by Nikki Chase
I take my usual seat at my desk and say, to Penny, “Sit wherever you like.”
I assumed she’d sit down on one of the designer couches in the waiting room. Like other things in this office, they look good but they’re pretty low on the comfort factor.
But instead, Penny tiptoes toward her dad’s office door and presses her ear against the wood.
“Penny!” I whisper loudly. “You’re not supposed to do that.”
If Mr. Hunter finds out I’m letting his daughter eavesdrop on his interview, I’ll get in trouble. And then all my hard work will amount to nothing.
Penny doesn’t budge, even though she’s staring right at me. I watch as her eyes widen and her skin grows pale. She looks alarmed.
“Oh, no,” she says softly, her voice shaking.
“What’s wrong?” I ask with concern.
Maybe she’s just being a brat and doing whatever she wants. Maybe I should just yank her off the door and tell her to behave.
But something tells me there’s more going on. She seems like a kid who has grown up before her time, like someone who’s more mature than her peers.
Maybe I’m just projecting, because that’s the way I used to feel myself, when I was a kid.
Whatever the reason, my heartbeat picks up as I wait for her response. I have a feeling this might be serious.
Penny’s eyes grow dark with conviction. When she opens her mouth, she says, “You have to do something.”
Ethan
I can’t help but stare at my assistant’s ass, her perky globes swaying from side to side, her movements exaggerated by her high heels. The staccato beats of her shoes on the floor echo as she walks away.
She’s a fucking distraction. And I can’t afford to have any distractions.
But she does decent work. She’s good at following instructions. And to be honest, maybe I enjoy that a little too much.
I love her nervous fidgeting when I look at her, the little bite of her bottom lip, the tucking of her blonde hair behind her ear. Not to mention the way she glances away as she loses her composure, or the way her chest rises and falls rapidly.
I love that I’m the one who makes her nervous, that I’m the one whose orders she follows. I wish I could pin her to the wall and have my way with her.
But I can’t do that. That would be irresponsible. And above all, I need to be responsible.
Besides, my reputation is already shot to shit. The last thing I need is a sexual harassment lawsuit from my personal assistant.
And trying to find a replacement would be hell. I can’t deal with the idiots in HR sending me one stupid airhead after another.
No, Megan makes for the perfect personal assistant, and that’s exactly why I need to keep my dirty paws off her, even if my cock is already stirring in my pants.
I tear my gaze off her sexy curves and focus on the document in front of me, a list of talking points prepared by my PR department to help me get ready for the interview.
I fucking hate doing all this publicity stuff. I told Eliza, the head of the PR department, that I wanted her to deal with the media, but she said it would seem insincere and impersonal.
Well, I’m a fucking businessman. Why the fuck do they want to get up close and personal? I’m not a celebrity, and I don’t want to be.
It’s not even just the business media anymore that talks about me, but also the gossip tabloids. My pictures next to the fucking Kardashians—imagine that.
My phone rings. I take a quick glance to check who’s calling.
Ashley.
Of course it’s her. The fucking root and source of all my problems. Of course she’d call me on a bad day, just to make it worse.
I silence the ringtone and let the call go to voicemail.
I try to concentrate on the talking points, but it’s the same old fucking lines.
Create jobs and spread wealth.
Share savings with the local communities.
Overall positive economic impact.
Conversations with elected officials and community leaders.
Co-exist with small and medium businesses.
Review our portfolio.
Constantly looking for new ways to be more helpful to the surrounding areas.
It’s the same corporate speak that has been rehashed to death. No journalist who actually cares about doing a good job would ever buy these answers. But do we even have any real journalists anymore?
Money can buy opinions in this day and age. I don’t even know whether that’s a good thing. I used to think it was, until my enemies started using the same PR tactics against me.
I throw the folder on my desk. It hasn’t helped at all. I just know that whoever’s coming to interview me won’t be interested in these sanitized, sterilized talking points.
I might as well listen to my voicemail. The one from Ashley, the fucking mother of my child.
“Hey, Ethan,” she greets in a sickeningly sweet voice. “How’s Penny doing? I miss her, and I’m sure she wants to see me, too.
“You can’t just keep us apart forever. Sooner or later they’re going to grant me custody. You know that, right? You can’t keep a mother away from her daughter.
“Anyway, Lucas says he’s working on something. So if I were you, I’d be fucking scared right now.” She cackles like the witch she is, then adds, “I was hoping to hear your reaction.
“But, oh well, we don’t always get what we want, right, honey? You’ve been the exception to that rule for too long. Soon, you’ll get what’s coming to you.
“Anyway, I gotta go. Talk soon!”
Fucking Ashley.
I put the phone down on my desk.
Hasn’t that woman done enough? I don’t know what else she wants from me.
When Ashley left me and took Penny with her, she should’ve known there was a possibility that I’d get custody, and taken that into consideration. It’s not my fault she wasn’t prepared for it.
“Mr. Hunter,” says Eliza as she knocks of my office door.
Great. Perfect timing.
I’ve just been terrorized by a nightmare from my past, and now I’m about to face yet another user who wants to take advantage of me.
Sure, this journalist doesn’t personally know me and it’s nothing personal. But she’s still looking to use me to further her career, selling me to her audience like I’m some kind of a product.
I don’t know why I expect anything different from anybody.
I run my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath.
“Come in,” I say.
The door opens, and Eliza walks in, followed by a woman I don’t recognize.
“Mr. Hunter, this is Melanie Graham. She’s here for the interview,” Eliza says.
“Mr. Hunter, it’s an honor to finally meet you. I’m Melanie Graham from The Times.”
“Please, call me Ethan.” I smile and gesture for her to follow me to the sitting area.
I don’t like being too familiar with strangers, but Eliza tells me this is a trick to make myself seem more personable. I wouldn’t care if people thought I was the devil himself, but apparently that could hurt the bottom line, so I listen to her.
“And please call me Melanie,” she says as she meets me by the coffee table.
We shake hands and give each other a polite smile before we take our seats on the couches. A little showmanship to make her like me so she’ll write good things about me.
None of it means anything, of course. Just a ritualistic dance before any main event in this office.
“How’s your day going so far, Mr. Hunter? I’m sorry, I mean Ethan.” Melanie does a fake laugh intended to bring my defense down. Unfortunately for her, I’m not that naïve.
“It’s business as usual, Melanie. Thanks for asking. How’s your day so far?”
“It’s looking up, now that I’m interviewing someone who made the 40 Under 40 List.” Melanie smiles as she mentions the stupid, arbitrary article that some business
magazine writes every year, about the top forty businessmen under the age of forty. She pulls out a little black gadget from her bag. “Mind if I record this interview?”
“Not at all,” I say.
Eliza sits on the sidelines, watching the interview, ready to interrupt or take over when the questions get too intrusive. She must be proud. Here I am, addressing the interviewer with her first name and being polite—friendly, even. I’m doing everything she told me to.
As we expected, Melanie starts with the easy questions. Where our newest shopping centers will be located, how many of our projects are going to be finished this year, and what our plans are for the next five years.
We all know this is just warm-up. None of this is going to make it into whatever article she’ll write. Still, we pretend it actually matters.
Then, Melanie bares her teeth—metaphorically, of course. We’re civilized people. We don’t actually assume aggressive stances to threaten one another with physical violence. We just smile while we secretly stab one another in the back.
“Have you heard any feedback from the local community about your property in Northdeer?”
“Before we start any project, we always have extensive conversations with the local elected officials and community leaders,” I answer, recalling the words from Eliza’s talking points.
“I see. There are allegations that local businesses and property owners have faced intimidation from Hunter Corporation. Are you aware of these allegations?”
“Yes. I try to keep abreast of any new developments related to my business. With the size of our portfolio, you understand that I can’t possibly keep track of every single thing that happens, but Eliza here is great at bringing the more important issues to my attention.” I glance at Eliza, who gives me an approving look that tells me I’m doing great at sticking to the script.
I don’t like having someone tell me what to do, but dealing with the press is not my area of expertise.
A couple of years ago, Hunter Corporation got hit by a ton of bad publicity, and my honest responses weren’t helping. It got so bad that our profits were hurt. At that point, I had to swallow my pride and hire a PR expert.
I can’t jeopardize everything I’ve worked so hard for, just because I can’t control what I say. Control is key. And if it takes a PR expert to take back that control, then so be it.
“How have you responded to these particular allegations in Northdeer?” Melanie asks.
“As I’ve already stated in many other interviews, Hunter Corporation used to subcontract the acquisition of land and construction of structures to another company. We have severed all business relationships with this company.” I don’t need any notes to answer this question. I’ve answered it eighty-three times. It seems to be a favorite among journalists.
“Are you talking about Primaland?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” I answer.
“You’re the CEO, Ethan. Surely, you can say anything you want?”
“I’m sorry, Melanie. This is not something I can discuss with you.” I smile at her. I’m being friendly, but also making it clear that I’m not going to let her push me into a corner.
“Okay, let’s move on to something lighter, then.” Her lips curl up, but the way she stares at me leaves no doubt in my mind: she’s going for blood now. “You’re often photographed with your daughter, Penny. You’re shown picking her up, taking her for ice cream… It’s adorable.”
“Thank you. My daughter is the most important person in the world to me, and I enjoy spending time with her.” This is the most genuine statement I’ve said so far in this interview.
“That’s really sweet, Ethan.”
“I’m sure I’m not the only dad who feels that way about his daughter.” I smile and brace myself for what I know is about to come.
“Not every CEO has the time to pick up his daughter from school every day.”
“I can’t comment on how other people parent. This is the only way I know how to be a dad.” I shrug. I wish she’d just get to the point, rather than act like she cares.
“I have some questions related to the way you parent, actually. I’m sure you know people are talking. They say you’re only pretending for the cameras,” Melanie says, finally getting to the heart of the matter.
“People say all kinds of things.”
“Are you picking up your daughter today?”
“Well, no. But today is an exception. Penny’s school let out early today, and I wouldn’t have been able to make this interview if I picked her up.”
“I see. So sometimes business comes first after all, huh?”
“Well, no. It’s just a minor scheduling issue,” I say with a practiced smile.
Bitch, I curse in my head. You don’t think I’d rather be eating ice cream with my daughter than sitting here getting grilled by you, a stranger and a nobody?
“I’m sure you’re also aware of how your ex-wife, Ashley Hunter, has gone public with her story, saying that you’ve been keeping her away from Penny, her own daughter,” Melanie says.
“Yes. It’s what the court decided. The presiding judge gave me full custody of Penny.”
“Your ex-wife is contesting that decision. In fact, she has teamed up with Primaland to call you a liar and a bully in the media,” she continues.
“And a monster, too. Let’s not forget that.” I chuckle.
“You seem to find it amusing. Aren’t you afraid of losing your daughter?”
“The media may be able to influence public opinion, Melanie. But ultimately the courts make the final decision.”
“Your ex-wife accuses you of using your money and influence to gain the upper hand in court. What do you say to that?”
“I say I haven’t done anything illegal.”
“Not illegal, I agree. But judges are members of the public, too, Ethan. The shift in public opinion may affect your custody arrangement.”
“I’ll let the courts decide,” I reply calmly with a smile as I lean back in my couch, even though my blood is boiling inside.
“Your ex-wife also alleges that you’re keeping Penny away from her out of spite. She claims you’re putting on a show when you’re seen with her in public.”
“That’s just not true, Melanie.” I stick to short answers as she comes up with one infuriating statement after another. I can’t risk saying something out of anger. It will only become fodder for the press.
“I want to believe you, Ethan. But you just told me yourself that you’re not picking up your daughter because of this interview. Is it more important to you to present a certain image to the public, than it is to provide good care for your daughter?”
“Not at all. I don’t think it’s fair to judge my parenting from the little slice of my life that you see.”
I inwardly curse at Eliza. She has been telling me what an important interview this is, and how I can’t miss it. Well, maybe it is. But I really can do without this woman’s attacks and negativity. I should’ve skipped it altogether.
“Unfortunately, Ethan, a slice of your life is all I get to see, and it’s all the material I have for my article,” Melanie says.
Before I can open my mouth to answer, the door opens. No knocking, no warning.
I’m sitting with my back toward the door, so I twist to take a look. This is highly unusual, and I don’t like it. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening.
Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion. All conversation grinds to a halt. The only sounds are the soft tapping of sneakers on the tiles, and the sharp clicking of high heels not far behind.
“Hi, Dad,” Penny says casually, waving as she enters the room.
Megan follows behind her, looking distraught as she shuts the door behind her. Her gaze flicks wildly between Eliza, Melanie, and me.
I frown at the two of them.
What the fuck do they think they’re doing?
Megan
“You have to do something, Megan
,” Penny repeats. The blood has drained from her face, and her dilated pupils darken her blue eyes.
“What’s wrong, Penny? Calm down.” I don’t even know what the problem is, so how am I supposed to do anything?
“They’re going to take me away. I can’t…” Her sentence hangs in the air as she hyperventilates, pumping air into her small lungs.
What could be going on inside Mr. Hunter’s office? All I know is there’s an interview right now, but I have no idea what it’s about, or how it affects Penny.
All I know is it’s important enough for Eliza Dahl from PR to join him today.
She’s this talented, hard-working young woman who always seems to know what to say. She always looks professional in her fashionable blazers, and she can smooth out any difficult situation—it’s like a superpower.
Sometimes, Mr. Hunter does smaller interviews that he doesn’t even prepare for. But for this particular one, he’s been emailing back and forth with Eliza for days.
“Penny, just sit down for a minute. Come on.” I get up and put my hands on her shoulders, intending to gently guide her toward the waiting area, where the couches are.
There’s nothing she or I could do. As much as it sucks, we’re powerless, so we might as well just sit back and relax.
“There’s no time!” Penny insists.
“Penny.” I bend down to level my gaze at her. “What is it that I’m supposed to do? What is going on? I need to know if you want me to help you.”
“They’re going to take me away,” she repeats. She looks so desperate it breaks my heart. “You need to do something.”
“I don’t know how to help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on. Tell me, how am I supposed to help you?” I ask, getting worried and frustrated.
Damn it, I think I might like this kid after all. Why do I even care about her? She’s the daughter of my enemy.
“I don’t know,” Penny snaps. “You’re the adult here. You’re supposed to know what to do. You’re almost twice my age.”
She even remembers what I said in the cab, even in her panicked state. She may be a kid, but she’s smart and perceptive. Maybe something really bad is really going on in there.
