Page 3 of Omega's Faith

I drop my head into my hands. The headache has evolved into a full brass band performing behind my eyes. "How bad is it?"

Ricky's already pulling up information on his tablet. "Colborne Industries stock dropped twelve percent at market open. The board is meeting for an emergency session. Three major news outlets are running the story." He pauses. "The Sun is calling it 'Pool Noodle Gate.'"

I roll my eyes. “That’s a terrible headline. Whatever happened to standards in journalism?”

I push to my feet, immediately regretting it as the room tilts. "Fuck. I need a shower. And coffee. And possibly a new identity."

"I'll have coffee ready when you're done." Ricky stands, all business despite the bandage covering a third of his face. "Your suit is hanging in the bedroom closet."

"Ricky..." I catch his arm as he passes. "I really am sorry."

“I know.”

Steam from the shower does nothing to clear my head. I stand under the scalding spray, trying to piece together the rest of lastnight. There was a party for someone's birthday. Or engagement. Or divorce. These things blur together after a while.

By the time I emerge, Ricky has laid out my clothes and left a tray with coffee and aspirin. The man deserves a raise. Several raises. Hazard pay at minimum.

The Armani fits perfectly, custom-tailored to make me look like I have my shit together.

I down the coffee in three burning gulps and dry-swallow the aspirin. By the time Ricky is done putting me back together, the mirrored doors in the hotel elevator show a man who could grace magazine covers and frequently does.

I slip my sunglasses on while still in the lobby and Ricky hands me a baseball cap. It doesn’t hide who I am but it does hide any dark circles under my eyes. The combination will make for a terrible photo for the paparazzi waiting outside.

I ignore the shouts and the camera flashes as I slip into the back of the chauffeured car.

Diana's office occupies the top floor of Colborne Industries. The receptionist doesn't bother announcing me, although her eyes do slip downward to my groin when she sees me and the corners of her mouth turn up in a smirk.

I give her a friendly grin and a wink. Clearly, she like what she saw.

"Sit." Diana doesn't look up from her computer screen. No wink or a smile from her. At seventy-three, she's sharp as a surgical scalpel. She was my mother's best friend, my guardian after both parents died, and the only person on earth who genuinely terrifies me.

I sit.

"Twelve percent." She finally meets my eyes. "Do you have any idea what a twelve percent drop means for a company this size?"

"Diana..."

"Billions, Alexander. Billions in market value gone because you can't keep your clothes on at a pool party."

"It could be worse?"

Her glare could melt steel. "This is not a joke. The board is discussing ways to remove or at least nullify your voting rights."

That gets my attention. "They can't do that."

She shrugs. “They’re talking about a conservatorship.”

“You must be joking.”

“I am not.”

“Come on, Diana. Yes, I party a lot but I don’t come near the company. I vote the way you tell me to and that’s it. You know that.”

“I’m not going to be around forever, Alexander. What are you going to do when I’m gone?” Diana sighs and leans back in her chair. “You turn thirty-five in six months. The trust is supposed to transfer to your full control then. Unless I file for conservatorship."

My chest tightens. That trust is everything. The company is everything. It’s not just the money, though there's plenty of that. It's my father's legacy. The company he built. The only thing I have left of him.

"You wouldn't."