Forced to Forget_Blackmailing the Billionaire Series

by Tasha Fawkes

“I’ll just come into your office,” she interrupts. “I imagine this isn’t going to take long?”

  “Fine. Whatever you want.”

  She hangs up on me before I even finish the sentence, which I’m sure was intentional. I groan, because this just keeps going from bad to worse. I run my hands through my hair, not sure how to fix this. I feel like all I’ve done is make things worse.

  Angela stalks into my office twenty minutes later. I look up, an unexpected reaction stirring inside me as I watch her close the door. My eyes stray to the way her fitted grey shirt clings to her ass, and I stiffen. I sit forward and shift my gaze to my desk. Well that was completely unexpected.

  She sits down, oblivious to my reaction to her, and stares at me. She makes it a point to keep eye contact, as if to prove to herself that she’s not intimidated by me, but from the moment she walked in, everything about her is hard and defensive.

  “What did you want to talk about?” she asks, getting straight to the point.

  “I just want to make sure you’re okay,” I say.

  I really mean that when I say it. I want to rewind this whole day and do it over, because it was never my intention to make her feel bad or to bring up painful memories. I don’t know anything about her or her past, but you don’t give that kind of reaction without a reason. On top of all that, it was also not my intention to make things harder for myself.

  “The way you left the center—”

  “You could’ve just asked me that over the phone.” She points out.

  “I did.” I remind her. “But you were too busy being all defensive to give me a response.”

  “And what makes you so sure I’ll give you one now?” She sighs and shakes her head as her eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be defensive…I’m just tired.”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry,” I say, not sure what else I can say to her. “My intention wasn’t to upset you—”

  “Wasn’t it?” she asks with a laugh. “You knew exactly what you were trying to do, asking me to meet you there, so don’t sit there and tell me you weren’t trying to evoke a reaction from me.”

  “Why would I deny that?” I ask, shaking my head. “Of course I was trying to do that. It’s the only way you could possibly give me a non-biased recommendation. But getting you to think about the people that we help and upsetting you are two totally different—”

  “Are you kidding me?” she demands. She glares at me, sitting forward in her seat. “Nothing about any decision I might make that has been influenced by me visiting that place would be unbiased.”

  I glare at her, trying to control my anger, but it’s hard when she makes me just want to explode. If I wasn’t so passionate about what we were arguing about, I’d be finding how riled up she’s getting quite attractive.

  “Anyway,” she says. “I wasn’t upset or feeling anything else. I had to leave because I had an emergency, which I've now dealt with, so I can get on with my job.”

  I shake my head. I didn’t believe her crap about an emergency then, and I don’t believe it now. She got upset and she ran. It’s that simple.

  “So, seeing the center has changed nothing, in your eyes?” I challenge her.

  “Nothing at all,” she says, shaking her head. “If anything, it has just made me more certain that the center is chewing through all of your resources. You can't go on like that and I think you know it.”

  “What?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  I shake my head, annoyed and frustrated that I can’t get through to her. She's even more worked up than I thought she’d be—which is impressive, considering I was knew this would be hard.

  “I think you know what needs to be done, Nate.” She sighs as her voice softens. She relaxes her shoulders and stares me in the eye. “You can’t detach yourself from your emotions for long enough to be able to see this clearly, so you need to trust me. I’m here to help you, not hurt you and that means telling you what you don’t want to hear. It’s that simple,” she says. “Get rid of the crap sucking life out of your foundation and redirect your funds into areas that will create profit.”

  “Except that crap, as you call it, saves hundreds and thousands of lives every year,” I retort, glaring at her. I shake my head, my anger palpable.

  I just wish she’d fucking listen to me.

  “Honestly? What you’ve managed to achieve here is amazing. I really mean that. But it doesn't factor into my decision making process at all,” she says. “The way you’re going, you’re not going to have a center at all.”

  “If that fails to make it into your precious decision making process, then all that proves is how flawed your system is,” I mutter.

  Who can possibly make that decision without considering its benefits? Not everything is about money. I clench my hands into tight fists.

  “Everything else that funds the center? That’s the fucking point of it all. We do what we need to in order to keep it running. That’s it. It’s not that fucking hard to work out.”

  “Fine. Tell me, what are your ideas for achieving the two hundred percent increase in profit that you need to show? I’m really excited to hear what your plans are,” she says. I glare at her as she tilts her head to the side and smirks at me.

  “I thought so,” she mutters. She shakes her head and laughs. “It’s like you don’t even care what any of this means. Unless you want to lose everything, including your foundation, then you pretty much need to start over. You need to get rid of half your staff—”

  “No,” I say, glaring at her. I slam my fists down on my desk. “You don't get to come in here and do this.”

  Now I’m really losing my cool. I'm done playing nice with her, because the changes she's recommending don’t even line up with the goals and mission of the foundation. What's the fucking point in having a charity, if you’re going to sell yourself out?

  “I will not sell the foundation out. Not for anything or anyone. I just refuse to.” I snap. “And are you going to do the firing?” I ask her. “Are you going to tell a mother that you can't treat her sick kid because it’s not profitable enough?”

  She stares at me in shock. I see a flicker of something in her eyes, but then it's gone as quickly as it was there. I feel the smallest bit of hope that maybe I still have a chance at getting through to her. But it’s not going to happen while I’m this defensive and wound up.

  I breathe out as I walk around my desk and sit down on the edge of it, in front of her. I’m so tense that I’m shaking, but slowly the anger is starting to subside. I have to get out of there before I say something I regret—if I haven’t already done that.

  “You can see yourself out,” I mumble. I grab my keys and stalk past her, leaving her sitting there in my office.

  God, that was intense.

  I walk a few blocks down from the office to the bar I go to when I need to unwind. I walk inside and sit down. I wasn’t planning on drinking anything stronger than water, but then I order myself a scotch. Why is it so hard for her to understand how important this is to me? Am I being unreasonable? I know she’s trying to do her job, but fuck her for deeming it worthless, just because it doesn’t make a profit. I rest my head in my hands and sigh.

  I can’t think about this anymore.

  The only problem with that is that I can’t think about anything else. I worked my ass off to make my father’s dream a reality. I fought my grandfather over and over again while he was alive, while he made it his mission to try and bring me down. And I fucking won every time. And now I have to fight him all over again?

  I thought his games and attempts at control died with him, but I guess I underestimated how fucked in the head he was. The worst thing is, he’s going to fucking win. He’s going to take this from me and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.

  Two hours later, I’m still sipping that same scotch and trying to forget what a mess my life is. It isn’t working, so I decide what I need is more alcohol. I’m even more worked up tha
n I was before. All I can think about is how much I have to lose, and how hard I worked for it.

  The foundation has been my life for so long, and there's nothing I can do to save it. The only card I had to play was getting her into that center, and it didn’t work. Which means it’s over. I push my glass away from me in disgust as the guilt begins to set in. My father would be so disappointed with the man I’d become.

  No. Don’t do that. Your father wouldn’t give up and neither should you.

  Something inside me snaps. I need to fight this. I don’t have a choice. I need to do everything in my power to sway her decision and if that doesn’t work, I need to try something else. I nod, a new sense of determination hitting me. I’ll do whatever it takes, because my father’s legacy deserves that much.

  I was so determined to keep fighting—until I started on drink number three.

  I groan and rub my head, my vision cloudy as the self-pity begins to set in. I have another mouthful of my scotch, because it’s at least taking the edge off the anger. The more time that passes, the more I drink, until I lose count. As the drinks increase, so do my anger levels. I know that’s not a good thing, but I’m past the point of being able to stop myself.

  All I have to do is think about Angela and I want to kill somebody. Even the barmaids won’t come near me. They don’t think I can see them hovering over behind the bar, jumping every time I set my glass down? I shake my head. I’m not a danger to them. I’m only a danger to myself.

  I rest my head down on the table and close my eyes. When I open them a few minutes later, I hear someone in sit down next to me. I look up, surprised to see Matt. I scowl at him.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  He sinks down onto the seat next to me, giving me the disappointed look that I’m so used to giving him. I guess now I know how it feels.

  “So, this is what you call coping, hey?” he says. I narrow my eyes at him.

  “I guess I learned from the best.” I shot back. “The number of times I had to carry you out to my car after you’d drown your sorrows? Hell, I'm pretty sure it happened not long after you found out your stipulation.” I remind him.

  Matt chuckles. “Okay, point taken. I guess you get one pass, then, hey?”

  I frown at him. Twenty passes and I’d still be behind.

  “How did you even know I was here?”

  He makes a face and glances back at the waitress.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I've got time,” I say narrowing my eyes.

  He shrugs. “I used to know the waitress quite well. She still had my number and she'd seen me in here with you, so she called me up to come and get you.”

  “Nice of her,” I mutter.

  Matt chuckles. “How about we get you home?” he says.

  He stands up and extends his hand. I take it, nearly stumbling into his arms when I stand up.

  “You know I love you, but not like that,” he says.

  “Oh, shut up and get me home,” I mutter.

  I glance at the waitress as we walk past.

  “Hey, isn't that the chick you almost proposed to?” I slur.

  “Did propose to, and then retracted it,” Matt mutters.

  We walk out the door and over to his car. He helps me into the seat, then I’m pretty sure I fall asleep before he even makes it around to the driver’s side. I fall asleep again on the way home and then once more as Matt tries to help me inside. I have a vague recollection of him helping me into the bed, while he muttered something under his breath about me being the responsible one.

  When he walks out, I roll over, Angela flashing through my mind. My fists tighten around a handful of the sheets as a new wave of anger hits me. This is her fault. Everything is her fault. Then I fall asleep.

  Chapter 8

  Angela

  My job is brutal. I’m the first to admit that. And I feel bad for Nate. I’m not used to feeling bad, because usually my help is wanted, so the guilt is overwhelming. This does feel personal, because for Nate, it is. The person who hired me essentially wants me to ruin Nate. I think he’s very justified in not wanting to listen to me. He's so passionate about what he does. He’s put so much of his life into building that center and while, yes, it's eating away his resources, I can see how much he loves helping people. The hardest part is that the center does help people, it’s just not viable.

  I hate doing what I'm doing, but I know I need to do it.

  I flop down on my bed and stare at the ceiling. No wonder I don't have a guy in my life. No one is game enough to come near me. I'm a hard ass. I’m strong and ruthless and men hate strong women. That's what people think when they look at me, right?

  I shake my head. I hate that people think that way about me, because it’s not who I am. Nobody gets to see the softer side of me, because I push them away. Hell, sometimes I’m not even sure she’s still in there, but then I start losing myself in feelings and shit that I try to suppress…like this attraction I have to Nate.

  I sigh and close my eyes. The thing is, I’ve given up everything for my career. Without it, what else do I have? I certainly don't have the love or respect of my father. I’ll probably never have a guy to come home to or have children of my own. I shake my head.

  I've got no idea where all this emotion is coming from. Damn Nate and his stupid center for bringing out this side of me. I did what had to do and now have to get over it and move on. Nate was smart he played me by taking me to that center. He wanted to play on my emotions and it almost worked. I roll over and force myself to breathe. I feel like I’m on the verge of breaking down. I'm only doubting myself because I'm feeling vulnerable. It's not the way I usually feel and it’s scary. As soon as it passes, I'll be back to my old self.

  Sighing, I flick open my eyes and blink back tears. I think part of the problem is that I feel so alone. My father hasn't even called to check on me since that one time, the day I arrived here. I know I wanted space from his control, but still, a call to see how I’m doing would be nice.

  I shake my head, because I hate feeling sorry for myself like this. I need to distract myself and I'm not going to do that by lying in my room, shutting myself off from the world. Sitting up, I grab my phone and call Shana to see if she wants to meet me somewhere.

  “Hey,” she says, sounding happy to hear from me. “What's up?”

  “Not much,” I admit. “Hey, do you feel like going out?” I say with a grin. “I feel like going out and letting off some steam. Any chance you like to join me?”

  “Sure,” she says. “There's a bar over and Twelfth Street that plays jazz music on Thursday nights. I could meet you there at seven?”

  “Great,” I say. “I’ll see you there.”

  I hang up and then I have a shower and put on some makeup. I go all out, including choosing the sexiest dress I own. I look good, which means I start feeling good too. Just before I leave, I glance at myself in the mirror and smile. Part of me wishes Nate could see me now. Anything to loosen up the view he has of me, which I'm sure is not too flattering.

  I catch a cab to the club. When it pulls up at the front, I pay the driver and then get out. Straightening up my dress, I look around. I like this place already, even before I walk inside. It’s busy, but no so bad that I can’t move. I spot Shana easily in the middle of the room. Charlene is there as well, which I'm happy about.

  “Hey,” I smile as I sit down. I ‘m feeling relaxed, because both of them are just so friendly. It's hard not to get caught up in their enthusiasm when they talk about something.

  “So,” Shauna says. “How’s it going? Have you and Nate…” Her voice trails off as she giggles.

  I shake my head. “No way. Never gonna happen. He hates me.”

  “He does not.” She assures me. “Trust me.”

  “I'm here to ruin his life. I don't blame him for hating me,” I say with a shrug.

  “No, you’re not,” Charlene protests. “You're simply doing your job. That’s it.�
�

  I shrug. “Maybe, but it’s not how he sees it. Anyway, enough talk about Nate. I didn’t come out to discuss him. Or work.”

  I came out to forget both things.

  “Then why are we here?” Shana says with a smirk.

  “Because I need a distraction,” I say.

  Charlene scans the room and then turns back to me with a cheeky smile.

  “A six foot tall one, maybe?”

  I glance over at him and flush when he smiles at me. God, there is no way I can go over there and start a conversation with some random hot guy.

  “I don't think so,” I say, giggling.

  “Why not?” she asks. Her eyes twinkle as she nudges Shana. “Maybe that's just what you need.”

  “Yeah.” Shana chimes in. “Why else would you ask us out tonight?”

  I flush and then giggle, the little bit of alcohol I’ve had tonight making me feel all warm. I lift my glass to my lips and have another sip, because she’s right. The idea was to have some fun.

  “Maybe after I’ve had a few more of these,” I say to Charlene. My heart races at the thought. “Then I might have the courage to do something like that.”

  Shana laughs. “Oh that totally sounds like a challenge,” she says. She waves at the barman, requesting another round, then wiggles her eyebrows at me. “My mission is to get you fucked tonight,” she says.

  I laugh, because anyone would think she was hitting on me. As the night wears on, I start to relax more and more. By my third drink, I start thinking that maybe it wouldn't be the worst idea in the world to hook up with someone. No pressure, just a little bit of harmless fun to ease some of the tension. Maybe then I can finally focus on my job. I also can’t deny that it would be nice to know that someone is into me enough to sleep with me.

  “So, what kind of guy are you into?” Shana asks.

  I laugh. “Excuse me?”

  “What? If I’m going to help you find a guy, I need to know what you like.” She protests.