by Zoey Derrick
I take an involuntary step back, bumping into the cabinet behind me. I stop, locked in place as his eyes shift from anger to concern. “Dyson, I…I’m sorry.” I sigh, “I had no idea you felt that way about-”
“No, it’s alright. I shouldn’t have reacted that way. It still makes me so angry.” He flexes his hands at his sides. “My father used to beat the shit out of my mother,” he adds, completely unsolicited. “When I got old enough to step in and protect her, he turned to beating both of us.”
My hand goes to my mouth, and my eyes shimmer with unshed tears at what he went through as a child. He was only eleven when I met him and to have had to go through all that before that age, I can’t fathom it. “I had no idea,” I say slowly.
“No one did. It wasn’t something we talked about. My mom and I had a pact when we moved to Joplin. We wouldn’t talk about it, ever. We’d been placed under protection.”
“Witness?” He quickly shakes his head.
“No, more of a protective order. Cole is my birth name. It’s my father’s name. Richards was the name they’d told my mother to use when it came to me.”
“Oh,” I squeak. “That’s why she had a different last name.” I don’t know why in the hell I’m remembering this now, after all this time, but I have a memory of asking him once when we were kids why his mother’s last name was different from his. He’d just said he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Mom reverted back to her maiden name. Like I said, it wasn’t witness protection or anything, but it was an attempt to hide the truth. That’s why the house in Joplin still stands empty. My mother inherited the house a few years ago. It was a family home – belonging to her mother’s side. When we moved out, no one ever wanted to move in.”
The memory of the day I threw the rock at the front door comes back to me and I wonder if, by some strange miracle, the rock is actually still there.
“So, your father died while you were in college.” I try and change the subject back to college. “You said something about making a decision.”
He softens a little at my distraction, his anger lightens. “You still need to pick a movie,” he tells me.
“Maybe, but I want to hear the rest of your story.”
He smirks. “I was the only living next of kin when my father died so his entire estate was left to me.”
“That sounds like a lot.” I meant it as a question but it doesn’t come out right.
He gives me another humorless laugh. “That’s an understatement. I finished up my freshman year, debating on what to do next. I hated school with a passion.”
“You never seemed to mind high school.”
He gives me a knowing smile. “That’s because I wasn’t a pariah there. I was popular, the girls dug me, I played football and it killed the time. But I sucked at school. My grades were only ever average at best and had I not had the scholarship, I doubt I would have gotten into college at all. Then I suddenly found myself with a lot of money.”
“What kind of money are we talking about?” I ask, regretting the question as soon as it leaves my mouth. Something tells me it’s not just a few thousand dollars.
“The kind of money that makes my first million look like chump change.”
“Fuck me,” I breathe
“Later,” he smirks. “But I didn’t want his money. That was the problem. Mom and I’d gotten by without him and his bullshit for years. She refused it then too but there wasn’t much I could do. The IRS frowns on donating that much money to charity in a year unless you have marketable assets…anyway.” I smile at his rambling. It’s the first time he’s rambled and I think it’s sweet. “That’s when I started thinking about a way to give it all back. A way to give it back to the community in some strange way, so I started Home Together.”
I need to sit down.
“Ireland…what’s wrong?” His voice is panicked and he comes over to me, but I ignore him and go to the couch to sit down.
I have to find my voice. I have to explain this to him. “Talk about six degrees,” I mumble.
“What are you talking about? What’s wrong?” The panic rises in his voice a little higher and he sits next to me. “Please, VeeVee, what’s wrong?”
I hold my hand up and pull in a few deep breaths, hoping not to hyperventilate before I can explain this to him. He’s growing more and more nervous. “I’m alright, I just…Do your remember what Home Together did in oh-nine?”
I watch as he racks his brain looking for a memory, looking for something, trying to search through it. “I’m drawing a blank. I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“Do you remember the contest Home Together did that year?”
“Oh, the branding contest. The one where we went to colleges across the country and asked them to come up with a business and marketing plan. The colleges filtered them to the students, they created their own plans and brand, then the colleges narrowed them down. They were only able to submit one entry into the official contest per school.”
He’s on the right track. Okay. I pull a deep breath in and let it out. “How many colleges?”
“There were fifty total, one from each state.”
“So you know that ASU was one of those schools?”
“It wasn’t one of the schools, it was the school. They won the contest. Someone named Ivy M. Kidd.”
I smirk. “Not Ivy, Dyson. I. Vy., as in Ireland Vyolet. The school screwed up and my submission got fucked up.”
He stands up; obvious shock is written across his features. He doesn’t say anything as he starts to pace back and forth. His silence is uncomfortable and I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t know what he’s thinking. “Jesus, Dyson, say something.”
“That fucking close…I was that fucking close to you seven years ago,” he mumbles. “Did you know it was me? My company?” he asks, turning to me.
I shake my head vehemently. “No, I had no idea. It was incorporated under Tiger’s Eye…” my words trail off and I just stare at him. My mind goes completely blank and he raises an eyebrow at me. “D. Cole,” I mouth.
“You turned down a meeting with me then. Why?”
I shake my head. “The contest was meant to be anonymous, if I remember correctly.”
“Fuck that, I was going to offer you a job. I was so impressed, in fact…” he leaves the room and I’m left sitting there dumbfounded. I want to follow him but my legs won’t work. It’s all too fucking weird, too damn crazy. Fate.
Don’t you start, I scold my subconscious.
Just as fast as he was gone, he returns, breezing back into the room and he hands me a portfolio. I take it from him and open it.
“You found this really fast.”
He snorts. “It sits on top of everything in my drawer.” I flip through the well-worn pages, and I see a few notes in the margins in a script I’m assuming is Dyson’s. “That business model was adopted into what is now the Tiger’s Eye blanket plan and it’s the foundation of Tigress’s business plan,” he breathes. “I need to go make a phone call. Will you excuse me a minute?”
I stare up at him and blink. “Uh, sure,” I tell him and he leaves the room. I don’t know until I hear the beep and click of what I’m assuming is his office door where he’s going exactly. I try and shrug it off, but something is very wrong.
Chapter 39
DYSON
“Remedy” - Adele
I look at my watch; it’s just before eight and on a Friday night, he’d better answer his damn phone.
“Barker.”
“Charlie, it’s Dyson.”
“Well, hello there. I was wondering if you were gonna call while you were in town.”
I snort into the phone. “This isn’t a social call.”
“Well, that’s disappointing. What can I do for you?”
“Do you remember back in oh-nine when we ran that contest for Home Together?” I ask. I know he remembers because we talk about it once in a while.
“Oh-nine…no.”
“Oh, that account. What about it?”
“We need to change the name on it.”
“You’re going to have to give me a lot more than that, Dyson.”
“The school screwed it up. Do you remember we tried to send out the compensation?”
He laughs, “Yeah, it got returned six times before we finally gave up.”
“That’s because we had the wrong name,” I tell him.
“I’m pretty sure it was Ivy’s way of telling you she didn’t want your money.”
“She doesn’t have much of a choice now. That business plan was incorporated into Tiger’s Eye and rules over Tigress.”
He laughs, “That’s why there’s so much fucking money in there. It’s a royalty pay out?”
“Exactly.”
“I told you not to bother with all that. Considering the check kept getting sent back and it was only for what, twenty-five grand? How in the hell do you expect her to accept a portfolio worth nearly thirty million dollars?”
“Not give her a choice,” I tell him.
“It’s your funeral, my friend.” He sighs, “So, what’s the name?”
“Ireland Vyolet McKidd.”
“Send me her details, address, etcetera. I’ll get the guys looking into it. See if there is some way we can find out from the school that she was actually the winning submission. Does she have a lawyer?”
“Doubtful, but I’m sure I can set something up for her,” I tell him and we end the call shortly after that.
I find another number in my phone and call it. Mick, my ever trusted financial god is quick to answer. He’s back in Arizona, so it’s earlier for him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he greets.
“We have a situation.”
“Stick your dick in something you shouldn’t have?”
I growl into the phone. “Yes, but it’s not what you think.”
He laughs into the phone, “Am I bailing you out? It’s kind of early in New York to get your ass thrown in jail.”
“I love how highly you think of me there, Mick.”
“Well, if this is what I expect, then there can be no surprises.”
“This one’s gonna knock you on your ass.”
I launch into the details, reminding him of the contract and trust agreements in place. Inform him Charlie is working on the legal end of things, and I will be getting the details to him as well as Charlie. When we finish the call, he’s set to task and he thinks he can have everything wrapped up and ready by Thursday. I learn from Mick that the money owed to one Ivy M. Kidd is about nine million in liquid cash, the remaining twenty million or so is in the form of company shares and stocks. Ivy M. Kidd is a five percent shareholder in Tiger’s Eye, Incorporated and a ten percent holder in Tigress.
I send an email to Charlie, giving him what I know of Ireland, which is just about everything compliments of Shelly’s human resources file and let him know he will need to be in Arizona on Thursday. I pace my office, trying to gather my wits about me while I figure out how to return to Ireland after leaving her so abruptly.
Deciding that I need a drink, and that Ireland and I need to talk, I leave my office and pull the door closed behind me. I’ve only been gone about fifteen minutes and when I return to the game room, she’s curled up on the couch with her proposal in her lap and she’s reading through it like it’s the most interesting book in the world.
“If I’d known half of what I do today, this would have been a thousand times better,” she tells me without even looking up from the folio in her lap.
“Oh yeah, what exactly would you change?” I ask. She makes the transition for me and I smile.
“You might want to get a notebook for this.” She smirks and starts pacing the room. There’s a desk near the door that has some pens and pads in there. A phone used to sit on the desk. The phone is gone, but the goods remain.
I get comfortable on the coffee table and watch her pace back and forth as she launches into a deeper, more detailed account of the portfolio she just read through.
We carry on a discussion that has a few arguments in it, but they aren’t really that, more discussion like. At one point we carry the discussion into the kitchen where I pour us both some wine and continue listening to her talk on and on. She never loses my attention and it is nearly midnight before she runs out of steam and makes it through the entire portfolio.
I end up with more notes in the margin and nearly a whole letter sized legal pad full of notes.
“I don’t care what Wellington is paying you, I will triple it if you come work for me.” My voice is serious but yet she manages to laugh.
“I’d like to say something sarcastic, like you’re insane or that you can’t afford it, but I’m pretty sure you can.”
“I can. How much are they paying you?” I ask her.
“Isn’t that private information?”
No need to tell her I can get the information. I want her to tell me. “We’ve been discussing money all night. Why not tell me this now?”
“Because compared to what you make, it’s embarrassing.”
I give her a playful smirk and raise of my eyebrow. “You don’t know what I make,” I tease her.
“No, but I would wager a guess it would take me no less than twenty years, saving every single penny I make and not spending a single dime on anything for me to even come close to making a million dollars.”
“Well, when you factor in cost of living increases, raises, things like that, I’d imagine it might take-”
“Okay, eighteen years,” She laughs. “Seventy-five.”
“Thousand?” I ask, joking aside.
“No, hundred.”
“What?” I scoff.
She bursts out laughing, “Yes, seventy-five thousand.”
“I was gonna fucking say I realize you’re fresh out of college and all, but that’s a bit low.”
She laughs, “I made twelve thousand interning.”
“A summer?”
She shakes her head. “Three summers,” she clarifies.
“Well, that’s just…” I don’t even know what to say. “You’re right, I won’t triple it.”
She gapes at me, “Then I won’t work for you!”
“You mean you’d really consider it?”
“For two-hundred and twenty-five thou a year, fucking right I would.”
“I love your mouth,” I tell her. “Say yes, right here, on the spot.”
“You just said you wouldn’t triple it. So why, Mr. Big Shot, Three-Thousand Dollar Suit Wearing CEO, would I come and work for you?”
“Because I’ll pay you five-hundred thou a year, plus a ten million dollar sign on bonus.” The words fly out of my mouth before I stop them. I cringe, waiting for her reaction.
She bursts out laughing, “You’re fucking funny.”
“Can’t fault a man for trying,” I smirk. No need to tell her there is nearly thirty million coming to her whether or not she wants it or the job.
Chapter 40
Ireland
“Say It” - Flume ft. Tove Lo
“What are you looking at?” I tease as he stares at his phone. Looking for a distraction from his outrageous and unbelievable job offer.
“Oh, just this picture this gorgeous girl sent me today.” He smirks at me and for some strange reason, my vision turns green. “I was in this meeting and she sent me this picture. It got my dick so fucking hard I couldn’t concentrate on what I was doing.” His hooded eyes meet my all too bright green ones. “Then I realized she was standing in my bathroom looking like sin on legs.”
He drops his phone on the bed and staring back at me is the shot I’d sent him earlier. The green in my vision fades fast, and he wraps his arms around me. “It’s all your fault, you know?”
He smirks, but the desire is still in his eyes as he looks at me. “Oh really? Why is that?” He’s pretending to pla
y the innocent but I know better.
“Because you make me fucking crazy, you insatiable fool.”
He captures my lips in his, taking me for a soul sucking kiss that leaves me squirming. When he pulls back, our breathing is ragged and uneven. “Say my name.” His voice has turned husky. His erection presses against me.
“Eccentric-suit-wearing-horn dog.”
He bursts out laughing. “One of these days, princess, I will get you to say my name without an ounce of hesitation.”
I smile at him, accepting his challenge. “Good luck with that.”
He kisses my forehead, and the gesture is not new, but the meaning isn’t entirely lost on me. He’s accepting of whatever I’m willing to throw at him, no matter what.
Tonight took a turn for the crazy. I was expecting to pick a movie, to lie in bed and watch it snuggled in his arms, but instead, a simple conversation turned into an entire business discussion and a completely unrealistic job proposal. Half a million dollars a year? No fucking way. I am not worth anywhere near that much money. Hell, I’ve barely finished college and while I worked three summers interning, I have no real world experience in marketing. But, I’ll be, he fucking took notes like he needed my words as a lifeline. I wanted to ask him if Tigress was in trouble, but by the end of our discussion, I honestly felt like he was truly engaged in making Tigress better than what it currently is. Though I’m not entirely sure that’s possible.
“You never did tell me if you went back to school after your freshman year,” I state, attempting to change the subject. After our little pow-wow business discussion, I’m buzzing and not very tired.
“No, I didn’t. I could have, easily, but I didn’t have the drive and while I wasn’t fully intent on spending my father’s fortune on myself, I found a new purpose with the charity. It started small. I put up the cost to build a small complex of houses that would house single mothers who’d lost everything or were victims of abuse.” My heart sinks with sadness at what he put his time into. I remember the organization well, I wrote a business plan for it after all. At the same time as my heart sinks, it starts to soar. The seventeen-year old asshole who left me cold and naked on the ground in a barn has grown up. “The building was a success. By the end of the first year, we’d filled all the apartments with families. Sponsorships started pouring in and while we were set pretty good, we wanted to expand further and in order to do that, we needed a business plan.”
