After embellishing her resume, Valerie-a single mom-lands a job as an administrative assistant to the hottest, most entitled and obnoxious man she's ever met: Preston Cartwright, the CFO of the prestigious Cartwright & Sons Enterprises.
Several yea...
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After spending the entire weekend going through the absolute shit show the Marramount project has become, me and my brothers agreed—after some extra encouragement from Andrew, in the form of alcohol—that we had enough information to fill our dad in on our discoveries. I would've preferred to wait until we had all the facts, but as Andrew pointed out, our dad is the CEO, and it is our job to keep him updated.
We decided to tell him after work. But agreed we needed to do it away from the office since we're not sure who we can trust. Hayes and Easton felt we should schedule the meeting at a restaurant, hoping things would be more civil because we were in public, while I argued for more privacy and suggested Andrews' place. Easton thought it was perfect, but Andrew balked at the idea. I'm pretty sure he was worried about his belongings. Dad has a temper, and it wouldn't be the first time he launched some irreplaceable item at a wall.
It ended up with Andrew asking Lydia and Alana to coordinate with our parents' chef as we invited ourselves over for dinner. They did, and an early dinner got scheduled for Tuesday evening at our parents' house.
Mom was thrilled at having her four sons home for dinner during a weekday and didn't stop talking. She drilled us about work and women, of course, hoping we'd found someone to marry, while dad was suspicious as hell. Once we finally told him the real reason for our visit and what was actually going on, he flew off the handle, just like we expected.
The salad bowl hit the wall followed by the gravy boat and he was about to hurl the wine decanter after them, when mom put her hand on his arm and begged him to stop.
After a few deep breaths, he calmed down enough to sit back down on the chair. He drained his full glass of wine in one go and reached for the decanter he'd been about to throw at the wall a minute earlier.
"Peter is fired as of tomorrow, and we're suing Demers," he demanded.
"Dad," Andrew said in that pacifying tone he most often uses to keep our father calm. "We're dealing with an actual crime here. Preston has proof, but there are more records to go through. We have to be patient."
"Patient?" He bellowed. "They're stealing my money and you want me to sit down at let them? To watch them do it like some arsehole?"
Now it wasn't just his money—it was the businesses—but I was smart enough to not point that out.
"We can't jeopardize anything yet, dad. Firing Peter at this time will make them suspicious," I said, trying to get him to calm down. But it didn't work, and may have had the opposite effect. He just sneered at me as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed what I assumed was his attorney.
"Pierce," my mom tried without success.
"Stay out of it," he snapped.
She quieted immediately, like the good little wife he wanted her to be, and reached for her wineglass.
