how much I can socialize, and today, I nearly met it.
“Central Park. Do you have an extra pair of my sunglasses?”