He, who will remain nameless, gasped.
“Now get out of my club before I cancel your membership.”
I probably could have handled that better. It’s not like I’m callous and dead inside, I’m just...yeah, I might be.
Listen, I love my friends, treat my employees with respect, I’m proud of my success, and enjoy good banter, but I have shit I still need to deal with.
This isn’t a pity party, but those deep wounds I carry around are the reason I’m currently sitting in the dark in my penthouse glued to my phone. My tie was tugged loose a few hours ago, my shoes kicked off, and I gave up walking across the room after the third drink and now have the bottle on the table in front of me.
“Jesus Christ.” I curse as I keep listening.
I reach for the twenty-five-year Macallan and top up my glass. Again.
Holy shit, I can’t believe I stumbled across this.
Brooklyn McKenna. The McKenna Files.
She’s not someone I thought would hold my attention this long, despite being fucking gorgeous and intelligent. Is there anything sexier than a woman with a smart mind? Especially for a man who haspussy on tap.
The answer is no.
But that’s not why I’m listening to her podcast...okay, it might have been why Istartedlistening after the algorithm served her up. I made that sound dirtier in my head, but I’m going to stay on track...
She’s an investigative journalist—aren’t they all—and appeared to be discussing celebrity gossip. Honestly, I’d rather sit and listen to Zayne rave on about AI policy and the...
Yeah, I can’t even finish that snore-fest of a sentence.
I hope robots don’t destroy us but listening to him rave on and on about how policymakers need to put processes and restraints on them is not my idea of a good time.
I saw Terminator.
I think we’re fucked either way.
Brooklyn McKenna’s breasts drew me in, but it’s the actor who’s getting a star on Hollywood Boulevard next month that kept me listening to her video. Or rather, that she has reason to believe he was involved with sexually abusing women he worked with in the past.
I believe her.
Because it’s probably true.
She’s talking about my father, Leo Taylor.
It’s not a stage name. I changed my surname the moment I legally could and did a pretty good job of burying any links between us.
Essentially, I disappeared.
My inheritance from Mom, who died when I was five, was accessible when I turned eighteen. I paid for my own college tuition and told my father to stay out of my life.
He did.
I barely heard from him after he’d sent me to Phillips Academy boarding school when I was ten. Something he’d done to save himself more than me. Although he’d done both.
Not that he deserved the credit.
It was Sofia, my nanny, who was responsible.
But I’m leaping ahead.
Most media outlets talk about my father, and it’s not always positive. He’s been accused of being a bully and a handful of other things that celebrities have to deal with by those attempting to make some cash.
