“I’m well aware you regard this company as a distraction,” Ted said with heavy sarcasm, waving toward the screen mounted on the wall. It was back to showing the remote board members, but Saint got the message that his name and face were appearing on screens for all the wrong reasons, thanks to Julie. “You couldn’t even stay for dinner last night because you were chasing a new skirt. Clean up your act, son. Show me you’re serious about taking the reins, and maybe I could think about retiring. Then you can pour my money into whatever hairbrained scheme you like.”
Saint snorted. “You’re never going to retire.”
The man was seventy and came into the office daily so he could bark orders and continue to feel important. The power he’d amassed here was the only thing that gave him anything close to a sense of satisfaction with his life.
Saint turned his attention to the room at large.
“Just so we’re clear, this prototype was built on my own time, on my own equipment, by me. It’s mine,” he said. “There are people intrigued enough by what I create to want to steal it. They know what I did with the early AI configurations, and they want to know what I’m up to next.” That was why Julie had been nudged by her debtors to copy his files. “My work has value. Maybe not to you, but I won’t let that slow me down.”
He gathered up his laptop and walked out.
“Saint.” One of his allies on the board caught him outside the door. “Don’t do anything rash. Give me some time to change some minds. There are a lot of people on your side.” He nodded toward the boardroom.
“Oh, really,” Saint snorted.
“Especially when it comes to your eventual rise to the throne. But they can’t get behind you unless they know you’re ready. Maybe take your father’s advice? Showing up late today only gave everyone a chance to gossip about you. Maybe if they didn’t have anything to gossip about...”
Saint hated to back down or put off his goals, but he also knew his father wasn’t stupid. Ted might have flexed his muscles for their audience, but when it came to dollars and sense, he would do what was best for Grayscale.
So would Saint, and honestly, the publicity he’d generated with Julie wasn’t great for Grayscale.
“Point taken,” he muttered and detoured to the head of their PR department on his way back to his office.
“Xanthe,” he greeted as he entered her office.
She was a chic single mother of two who always appeared to be fully in control. Saint suspected she had her days, same as everyone, but the fact that no one ever saw her in a state of stress was a testament to her skill at manipulating optics.
“Saint.” She wore her black hair in a neat bun and had her pointed collar turned up around her chin. “You were on my calendar to see today.” She left her desk to join him where he was making himself at home on her sofa.
“Because of Julie? I just took a whipping over that, thanks. No one appreciates the free publicity I generate to keep Grayscale a household name.”
“Some people are so ungrateful, aren’t they?” she mused. “Perhaps if you hadn’t poured gasoline on her ‘woman scorned’ routine by moving on so quickly?”
Fliss? “It was a few photos at the curb. They’ll turn anything into a story, won’t they?”
“Who is she?” Xanthe asked.
He started to say No one, but that didn’t feel right. He skipped past answering and said, “I’ve been informed that my image needs work. What do you suggest?”
“Honestly? Marriage. To someone appropriate,” she added quickly. “Conservative. A good family. Well-known, but not famous. Not infamous.”
“Not interested,” Saint said flatly. He’d had a front-row seat on the train wreck that was his parents’ marriage. It should have been dissolved decades ago. As far as he was concerned, marriage was nothing less than a cage fight to the death.
“An engagement, then,” Xanthe said with her signature ability to pivot. “Temporary. It doesn’t have to be real, but it would convey that you’re settling down.”
Fliss leapt to mind, but he didn’t want to bring her into a fake engagement while they had a real affair. Too messy. And if he engaged himself to someone else, he couldn’t see her.
“No.”
“All right. Final offer.” Xanthe used a tone of exaggerated patience and leaned back while crossing her legs. “Celibacy. And I’ll circulate rumors that you’re looking for a wife. That signals you’re maturing and developing a sense of responsibility.”
“I have a sense of responsibility. That’s why I’m here. But sure. Run with that.” He flicked his hand.
“Did you hear the part about living like a monk? It won’t work if you continue having affairs.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He liked Xanthe, he really did, but she was annoying as hell in how well she saw through him.
“Look,” he said with the same exaggerated patience she was using. “There is an image that served me well for a long time but no longer does. That’s why I’m here. I have changed, even if the narrative hasn’t.”
“I know you don’t have nearly as many affairs as you’re reported to have,” she acknowledged smoothly. “I also know that when I say ‘no women,’ you hear ‘except that one you really want to have an affair with.’ I mean none, Saint.”
He looked away, dismayed. He did want an affair with one particular woman. She was all the way across the Atlantic, though. And he hadn’t made any promises to her. He could absolutely leave her with the earrings and never contact her again.
“This is important to me,” he stated decisively. “I need the board to know I’m all grown up and can be trusted with the keys to the car.”
“I’ll start the whispers today.”
“Thank you.” He nodded and rose.
“You’re going to call her, aren’t you?” Xanthe said, staying seated while watching him knowingly.
“We’ll keep it under the radar,” he promised. He ignored the tsk he heard as he left.
He was far more disturbed by Ms. Smythe’s report when he got back to his office.
