The Pretend Boyfriend novel Chapter 48

Everyone there immediately stops talking.

He has seen the headlines, of course. The Chicago Tribune lies face up on the receptionist's desk, every sordid detail of what Delilah Faulkner has told to the police in print.

Brian's pulse is racing, but he has made up his mind to act normal, as he would every other work day. This is his company after all, and to hell if he's going to let his employees get to him.

If they dared.

"Good morning, Mr. Morton," Alysha, the receptionist says quickly. She's flushing a little, and she looks down, as though afraid to meet his eyes.

"Morning, Alysha." He turns to the two copy editors who are openly gawking at him. "Don't you have work to do? What would it take to get the proofs for the Meatgrinder account by evening? Salary cut? Bonus suspension?"

"Uh, yes, Mr. Morton."

"Right away, Mr. Morton."

They disappear. Brian rolls his eyes, even though he knows it's no laughing matter. So it's all out in the open. Guilty before proven innocent.

Now all he has to do is wait for the fallout.

Claudia, his personal assistant, comes up to him with a sheaf of papers. She stops short.

"You OK?"

"Why wouldn't I be OK?" he says, striding into his office. "And good morning to you too."

She has to totter on her heels to keep up with him. She has been his assistant for three years, and he likes her because she has a no nonsense attitude about her. Pretty much like Sam, actually.

"Everyone's talking about it," she says.

"Fuck them. I didn't do it."

"They are crucifying you anyway. We had a couple of calls this morning from some of our largest accounts. Burnett and Co. Addison Rouge. The mayor's office." She says this last meaningfully.

Hell, he'd expected this.

She says, "They are ... concerned."

Brian nods grimly. "And the lynch mob is all lining up with their pitchforks and flaming torches. What do you think, Claudia?"

"I think that this might be a problem for some of them."

"I'm not talking about the clients."

"Right." She clutches the file, her knuckles white. "I think she's a lying, no good schemer who is trying to get something out of you, I don't know what. But I know you didn't do it. What reason would you have to?"

"Brian." The voice on the other end is a whiplash. Jefferson Morton may have had colorectal cancer, but he's cured now and is as sharp as tack. In fact, he makes Hitler look reasonable. "What the hell have you done now?"

Brian's defenses immediately spring to the challenge. "Et tu, Uncle Brutus?"

"I warned you about your philandering ways, but you wouldn't listen. Now you've gotten into some hole that not even I can dig you out of."

"So you assumed I did it."

"I assumed you were not in your right presence of mind with all the alcohol and drugs you have been taking. You are honestly no better than your father."

Brian bridles. He opens his mouth to say something he can't take back, but thinks the better of it.

"Look," he says, seething, "I may not be the nephew you've always craved, but I didn't rape anyone."

"If you did, I'd be the first to hang you out to dry."

"You don't control me."

"I put you through college and gave you your start."

"I made Vanguard into what it is today, and you can't deny it."