Dirty Little Secrets

Ch. 30: The Violent Hurricane

DAMON

"Five million dollars?!" Javier slaps today's New York Times newspaper on my desk. "Have you lost your damn mind?!"

My gaze floats to the photograph of Quinton and me on the front page, Emery standing off to the side. NovaTech Pharmaceuticals and Cavanaugh Industries Donate a Record-Breaking 20 Million Dollars to Manhattan Children's Hospital. No mention of my apparent 'assault' as Life Weekly reported yesterday. While the trashy tabloids are still reveling in my outburst, the more respectable publications have shifted focus to the opening of a new cancer wing courtesy of our donation.

Quinton managed to expertly brush off all questions pertaining to the altercation between us at the gala.

"Oh, it was nothing. Simply a case of backyard wrestling gone bad. I bobbed when I should have weaved. Entirely my fault."

My jaw ticks. If it weren't for Emery, Quinton would have paid a premium price for a front-row ticket to my inevitable demise.

"It'll be a tax write-off," I say, pushing the newspaper away and glaring up at Javier. "Anything else?"

He shakes his head. "You could've made a statement, Damon. A statement wouldn't have cost us seven figures. How do you plan to explain this to the board?"

I roll my eyes. "I cleaned up a mess that I spilled. No other explanation is required."

"You—" Javier's eyes widen as he runs a frantic hand through his hair. "Are you purposely trying to get ousted? Is that what you're doing? Jesus, Damon, I said fix it, not make it worse!"

I grit my teeth. "I did fix it. The discourse has shifted. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"No!" Javier growls, slamming his hand on the edge of my desk. "I wanted you to stop acting so fucking erratic! This—" He points a firm finger on the newspaper. "Pledging five fucking million dollars to a charity without board approval? This is erratic!"

I lean back in my chair and fold my arms across my chest. "It's not like the money isn't there. And it's for a good cause."

"That's not the point, Damon. You know that. We have protocols, procedures..." Javier trails off, his voice growing hoarse with frustration.

"I know," I say, with a resigned sigh. "I just..." I pause, searching for the right words. The last thing Javier needs to know is that this was Emery's plan, not mine. That would guarantee my institutionalization. "This was time-sensitive. I needed to act right away. I didn't have the luxury to follow proper procedure."

Javier's expression softens slightly. "I understand that, Damon, but we have procedures in place for a reason, especially when we have a corporate budget to uphold."

"It won't happen again," I say in a clipped tone. "I've already sent an email to the board explaining the situation. It's dealt with Javier, okay? You—"

A light knock sounds from the door. "Am I interrupting?"

Javier snaps his head at Emery. "Ye—"

"Not at all. We're done here," I say, glowering at Javier. "He was just leaving."

Emery lets out a small gasp as Javier storms past her, nearly knocking her off her feet. "Well, someone's in a bad mood," she says, closing the door behind her as she steps into my office. I drop my head into my hands, releasing a heavy sigh. "Oh, and apparently it's contagious. What's wrong?"

"About five million things are wrong, Miss Jones," I grumble as she rounds my desk. "The board's on my ass about your little donation." I peer up at her, and she gives me a cheeky little pout. "What?"