Chapter One
Gabriel
“What floor, sir?”
Sir? I actually command enough respect around here to be labeled as Sir? “Sixty,” I tell him, stepping onto the elevator behind him.
“Oh, seeing the top boss, huh?”
He grins at me, his expression slowly dropping when he sees my face, then bows his head to look down at his shoes, shuffling his feet awkwardly.
He gets off at the fourteenth floor and I ride the rest of the way up by myself, staring at the digital readout as I ascend, trying to decide how much trouble I’m in. It’s ridiculous to be twenty-eight years old and still fearing punishment from your father, but sometimes that’s just how life is.
The nondescript music issuing from the hidden speakers does little to soothe me, the glowing button for floor sixty taunting me. I can’t think of a single time I’ve been called up to Dad’s office that didn’t end in some kind of berating from him.
The metal elevator doors effortlessly glide open as I reach my destination, a soft ding indicating my arrival. Dad would never tolerate any undignified squeaks or squeals from his building.
I step off into a small lobby, his secretary’s eyes filled with sympathy as they meet mine from across her desk outside Dad’s office. “He’ll see you now,” she says, motioning toward the polished oak double doors.
I nod my thanks, wiping my face clear before waltzing inside.
Dad glances up from behind his massive desk at my entrance and slowly takes his reading glasses off so I can get the maximum effect from his withering glare.
Bright blue eyes identical to mine stare at me, his silence unnerving. It’s just one of his tactics, though. Keep quiet so the other person will feel compelled to fill that silence, blabbing all their secrets along the way. But it won’t work on me, Dad. You’ve pulled that one too many times.
I take a seat in a spindly chair across from his desk, the thing not anywhere near as comfortable as his stately leather one. Not that I’ve sat in it when he’s out of the office or anything.
That vein in his forehead makes its appearance, despite his calm demeanor, and I glance around at the heavy wood paneling of his office, doing my best to appear nonchalant too. It probably only makes things worse for me, but I can’t help but try to reverse his psychology tricks on me. I’m not walking in here with my tail between my legs just because he summoned me.
“I assume you know why you’re here,” he finally states when it’s apparent I won’t talk.
“Why don’t you tell me,” I drawl, crossing one leg casually over the other.
He turns the newspaper on his desk toward me so I can see it, a grainy picture of my face staring back at me. The headline reads Heir to Bishop Industries Caught with Underage Girl.
Are they serious with this right now?
“It’s pure tabloid fodder,” I tell him, pushing it away from me. “They took a photo and made up a story.”
He picks up the paper, putting his glasses back on to read aloud, “Gabriel Bishop, son of billionaire Harold Bishop, was photographed Saturday night with a sixteen-year-old girl at a party hosted by Damien Hausman. Hausman has been linked to several underage sexual assault cases and was formally charged and taken into custody in the early hours of Sunday morning after it was found he had supplied alcohol to minors. One intoxicated young woman fell from a balcony at this party, resulting in extensive internal injuries.”
I drum my fingers on the desk, waiting for him to finish.
“The picture above was posted by a now deleted account on the senior Bishop’s ThousandWords app, the social media site that ironically allows no words to be used, letting users draw their own conclusions from photos uploaded. Speculation has abounded as to how much involvement Gabriel had in this tragic party.”
Dad pauses to glare at me, but continues reading aloud when I open my mouth to speak.
“Gabriel has within the last year also been linked to Simon Wagner, the business magnate who recently was indicted for securities fraud and insider trading, as well as Jay Vigeant, the heir to Vigeant Enterprises, accused of embezzling hundreds of thousands of dollars from his father’s company. ThousandWords featured him together with these two men several times in photos that have since been removed from the site. Trying to cover his tracks, perhaps?”
He drops the paper then, leaning back in his chair to fix me with a steely stare.
I throw my hands up. “What do you expect me to say? It’s literally the point of your app to infer what you want from the photos posted. Now you’re mad when they do that?”
“What were you doing at a party like that?” he grits out, his eyes narrowing further.
I gaze back at him calmly, willing my heart to stop racing. “A friend of a friend invited me. I was bored, so I stopped by for about twenty minutes and left.”
“Did that girl go home with you?”
“No!” I swipe a hand through my hair, tugging at it. “Jesus, Dad. I’m not interested in underage girls. And in my defense, she didn’t look sixteen. I thought she was at least twenty.”
He points a finger at me menacingly. “All it takes is one shot to tell a story. How many times have I drilled that into your head? I own a social media site for God’s sake. Image is everything.”
“I know.” It comes out smaller than I intended, and I clear my throat. “I only talked to her for a few minutes. And I didn’t realize what was going on at the rest of the party or anything about this Damien guy.”
“And the other men?”
“I was photographed with them. Big deal. I’m photographed with a ton of people. I’m not close with either of them.”
Those eyes bore into me and I instinctively pull at my collar, unable to help myself.
“I’m sorry,” I tack on, hoping that’ll satisfy him.
He shakes his head. “Sorry won’t cut it this time.”
My heart speeds up at the look in his eye, but I paste on a devilish grin. “What would you like me to do to make it up then? Ribbon cutting at a new rec center? Charity fundraiser? I’ll even-” I swallow, “I’ll even post a photo at the children’s hospital if you want.” My skin itches at the thought of posting photos of the kids, but I’ll do it if it appeases him.
“No,” he says simply, his lack of theatrics worrying me more than if he was screaming, face beet red, that vein in his forehead throbbing madly.
“Okay… so what then?” I ask, not attempting bravado anymore.
He pushes the newspaper to the side, steepling his fingers together in front of him. “We need you linked with someone else.”
Linked? “You have a girl in mind?”
“I do. Serena Montague.”
I rack my brain, finally settling on the tall blonde from prep school in the grade below me. “The Ice Queen?”
His lips thin. “She has a pristine reputation if that’s what you’re referring to.”
Pristine? No wonder he wants me associated with her. He loves pointing out my every flaw. “Fine,” I shrug. “What do you want me to do? Take her out a couple times? Snap a few pics for ThousandWords?”
“You’re going to marry her.”