39. Hayden

THIRTY-NINE

HAYDEN

I've turned New York City on its head.

For three miserable days, I've torn through the penthouse, searching for Juliana. Staked outside her parents' and Jeremy's apartment complexes, knowing better than to knock on their doors, unless I'm fiending for a black eye. Or worse.

After no such luck, I grilled that Meghan character at The Caffeine Cove for information, even though Juliana told me she quit last week. I've even started waltzing into places she never frequents. Certain restaurants on the complete opposite side of the city, gyms, boutiques, grocery stores, wandering aimlessly like some heartbroken zombie on speed, as if I'm just going to happen upon her at the Westside Market.

But of course, I haven't, and she won't return any of my calls or respond to any number of my exhaustingly long text messages. She's camped out at her best friend's apartment. I just know it. Problem is, I don't know the first thing about Mei, least of all where she lives. I debated hiring a private investigator, if it weren't for the inevitable questions they'd ask.

So, I'm pivoting to the next most productive course of action...

Blowing off steam.

Ding.

I burst through the elevator door, slipping through the narrow gap when it's just wide enough for my frame, nearly sidelining a patiently waiting man in a suit. Molten rage seers through my veins as I zoom along the perimeter of a sea of cubicles, earning weird looks I couldn't care less about.

Out of my peripheral, Doris's head pops up. "And where in the world have you been...? Hey, where do you think you're..."

A couple more turns, and I'm met with a wall of offices, all surrounded by glass. Like exemplary figureheads in fishbowls for the employees in cubicles, executives, and other higher-ups peacefully clack on their keyboards or talk on the phone, secluded behind oak doors adorned with impressive plaques. I make note of each one as I storm by.

Chief Legal Officer.

Managing Director.

Chief Technology Officer.

Senior Vice President.

Executive Vice President.

CEO & Founder—

Oh, would you look at that? He's actually in today. With Elias, too? Gosh, how could I be so lucky? Hopefully, I don't disrupt their meeting. Nothing's worse than a family feud.

I throw open the door. "WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?"

The door slams from behind, trapping me in the silent fishbowl with two corporate sharks. One who sits behind the massive oak desk, the city skyline his backdrop. The other twists around in his seat across the table, eyeing me.

Elias frowns. "Jesus, Hayden. You look like shit."

I do. Baggy eyes, no doubt. Greasy hair. And I can't recall what I'm wearing—probably the first thing my fingers grazed from off the floor after getting two hours of sleep.

I look past his shoulder, to the man wearing a smug smile. The parasite I call father. "I said, I'm here for some fucking answers."

He chuckles—actually chuckles, as Elias's brows cinch in confusion. "Can't this wait, Son? We're in the middle of something."

"Did you really just call me that?"

He grins, like he knew it would tick me off.

I'm sure he's reliving his little acting session last week, when he pretended to give two shits about me and my personal life and resisted those jabs he so desperately wanted to fling at the sight of my drawings, or the quality of my work. Here, at his own company, hovering over the tiny desk he put me behind.

My fist flexes at my side, yearning for his jaw.

"What's going on?" Elias bounces his gaze between us.

"Oh, you don't know? Well, how could you, right? When you're always locked up in your office—"

"Enough with the theatrics," Warren cuts in.

"Fine. Go ahead and tell him yourself. Tell him how you stole Juliana's game, then unveiled it to DreamScape as a Kingston production."

Elias straightens, disbelief marking his features as he looks to our father. "Is that true?"

"Yes," he answers instantly, not a hint of remorse in his eyes. "Oh, don't give me that look. I did what was necessary. If Kingston Entertainment is to become the next titan of the gaming world, then sponsoring games isn't enough, and you know that."

Elias is silent for a moment, bouncing his knee nervously. "Yeah, but—"

"But nothing." Warren shoots from his chair, rounding his table in a flash, only to stare down his heir, whose face angles toward his lap like a scolded child. "I didn't sire you to act so weak, to pity a girl of such inferior birth, whose only purpose is to serve—"

"You're sick!" I shake with fury, my vision bleeding with a red haze.

His eyes dance with delight at my outburst. "Careful now." They flick over my shoulder, signaling that I must've drawn attention. "You'll risk sounding like you have actual feelings for this girl."

"That's just it, huh? You couldn't stomach seeing me happy at the derby. Why you made me give her the flash drive. You just needed to soil the first good thing that's happened to me, didn't you?"

Now his predatory steps amble toward me. Sinking his hands into his pants pockets, he stops a hair too close to seem natural, just by a hair, though, ensuring that I'll take notice, but the spectators outside won't. Same goes for his smug aura, which oozes from his pores like smog, sagging the bookcases lining the room's partition walls.

With a sigh, he speaks softly, as if extending me sympathy. "Hayden, Hayden, Hayden... don't fool yourself. You would've soiled it all on your own."

My teeth clench, so hard I fear they might crack, and it takes every ounce of strength I have in me not to tackle him with the whole office watching. I can feel the weight of their stares on my backside, brimming with anticipation, like fuel for my impulsivity.

"How can—"

"And even on the off chance you didn't fuck it up," he interrupts with a sneer, "she wasn't going to stay with you. Girls like that—who are beneath our kind of wealth—they're all the same. Fun for a time, until their insecurities catch up with them. It's inevitable."

I break from his vicinity, pacing down the wall of books, passing Elias's bewildered stare. "Do you even fucking hear yourself, sometimes?!" I pivot, discovering the mob of employees, all of whom I'm sure can make out my muffled shouts through the glass. "God, I can't wait to watch her sue your ass. She's been working on that game for five years. You think no one will notice what you did?"

A laugh spews from his lips, enough that he topples over slightly, tears pricking his eyes. The sound only heightens my anger. "Oh! You're too funny! You think she could take us on in court? Battle the entire Kingston legal department? Are you delusional, Hayden, or just that dense? You might not like what happened—not approve of what I did for this family— but you don't have to. What's done is done. Her and her family, they're nothing in the light of ours. Do you understand that?"

No, I don't say, pacing harder, the treads of my shoes shaving down the carpet, likely to catch flame if he keeps talking.

But he does, on and on, comparing our two families in the most offensive, disgusting way, as if he regards Juliana's family as livestock. And it's in the throes of his monologue that I decide, at the end of it, I'm ending him— by revealing his work logs. Hell, I'll print a stack off in the copying room, flaunt it off to our lovely crowd here, maybe decorate their cubicles with the evidence.

That is my plan, until I hear the next words slip from his lips.

"I should thank you." He steps in front of my path, causing me to halt and stare directly into his icy-blue eyes, our proximity almost nose-to-nose. "You did such a great job, getting her all warmed up to you."

Something inside me snaps.

Something that tells me his humiliation can wait.

That really... he needs a broken nose first.

As time slows to a crawl, I cock my arm back for a punch, not a care in the world if an employee has their phone recording and the footage ends up plastered all over gossip sites by tomorrow morning—in fact, I hope it does. I'm counting on it. Driven by rage, I throw all my weight into—

Rough hands grab my shoulders, yanking me back like I'm weightless. I writhe against the hold, as my arms lock behind me, before my cheek slams into the bookshelf. "Get off me!" I bark at the security guards, my exhales hissing through my teeth, charged with pent-up energy.

The sounds of metal against metal fill the air, cutting through the silence. Not a single employee utters a word through the now-propped-open office door. They only stare curiously at their CEO, who crosses his arms over his chest, facing his troublemaking son.

"No need to cuff him. He'll walk it off."