15. Grant

Chapter 15

Grant

"Is this everything?" As I open the leather-bound dossier prepared by my lawyer, a knot forms in my stomach. My hands tremble as I unfasten my cuffs and roll up my sleeves, revealing the tension coursing through my veins. With each page I read about Douglas March, Ella's pathetic excuse of a father and my soon-to-be ex-employee, I grow more visibly shaken. The words on the page are like daggers to my heart, a reminder of the pain he's caused Ella.

With an exasperated sigh, Oscar slumps into the leather chair across from my desk. Flicking through his copy, his expressions range from disbelief to disgust. "I dropped this off days ago. What's taken you so long to review it?" He shakes his head in disappointment. "This guy is a real piece of work." He leans closer and whispers, "I've already sent a message to the IRS and U.S. Attorney's office. It looks like stealing from his daughter is not the worst thing he's done."

My jaw clenches as I continue to skim through the incriminating documents, my eyes narrowed in anger. The papers scratch at my fingertips, each word igniting a spark of fury inside me. Even though I know what they will reveal, I can't resist the urge to keep reading, my gaze transfixed on the damning evidence in front of me. "I don't need to see anymore," I growl through gritted teeth. "There's more than enough here to justify firing Doug." But my reasons for wanting him fired go far beyond just this betrayal of trust. My personal vendetta against him stems from his treatment of Ella. It makes my blood boil to think about how he broke her heart, leaving her to fend for herself and ultimately driving her to sell herself to the highest bidder to survive. The thought alone fills me with rage and disgust. Though I may have benefitted from his larceny, deep down I know I would have found my way to Ella eventually.

"Are you firing Doug yourself or having human resources do it?" Oscar drops his stack of papers on my desk and stands, warning me to do everything by the book. "Don't give that degenerate a reason to sue the company. And for God's sake, don't tell him you're dating his daughter."

While I wait for Doug to return from lunch, I text Ella, wanting to plan a date for later today. Lately, I've felt her grow distant. Earlier this week, she ditched a date with me to attend a happy hour with stockbrokers and hedge fund managers, most of them men. She said it was networking, but what am I? Chopped liver? I can get her whatever job she wants, fund a small business, or support a life of leisure. I'm open to whatever she wants to do, but I want her to be mine while she's doing it. This bullshit arrangement isn't normal. It's not practical. It's infuriating.

Last night, as we lounged on the couch, I caught her scrolling through a real estate website, her eyes fixated on listings in Brooklyn. I can't allow her to move to the other side of the East River, leaving me behind in Manhattan. The mere idea is soul-crushing. I couldn't bear the thought of not seeing her every day. I'll have to move with her and that long commute will kill me.

I'm not sure what's happening, but I have a feeling she's plotting her escape. Despite my attempts at communication, it felt like she was actively avoiding any serious discussion about our relationship. And every time I worked up the courage to tell her how much I love her, she quickly changed the subject.

A knot of anxiety twists in my stomach as I send another message to her. But fifteen minutes go by and there's still no response. Another ten minutes tick by, and when I finally muster up the courage to call, it goes straight to voicemail. My mind races with thoughts and doubts—is there someone else? Did she meet someone at the club and start a secret relationship behind my back? Is that why she avoids talking about love?

I take a deep, shaky breath and try not to picture my Ella wrapped in the arms of another man. The mere thought is incomprehensible. My insides boil with rage, my blood pressure rising with each step I take toward Doug March's office. My initial plan was to wait until the end of the day and have security forcefully eject him from my building, but I refuse to let all this anger go to waste.

Thirty minutes later, I find myself sinking into my desk chair, relieved to have a moment of peace after giving Ella's father his walking papers. He didn't take it well and the arrogant jerk insisted he did nothing wrong, but couldn't refute the evidence against him. My solace is short-lived and interrupted by the chaos and commotion of Douglas March's forced removal. The scene is like a whirlwind of chaos and drama, with bystanders craning their necks for a glimpse of the spectacle. My heart races with adrenaline at the excitement unfolding before me, but I am content to simply observe and enjoy the show from the comfort of my seat. I should have taped it for Ella's viewing pleasure, but I'll have to describe it to her later. We have a lot to discuss.