Page 44

RHAIM

I ’d spent most of the morning clarifying my affairs.

Tomorrow night was the night, and while I knew I was good, I’d seen smart men brought down by dumb luck before. If I died doing something potentially stupid—no matter how very fucking worthwhile—I didn’t want to leave anyone in the lurch afterward.

So I organized my computer’s folders, finished spreadsheets, and gave Mrs. Armstrong a list of locations of important files—all the above-board stuff—and then I went to go find Nero.

He was in his office again, this time snoozing on his couch.

It was as if having given up the reins to Lia, he no longer had energy to worry about anything else.

And I was enough of an asshole I went up to him, under Rio’s watchful eye, and shook him awake.

“Rhaim?” he said, squinting up.

“You realize if you die before the IPO, I’m canceling it,” I threatened, before sitting down across from him.

“I think the market price might be higher if I do die. People trust in the board, and in my money, and hopefully the last of that Italian nonsense dies with me.”

I frowned, and looked over his shoulder at Rio. “Have…you been asleep all day?”

“No, of course not,” he snapped—but Rio nodded behind him.

“So you haven’t seen the news yet?”

“I’ve been busy,” he lied.

I knew better than to press. “This was the headline on a few of the gossip sites, this morning.” I’d picked the least-worst one of the bunch, “From Heiress to Hot Mess” and when I showed it to him, his eyes widened.

“Who?” he sputtered, before looking back at Rio and asking the both of us, “How?”

“I don’t know,” I said, rocking back. “We only keep people on payroll at papers that matter.” And up until now this petty sort of potshot bullshit would’ve been beneath us.

He took my phone and scrolled through the article. “This is going to ruin things,” he muttered.

“Is it?” Because I would take either the dissolution of Lia’s nuptials or the upcoming IPO as a win.

“Yes!” he hissed—and I caught him before he could throw my phone.

Like father like daughter.

He handed it back, and then picked his own phone up.

“Who’re you calling?” I asked, expecting it to be Lia.

“Trevia. I want to see if Marcus’s lawyer has called,” he snapped, and then waved me off. I hesitated, because I also wanted to know—but then Rio stepped up.

“I think you should go,” the bodyguard said, and I stood—but before I left, while Nero was waiting for Trevia to pick-up, I poured Nero a fresh glass of gin.

I figured he would need it.