Page 11 of Heated Takeover

“Yeah. The head of the department is no longer with us,” I state as I finish the rest of my whiskey.

“Let me guess, a competitor snaked her away. Those bastards. Vivienne was good at her job too, even if she is getting up there in age.”

“No. I mean, she’s really no longer with us,” I say, and he blinks. “She died.”

“Oh. Shit. Alrighty then, I guess you do need to find another events manager.”

“Yeah,” I say with a buzzy sigh. “The thing is…I’m not that impressed with our events department in general. Vivienne was the only reason it was even running properly. Without her…well. I’d rather start fresh.”

“You have the means to do it,” he says. Then he downs the rest of his martini and stands up. “I gotta run, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You always do. Just give yourself some grace, yeah? Take the rest of the day off. Oh, and avoid the country music hits station. They’re playing your ex’s new song like every half hour, and I doubt you want to hear that.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I mutter. Not that I need to avoid the station. I’m more of a 90s alternative man myself.

Tuck misses my sarcasm, or ignores it, and claps his hand on my shoulder before taking off.

Avery, my driver, takes me home, and I think about everything we talked about. I need to start fresh with the events department. What is a hospitality empire without a good events coordinator? Half of what we do is events. It shouldn’t be too tricky. Most companies would kill to work with Ashford. We pay well, and our name carries itself.

I also concentrate on the first part of our conversation. My dating life. Not Juliette specifically, I’m all the way done with that mistake. Just women in general. It’s not that I want to be alone; not all the time, anyway. But with my status, it’s a bit hard to find anyone genuine who doesn’t care about my money. It’s also hard to find anyone in my social circle with half a brain in their heads.

Of course, my whiskey-soaked brain then wanders back to that night five years ago in the Ferris wheel gondola. To Natalie.

I swallow hard.

That was one of the most spontaneous nights of my life. And I’m not a very spontaneous man. I don’t regret it. I can’t. She was hot as fuck and I think about her some nights when I can’t sleep. But she was also smart, funny, quirky, and every good thing. I will never forget that night or her. But that’s in the past, and nobody knows what happened in that gondola. Not even Tuck. I can’t afford for anything in my life to be complicated or messy, so the past is where that story is going to stay.

Chapter 5

Natalie

“It’s happening!”

Dylan barges into my office and I jump, nearly spilling my latte all over my laptop. It spills, but not directly on my laptop. Luckily, I am able to shield it other than a couple of drops. The rest of it cascades across my desk at floodwater force towards my fidget spinner and a photograph of my cat, Ralph. The picture of Ralph survives; the fidget spinner does not. Yes, it’s made of plastic, but it’s not going to spin with vanilla-flavored coffee gunking up its mechanisms.

“What’s happening?” I ask, throwing the spinner away and grabbing a couple of tissues to dab the mess.

“I didn’t believe the rumors when I heard them at first,” she says. “Well. I kind of did because I’m a cynic and because Mercury is in retrograde again, which is odd for this time of year. But! I definitely was surprised when I heard the news and then Charlie confirmed it, which is saying something because Charlie knows everything,” Dylan rattles off.

“What does Charlie know?” I snap, reaching into my cabinet for Clorox wipes because half my coffee is gone, and this is a losing battle.

“Ashford bought a controlling stake in us,” she says, and I stop, frozen mid-swipe. I pivot, slowly turning to face my friend, who is just nodding, arms crossed, and an empathetic yet enthralled look on her face. Dylan thrives on gossip and being the first to hear it. Well, the first after Charlie, anyway. So her empathy is only half genuine. But she should know that if what she’s saying is true, our jobs could be on the line.

Even mine.

“I need another coffee if I am going to process this,” I tell her, and she nods, following me out of my office and down the hall. Mission Events is one of the most well-known event coordinating companies on the East Coast. We have never had money problems, status problems, reputation problems, or otherwise. After all, my dad, Jim Blythe, came from money. He has always been wise with his money, investing smartly and growing his money to become the million-dollar business it is today. And yet, a couple of weeks ago, rumors started.

It started with rumors about internal problems, but I simply did not believe that. My dad has always been brilliant at managing money. Janice, Mission Events’ accountant, has always done everything by the book. Margaret, our family’s advisor and close friend, has never led us astray or offered bad advice. Everything concerning the family business has always been aboveboard. I simply did not believe that there were any scales missing from the dragon that is our company, no weak spots. How or why another company could sink their claws in our family business is beyond me. It’s shocking.

“Okay,” I say quietly as Dylan and I head down the hall and past all the cubicles where people seem to be oblivious. I guess Charlie hasn’t gotten around to telling the office staff yet, which is nice because it gives me a moment to react and gather my thoughts. Once we are alone in an elevator headed to the main floor, I finally ask Dylan. “What the hell is going on? I need to know exactly what you heard.”

“I’m surprised your dad didn’t tell you,” she says. “Kind of odd considering you’re basically his right-hand girl these days. Unofficially, anyway,” she says. She’s not wrong. After my internship five years ago, my dad gave me a more permanent position. First in design, and then, as I took more initiative, I was promoted to lead event planner. I’m surprised my dad hasn’t mentioned anything to me, unless it blindsided him too.

I need to talk to my dad.

“I only know what I’ve told you,” she says. “Apparently some successful player in the hospitality industry bought shares in the company–”

“Shares?” I ask. “How could there be shares? There are no shares up for grabs.”

Dylan goes on without answering the question. Probably because she doesn’t know.