Fake Love Rich Boss Series Read online

  I see his features harden. I know he doesn’t like that. Just like I’m sure he’s played by his own rules his entire life, I’m sure he’s been taught not to blindly trust people. I can’t imagine how many times his family has been screwed over by people they trusted. It’s clear he has his guard up, and I don’t blame him, but he doesn’t get that luxury with me.

  “I need to know everything, and anything, before the press can even think about it.”

  He doesn’t reply for a minute and I begin to assume that that is that. He’s not going to give in, and the Windsor family is going to be left high and dry.

  “Fine,” he finally said. “We’ll trust you. We’ll make sure you know things as quickly as possible. But if we’re making deals here, I have to add something.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I need to know that you’re going to keep everything a secret,” he said. “If people don’t need to know about it, you don’t tell them. You’re not going to be writing a tell-all in five years about your time working for our family.”

  “I’m not much of a writer,” I joked.

  His face is still hard, and I can tell that it’s no time for jokes.

  I sighed, “I’ll sign an NDA if you need me to. I don’t care. I’m here to do a job, not get rich. I’m not in this field for the money, as you probably know.”

  “Fine. I’ll have my lawyer draft an NDA for you to sign, if you plan to still work for us. You did quit earlier...I meant what I said. I will sue you if you don’t follow through with your contract. It’s nothing personal, it’s business.”

  I feel like everything with this family is business. I think I’m going to come to hate that. I sigh. Everything in me is telling me to turn it down, to try and wiggle my way out of it and not get sued...but I’m a woman of my word. I don’t fear a challenge. I know I can handle this. If I were to walk away, it would be like admitting defeat. I would always wonder if I would have been able to handle it.

  “I’ll stay on and fulfill my contract on one final condition,” I said and then paused.

  Oliver looks at me, exasperated. He probably doesn’t know what to expect to come out of my mouth next. He gestures toward me to go ahead, so I say it.

  “I want an apology for not telling me the entire story. A sincere apology, do you know how to do that?”

  The annoyance on his face is picturesque. I wish I could snap a photo and keep it forever. It’s great. I know he’s probably never really had to apologize before. I’m sure he’s always gotten his way. He turns his gaze upwards for a minute, at the plain white ceiling, before looking back at me.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t reveal the whole story to you when I was hiring you. I realize that could have saved us both a lot of pain and trouble if I had. I will make sure to be more honest in the future.”

  His apology would have been perfect if he didn’t tack on, “Better?” at the end.

  I knew it would be playing too closely with fire if I were to make him do it again.

  “That’s perfect. I accept your apology and I accept the job offer. I’ll follow through and help your family out.”

  Something akin to relief floods Oliver’s features. He briefly looks like the playful, charismatic man I encountered during my interview yesterday. He runs a hand through his hair before shifting in his seat.

  “Thank you. I look forward to working with you through this. I know we agreed that you’d start next week, but could you come to the office tomorrow? The press is expecting a statement from us, so we need to formulate one. I’ll add extra to your salary for the inconvenience.”

  I paused again and told him, “I bought a plane ticket home for the morning.”

  “You really were serious about leaving, huh?” Oliver looks shocked. He sighed, shaking his head. “No matter. I’ll pay you for the trouble and pay you for the ticket. After we release the statement, you’ll be free to go home and get things ready to move up here. Is that agreeable?”

  “That would be fine. You really don’t have to pay me more. It’s my job.”

  “I know that,” he said dismissively. “However, I feel like it would be fair. If I had been more upfront, I would have saved you from all of this trouble to start with.”

  I can’t tell if Oliver is being facetious about this being his fault or if he’s being honest. I decide to take it as the latter, as I don’t feel like arguing with him anymore. If we continue arguing, it’s going to make this job feel impossible.

  “All right, then. If you insist.”

  Oliver stands up, looking down at me, “Thank you for talking with me, Cassidy. I’ll see myself out.”

  I stand to walk him out anyway when I realize that there’s one thing on my mind. I just...I need to know. I follow him towards the door when I ask it.

  “It won’t change my opinion either way and I’ll still do my job...but is your dad guilty?”

  Oliver looks away from me, off into the distance. It’s like he doesn’t know how to answer.

  “I don’t believe he is,” he finally said. “But everybody else does.” He shakes his head as if shaking the topic off. “Goodnight Cassidy, I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”

  “Goodnight Oliver,” I tell him before he leaves my hotel room.

  I realize now that I have my work cut out for me. If everybody believes that Alan is guilty, I’m going to have to do a lot of work to sway public opinion. I need a good night’s sleep before I try to battle this monster.

  Chapter Four

  I woke up early the next morning and hopped into the shower. I prepared myself for my first day working at Windsor Books, trying to look as professional and put together as possible. Luckily, I packed two interview outfits, so I put on the other. It’s a black dress with a coral blazer, black tights and black heels. I pair it with a pair of coral hoop earrings and a simple necklace. I was taught when I first entered the PR world that it’s part of our job to stand out. The attention is supposed to draw attention to us, and away from our clients.

  I leave my hotel early enough so that I can stop and get coffee. I have a feeling that I’m going to need it today. But when I step out onto the bustling New York sidewalk, I see a familiar figure standing on the curb. Edward has the door to the car open for me, his facial expression blank. I think a small smile appears when he sees me.

  “Miss Hanson!” he called.

  I walk over to him, eyebrows raised, “Are you going to drive me to work every day? I don’t recall that being in my contract.”

  “Only when Oliver requests for me to,” he replied. “Get in. I stopped and grabbed breakfast for you already. You can’t start a day without a good breakfast, that’s what I always tell the Windsors.”

  It’s so very weird to me, but I could get used to this kind of treatment. I slide into the backseat of the car. Sure enough, there’s a brown paper bag on the other side of the seat and a white paper coffee cup in the cupholder. I open the bag, find a bagel with cream cheese already spread on it and an orange.

  “This is probably a better breakfast than I would have grabbed for myself,” I admitted.

  “I had a feeling that it would be.”

  Edward gets into the driver’s seat and pulls the car from the curb with ease. He manages to navigate the busy New York streets so much easier than I could ever imagine doing.

  As much as I’ve come to like Edward from the little time we’ve spent together, there’s something on my mind. I can’t help but ask.

  “Edward,” he looked back at me through the rearview mirror. “Did you know about Alan’s warrant when you were driving me to my interview?”

  He pauses. I see him scrunch his lips to the side like he had the first day. Somehow that action makes his face look even more wrinkled.

  “I knew about his warrant before Mr. Windsor himself did.”

  That raises a few questions that I don’t think I’m going to ask. Not right now.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It was not
my place to tell you, Miss Hanson,” he stated. “As much as I’m beginning to enjoy your company and as happy as I am that you ended up getting the job, my loyalty lies with the Windsor family.”

  Yeah, that makes sense. I know I should have expected that answer, but it really does suck being the last person to know something so important. Especially when my job is to make excuses for it. I fall silent and eat my breakfast in the backseat, taking extra care not to get crumbs all over my dress. I finish the bagel and the orange and start sipping from my coffee when we pull up to the curb outside of Windsor Books.

  “Thank you for that, Edward,” I said, going to get out of the car. He stops me.

  “Miss Hanson, I’m sorry it was hidden from you. It wasn’t my choice. Please let Noelle know when you’re ready to head back to your hotel tonight and I’ll pick you up.”

  “It’s fine, Edward. Don’t worry about it,” I made a face. “Noelle?”

  I know Joan, but I don’t know a Noelle.

  “The blonde behind the front desk,” he said. “That’s Noelle.”

  Ah. The actual ray of sunshine that greets you when you walk in. Got it.

  “Will do. Thank you again, Edward,” I closed the car door before I step inside of the lobby.

  It’s still strangely calm inside, nothing compared to my first visit to Windsor Books. I know deep down it’s because of Alan’s arrest. That isn’t good for business, so I’m sure it has something to do with people not wanting to work with a man arrested for murder.

  Noelle looks up from her desk when I enter, a smile etching over her lips.

  “Good morning Miss Hanson!” she called. “Mr. Windsor is waiting for you. He’s in his office.”

  “Thank you, Noelle!”

  It’s going to take some time to think of Oliver as Mr. Windsor. Mr. Windsor makes me think of Alan and I’ve never met the man. Oliver just seems like...Oliver to me.

  I step into the elevator, coffee still in hand, and press the button that takes me up to the twelfth floor. I’m strangely not nervous. I mean, it’s not like I’m walking into a situation that I was completely unaware of. I know what I’m walking into – chaos.

  I step off the elevator and walk down the hallway that deposits me into the waiting room for Oliver’s office. Joan is sitting behind the desk there, her face seeming to light up when she sees me.

  “Oh Cassidy! Oliver’s waiting for you. Just go on in.”

  “Thank you,” I smiled at her and walked forward, opening the door.

  I guess I was expecting my meeting to be with Oliver. Instead, Oliver is standing in the corner of the room, looking out one of the floor-length windows. Sitting behind the desk is Camille Windsor. She looks even more stunning in person. She looks at me through thick black eyelashes.

  “You must be the PR girl that Oliver hired,” she said with an air of annoyance, like they had been at odds on hiring me or not. “Are you here to quit again today?”

  “Camille,” another voice piped in. I look down to see the familiar face of Allison Windsor. She’s lounging in one of the chairs across from the desk, her legs draped over the side. “Don’t be such a bitch. It’s not ‘becoming’ of you.” I should mention that becoming was with air quotes.

  I straighten my stance, trying to appear as confident as I wish I felt.

  “Yesterday was a reasonable reaction to not knowing the full story when I was hired, Mrs. Windsor.” I said, hoping my voice didn’t falter as I spoke. “However, I’ve spoken with Oliver and we’ve worked it all out. I’m here to work for your family, and I believe that’ll work out for the best if we all try to get along. After all, I’m here to make sure your company doesn’t go under.”

  Camille looks like I told her to go to hell. Her jaw dropped; eyes squinted. This woman is going to hate me for the entirety of our working relationship, I can just tell. Oliver turns around from the window, looking at his stepmother.

  “She has a point, Camille. Cassidy and I hashed it all out last night. She’s agreed to sign an NDA while working for us, which,” he turns his gaze to me, “I’ll have for you around lunch. My lawyer is still working on it.”

  I nod in agreement, taking a seat in the chair next to Allison. I pull my laptop out of my bag, sitting it on the edge of the desk.

  “Today we need to work on your statement for the press, which I will read tomorrow at a conference. So, one of you needs to get your assistant, or whoever, to schedule that. The longer we wait to speak, the more it looks like we either know Alan is guilty or we don’t believe he isn’t. Either way, it’s bad look.”

  Oliver seems to be the most eager to work with me. He nods and walks behind me. He sticks his head out of the door and gestures to Joan.

  “Joan, please arrange a press conference for tomorrow morning. Contact every connection we have at the news stations.” He ducked back in, closing the door behind him. “Now what?”

  “Is Alan guilty?” I asked, looking around at them. Nobody makes eye contact with me, all of them find a spot in the office that is instantly more interesting than answering my question. I sigh. “The answer is ‘no.’ I don’t care what you believe or what you know, which we will get at later. Anytime somebody asks you if he’s guilty, your knee-jerk response needs to be ‘no.’ I need you to believe it. If you don’t believe it, force yourself to. Repeat it to yourself over and over again until it becomes engraved in your brain. If one of you hesitates during an interview, and yes, there will be interviews - if one of you even hints that you think he is - you end up creating a new mess for us to clean up. Got it?” Eyes are back on me. They nod, so I repeat my question. “Is Alan guilty?”

  I get a chorus of ‘no’s in my direction. They don’t understand that this is the most valuable thing they can do right now.

  “Perfect,” I said. “So, I need the details of what happened. I need to know why there was a warrant for Alan’s arrest and why it was for murder.”

  More silence. I never knew a room full of rich people would be so quiet. It’s nothing like in the movies when they’re full of gossip and talking about their yachts. Oliver breaks the silence.

  “Camille, I think you know the story better than any of us.”

  All eyes are on Camille. She tenses up, refusing to make eye contact. Instead, she finds a string on her blouse much more interesting than any of us.

  “A few weeks ago, a body was found in the back area of Windsor Manor, back in the woods. It was a man who has a known criminal history. Evidently, people have claimed to have seen him with Alan before. When the body was investigated further, Alan’s fingerprints were on the body and the gun that killed him was registered to Alan as well.”

  Her words hit me, and I don’t know how to process them. Everything Camille just said makes it feel like it would be impossible to write it off as an accident. Everything about the case makes it believable that Alan was a murderer. I sigh, bringing my hand up to rub at my temple.

  “Okay...I’m going to need one of you to say something that doesn’t make him sound guilty.”

  Oliver speaks up.

  “He didn’t do it. I know that my father didn’t do it. He was with me that day. We were golfing.”

  “All day?” I asked.

  “Most of it,” Oliver huffed, nose wrinkling. He leans back against the wall, another sigh escaping his lips. “But I know my father didn’t do it. I know it feels pretty impossible to believe, but I promise you, he didn’t do it. I’m a man of my word, Cassidy.”

  I hate that I believe Oliver. I have all this evidence in front of my face, but Oliver’s believable. He’s either being honest or he’s the best liar I’ve ever met in my life.

  “What was the man’s name?” I asked, grabbing my laptop. “The statement needs to be as personal as possible.”

  “Matthew,” Camille says. “Matthew Davis.”

  “All right.” I start typing. Occasionally I stop to ask the family more questions or to get their input on a line. Oliver paces the length of hi
s office, bouncing between having his hands in his pockets or his arms crossed over his chest.

  Camille appears to not be paying attention. If I ask her something, I have to repeat it over and over again until Oliver or Allison gets her attention. I don’t think I blame her though. Camille’s lived a cushy life ever since she married Alan. She may have all of that taken from her if we can’t sway public opinion or if he’s found guilty. She probably has more on her mind than I give her credit for.

  Allison, on the other hand, is completely disinterested. She makes snide comments to her stepmother or brother, but otherwise offers nothing. I think she’s only here so she knows what to do when questioned about her father.

  I’m halfway through typing up my statement for tomorrow when Camille stands from the desk.

  “I think it’s time for lunch,” she stated. “Oliver, Allison, let’s go to that place down the street, that little bistro your father liked so much.”

  Oliver stops his pacing to look at his stepmother for a moment. His eyes flick back to me.

  “Cassidy, you should come.”

  Camille is practically staring daggers at her stepson. I can tell that she doesn’t want me to join them. Luckily for her, I’d rather not. I’m going to spend all day going over this statement again and again, making sure it’s completely perfect. I don’t want to mess up my first time at my new job.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I have a lot of work to do. I’ll grab something later, but you all go on. I’ll be here.”

  I lean back in the chair, pulling the laptop onto my lap. Oliver’s eyes are still staring at the back of my head, I can feel them.

  “All right” he said. “If you’re sure, we’ll be back.”

  The door closes behind them as they leave and I set to work, thankful for the silence that settles around me. I start typing, but I’m soon stuck on what to say. All the odds are stacked against Alan, how am I supposed to paint him as innocent? I think the only person who actually believes that he is innocent is Oliver. But...my job isn’t to believe it. My job is to just act like we believe it, to make others believe it.