Irritation hardened my jaw. If there was one thing I hated almost as much as losing, it was being called a fake. “I didn’t realize my personal life factored into our talks.”
“It shouldn’t, but given the mess with Whidby, I’m sure you understand why I’m hesitant to do business with someone who’s embroiled in scandal.”
“I was dating an employee, not doing drugs,” I said flatly. I used the past tense deliberately, if not truthfully. No one needed to know about my continuing relationship with Isabella until after the vote.
“She’s no longer employed at Valhalla, which renders the point moot.”
“Perhaps.” His fingers tapped faster.
Sneaking around with a bartender? Very unlike the image you’ve previously portrayed.
I could read between the lines. Rohan didn’t care about Isabella per se. The tabloid gossip had thrown my character into question, and he was worried about being deceived.
Unfortunately, no matter how much I tried to reassure him, he didn’t budge.
“We can resume our last round of talks after the vote,” Rohan said after half an hour of fruitless back-and-forth. “I’m not signing anything until I’m sure the new CEO will honor the terms, both in spirit and on paper. I can’t risk it, and like you said, we’ve been in negotiations for a while. If you’re voted in and we still can’t come to an agreement, then I’m sorry. The deal is dead.”
I left Rohan’s office and headed straight to my hotel bar for a stiff drink. My head pounded with a vicious migraine, which my scotch did nothing to alleviate.
Four months ago, I’d had the DigiStream deal locked in, the CEO position within reach, and my pesky emotions in check. Now, my control over my professional and personal lives was unraveling faster than the seams of a worn-out coat.
The downward slide started the moment I walked upstairs and heard Isabella playing the “Hammerklavier” at Valhalla. If I’d stayed at the bar that day, I might’ve been in an entirely different situation right now.
The problem was, if I’d stayed at the bar, Isabella and I would’ve remained acquaintances. No secret room, no Brooklyn date, no Christmas movie marathons or island getaways or the dozens of small moments that had made the otherwise hellish months bearable.
My gut twisted.
I rubbed a hand over my face and tried to focus my thoughts. I was here for business, not to wallow over should haves and what-ifs.
My phone lit up with a news alert.
I glanced at it, then froze.
“Kai Young’s Mistress’s Lies Exposed!” the National Star gloated.
A sour feeling spread in my stomach. I clicked on the headline and was greeted with a giant photo
of Isabella working at a dive bar. She wore hot pants, a tiny crop top, and a big smile as she leaned over the counter. Several frat boy types ogled her cleavage.
I couldn’t see their full faces, but I had the sudden, visceral urge to hunt them down and gouge their eyes out.
I swallowed my anger and scrolled to the actual article.
Bartender, plaything, and…millionaire heiress? You read that right! Kai Young’s latest fling is no innocent employee caught in the web of a predatory employer. [Read our article on how the seemingly “nice” billionaire heir abused his power at the exclusive Valhalla Club to coerce the younger woman into a relationship].
We did a little digging into the poor girl’s past and discovered Isabella Valencia is not so poor after all. In fact, she’s the only daughter of Perlah Ramos, the founder and CEO of the Hiraya boutique hotel chain. The wily matriarch kept her maiden name while her children took her husband’s last name .
Shock splashed ice down my spine. Hiraya Hotels? I was drinking in one of their properties right this second.
The Valencia brood boasts several talented children, including Ramos’s eldest son and Hiraya COO Gabriel, an award-winning engineer, a tenured professor at UC Berkeley, and celebrated artist Oscar （né Felix Valencia）。 No wonder their youngest child—and only daughter—kept her real identity under wraps! Other than a string of short-lived bartending stints and even shorter-lived odd jobs, she has embarrassingly few accomplishments to her name. It must be hard, getting outshone that much by her siblings.
Except for Oscar, the Ramos/Valencia family is notoriously press-shy. Perlah Ramos hasn’t given an interview in more than eight years. That explains why no one made the connection to Isabella earlier, but that doesn’t explain why the snobbish Kai Young stooped to messing around with the help. Heiress or not, she’s far from his usual Ivy League-educated type.
We’re guessing the youngest Valencia is quite talented in other ways that don’t involve her brain .
I’d read enough.
Fury outpaced shock in a heartbeat. Crimson splashed across my vision while a swift, white heat burned through my veins.
Fuck California and DigiStream. I was going to sue the National Star into oblivion and dismantle Black’s media company, piece by piece, until even vultures wouldn’t touch its rotting carcass. Then I was going to track Victor Black himself down and murder him.
“Kai Young?”
An unfamiliar voice interrupted my increasingly and alarmingly violent thoughts.
I looked up. A man around my age stood next to me, his suit and tie as neatly pressed as the ones lining my closet.
Recognition doused the rising flames of my anger.
I didn’t have to ask who the newcomer was. They had the same dark eyes, full lips, and olive skin.
She burst with life and color while he looked like he’d been sucking on a rotting lemon since he escaped from the womb, but the similarities were undeniable.
“Gabriel Valencia, COO of Hiraya Hotels.” Isabella’s brother gave me a thin smile. “We need to talk.”
Fifteen minutes later, I settled into a chair in Gabriel’s office.
Hiraya Hotels was headquartered in Los Angeles, but it operated hotels throughout the state. As COO, Gabriel must have an office in most, if not all, of them.
We eyed each other warily across his desk.
It wasn’t how I’d pictured meeting Isabella’s family, but at least he’d interrupted me before I committed several felonies and a murder.
“First, I must apologize for the unorthodox manner in which I approached you,” Gabriel said stiffly. “We place utmost value on our guests’ privacy. However, I’m notified whenever a VIP checks into any of our hotels. Given the circumstances, you must understand why I sought you out when I saw your name.”
“By circumstances, I assume you mean the National Star hit pieces?” I refused to call them articles. Articles required a modicum of objectivity; the most recent publication was libel. Once my lawyers were through with them, there wouldn’t be much of the Star left. I’d make sure of it.
Victor got his short-term victory, but he’d made a crucial long-term mistake.
Gabriel’s mouth flattened further into a granite line. “Because of you, photos of my sister are splashed all over that rag. They’re dragging my family’s name through the mud and hounding our hotels, our corporate offices, our personal lines.” As if on cue, his office phone rang with a shrill noise. He ignored it. “The article just went live, and it’s already started.”