Maybe she should thank her boss for keeping her employed this long. At least Riley had managed to find her way home, leaving Leticia with the rare luxury of privacy.
She was supposed to make breakfast for him in the morning. Was he mad or just confused? Was she actually going to do it? Who asked their P.A.—a *male* P.A., no less—to cook for them? Or did Dexter just look too feminine for Justin to take him seriously?
Now was the perfect time to pour herself a glass of bourbon. At least then, she might be able to sleep without waking up to a splitting headache.
What was she even supposed to cook for him? She sighed, pacing her bedroom in her pale blue cotton pajamas, bourbon glass in hand.
That's when she decided to turn on the TV.
*"The CEO of JustFlare Limited, according to a reliable source, has been confirmed to be facing a financial crisis that could lead to bankruptcy."*
Her glass slipped from her fingers, crashing to the floor. Her mouth hung open, her eyes widening in horror.
Was this real? Or had she drunk too much, her mind playing cruel tricks on her? Did Justin steal her idea and pass it off as his own? Or was it all just a terrible coincidence?
Without thinking, she grabbed her phone and dialed her boss.
"Yes, Dexter," he answered, his voice sluggish—tipsy, at the very least.
"Sir, you need to turn on the news. Something weird is going on."
He groaned, making lazy noises as he fumbled with the remote. A second later, she heard the same reporter echoing through his end of the line.
"Oh," he muttered. "Yeah, I *might* have forgotten to tell you. I *might* have slipped the news to my favorite reporter. Promised I'd marry her if she ran with it immediately."
Leticia's blood boiled.
Justin laughed, a messy, drunken sound.
"Shit, I'm so messed up. Leticia… you sound just like her. I wish I'd fucked her that night—fucked her so hard she'd be addicted to my touch. But because I didn't give her a piece of me, she's forgotten. Forgotten me, my touch… my thumb rolling over her labia and clitoris…"
Leticia froze, too shocked to react, too angry to fully process his words.
"You're a nut sack," she finally bit out. "And whoever Leticia is, she's lucky she never went all the way with you."
She let herself talk this way because he was wasted—he wouldn't remember any of it by morning. But her anger was pushing her, and she didn't bother holding it back.
"Someone's angry," he slurred. "I know she's your girlfriend, Dexter. Or—wait. Is she your *sister*? Oh my *God*… is Leticia your *sister*?"
*I am Leticia, you dumbass!* she wanted to scream. But that would be going too far.
"Goodbye, sir." She hung up, gritting her teeth.
She really needed to be careful with Justin. The man had no control over anything he did.
But first—she had to get rid of the phone she'd used to text Elaine.
After sweeping up the shattered glass from her floor, she doused the phone in alcohol, then took it out and tossed it in a dumpster *four streets away*.
-----
Elaine dialed Justin for the fiftieth time, staring at the news broadcast in disbelief.
"What the *hell* is this?" she snapped at the TV, clutching her nightrobe tightly. "Some loudmouthed reporter lying on national television?"
She redialed.
*The number you're trying to call is busy.*
"Fuck it! I'm going to his house!"
A male voice stirred from her bed. "You're going to *whose* house?"
Elaine turned, barely remembering the man sprawled on her sheets. She didn't even know his name—just another club pickup she'd paid to warm her bed. And now he was *butting into her business*?
"Are you talking to *me*?" she asked, incredulous.
"You should come back to bed, baby," he murmured. "Let me give you some—"
"*Get the fuck out!*" she shrieked. "Out of my bed! *Out of my house!*"
The sharp, commanding force of her voice sent him scrambling, his eyes wide with terror. He grabbed his clothes and bolted.
The second he was gone, her phone buzzed. It was Riley.
"Hey, babe, are you seeing the news?" Riley asked.
"Just saw it," Elaine muttered. "Been trying to reach your brother. For *fuck's* sake, I know it's 1:00 AM, and he might be sleeping, but—shit. Is this *true*? Is the company actually going bankrupt?"
"I called Dad," Riley sighed. "He confirmed it's all *bullshit*. He's suing the news station for slander."
Elaine sighed in relief, a small, satisfied smile forming across her lips. "Thank God for Mr. McFarlane. Sometimes I wonder what JustFlare would be without him."
A silence stretched on the line—probably just enough time for Riley to roll her eyes.
"My brother tries his best, Elaine," she finally said. "Which is why you should go see him at the company tomorrow. He needs all the support he can get. Someone close to him probably did this."
Elaine narrowed her eyes. "You think it's the P.A.?"
Another silence.
Then Riley sighed. "It could be anyone. But I'm sure once Dad gets to the bottom of this, he'll find out who this so-called reliable source is."
Elaine's smile widened. "No offense, but I could marry your father right now. I'll go to the office tomorrow. And thank you, love. Honestly, I did find it a little weird when you suddenly showed up in my life, but now I'm pretty certain you mean well. Good night, darling."
Riley didn't bother responding before ending the call, rolling her eyes yet again. She was still seated in front of her father—who had, in fact, instructed her to make the call in the first place.
"Looks like someone is working for her money," he remarked, a smirk laced with sarcasm.
"Can I go back to bed now?"
"Nope." He leaned back in his chair, eyes sharp. "I want you to date the P.A. Or rather, seduce him."
Riley's mouth fell open.
"He knows something," her father continued. "No—he knows everything. If it were Welsh, it'd be a lost cause. But this new guy? He looks naturally suspicious. Like he's always hiding something. So get close. Very close, daughter."
Riley stared at him in disbelief. "But he's not my type. He looks like—like a nerdy young boy with forced femininity."
"You mean he looks gay?"
She exhaled sharply. "No! And what do you mean looks gay? I'm attracted to gay men, not that you needed to know that. But he—he just looks… asexual."
Her father's brows furrowed in confusion. Riley could almost tell this was the first time he'd ever heard the word. The urge to laugh was strong—but she held it in. That would be disrespectful.
"Okay," he said slowly, waving a hand. "You seem to understand him. Do what you need to do." Then he leveled her with a look. "Fifty million is at stake here."
She groaned. "Did you have to remind me? It's torture…"
"Then do what needs to be done."
"Fine," she muttered. "I'll do it. But I'm not sleeping with him. I wouldn't go that far."
"Not even for fifty—"
"Yes, Dad. Even for that amount. Jesus."
Her father exhaled through his nose, nodding. "Okay, daughter. Do as you wis
h. Just make sure your brother and Elaine get married in six months."
Riley clenched her jaw. This is going to be a nightmare.