A Billionaire Next Door

Ch. 4 - A Study in Control 

MILES

I got an invitation to a brunch a few weeks ago. I never fancied events like this; they're always a meetup for gossip and networking, both of which I don't need. I arrive at Harrison Country Club, the green grass filled with authority figures, most holding a glass of champagne in their hands, flower arrangements everywhere you turn, tables lined with linen, and murmurs of wealth, every hand covered with a flashy Rolex and every neck clothed with a pearl. Time is one thing I've always cherished, and I don't think being here is something that favours me and my company, but the PR rep did say I had to be here; I might as well make myself comfortable. I get myself a cup of coffee and find a place for myself at an empty table, which later fills up with networkers. The people at the table keep dropping pitches for business ideas, none of which are worthy of me pursuing.

I assume they're still pitching ideas until I hear a name that shouldn't be coming out of their mouths, they mention her again. They're talking about the scandal, whispers go around the table, and smug looks on their faces. A loud voice makes a joke about betting against her company. I associate the face with the voice, and it's Rupert Sterling. "I'd give her 6months before the bank claims her little empire." The voice says. "Hell, I would even bet against her." My hands curl under the table – the image of my knuckles clashing into Rupert's jaw fills my head. This is the second time I've thought of violence in a public place, and they've both been about her. I lean back into my chair with a smile ghost on my lips. "Funny." I say quietly enough, making them all lean in, "You've always been good at betting against the wrong people.

The laughing dies. Rupert's hand stops stirring the champagne

I take a slow sip of coffee. They all watch me, waiting for more. I give them nothing. Power is in the silence.

The ride back to the city was quiet, but my mind wasn't. She was a headline and headlines make or mar business, and in her case, I'd say mar. I don't have an obligation to care... but I found I did. Her ruin wouldn't just amuse my rivals but would also empower them. And I've never been one to give my enemies more weapons to fight with. I walk into the office with confidence, which makes legs go weak and whispers fly around. I stride into the private elevator, which leads to my office. As I enter the room, motion sensor lights brighten the space. I take my seat on the chair behind the business table made for me. I pour myself a drink, then stretch to pick up the glass. Instead, my hands pick up the phone. "Send Crane up." I say to my assistant.

Grayham Crane arrived five minutes later, briefcase in hand, expression precise as always. He's been the family lawyer for far too long to know when I'm calling for standard paperwork or not.

"You said it was urgent." he says as he takes a seat across my desk. I ask him how he's been, and finally ask him to draft a contract.

"Contract? For what?" He questions

"Marriage." I say

"Marriage? To whom?" He asks 

"Yes, marriage. To Kaitlyn Rhodes." I explain with my lip curving upwards, "Marriage of convenience. Legal. Enforceable."

"That's... unconventional. Even for you." He says, curiosity painting his voice.

I take a sip of my drink, letting the silence last for longer. "Unconventional works when conventional has failed. I want protection. For her company. For mine. This arrangement will shield us both."

"You mean shield her?" he says, dragging the word 'her', "Because right now, no one is threatening Howard & Co. They're threatening Rhodes designs."

"Her company isn't yours to protect." he continues with brows furrowed slightly.

I lean into my seat, "Everything in this city is mine to protect or destroy. Which role I play depends on the terms." I explain

"And what terms do you want?" he says with his eyes on me, but pen on his notepad.

"Two years minimum. Financial coverage written in. Confidentiality airtight. An exit clause for appearances' sake, but nothing she or I can wiggle out of easily." I answer

Crane writes swiftly, coming to a pause as I conclude "Forgive me" he says hesitantly "but this doesn't sound like business anymore, it sounds... somewhat personal."

I walk out of the confinement of my desk to the windows, which have a great view of the city I live in. "Everything is business." I say evenly as I turn back to Mr. Crane, and he looks worried but also intrigued before he finally says, "You know she might refuse, right?" raising his brows in question. "She won't." I reply as I pour myself another drink and drown it down. Mr. Crane makes his way out of the room with nothing else to say. As he leaves, I look down at my desk and see a file named: Kaitlyn Rhodes; Background check, Liam must've dropped it on my desk, he wouldn't have dropped it here without purpose.

The first few pages are predictable: Rhodes Designs financials, a clean tax record, a few glossy unaware pictures of her, which I suppose were taken from charity events and gala appearances, her in high heels and dresses with her hair sometimes in a high pony and sometimes let to fall freely. Even in the pictures, she plays the role of an untouchable woman way too well. 

But tucked a few pages after are notes I don't expect: her mother, Elaine Rhodes. A widow. A woman described by this file as "accommodating", "traditional", "a homemaker", words that just explain that she spent most of her life bending to her late husband's rules. The picture is clear, while Elaine spent her life as 'a devoted and dependent wife', Kaitlyn has decided to go the other way. No wonder she moves like the world owes her nothing. She made herself that way. 

Personal vulnerabilities. Not weaknesses but truths that explain.

I close the file before I read too much. This isn't about sentiment, it's about strategy. I picture her, not in a boardroom or in the headlines, but in a house where she sees her mother fold herself small, and she refuses to inherit that submission.

My hands rest on the folder, heavy

She won't refuse. She can't afford to.