Nate had not spoken to his ex-wife since the underhanded stunt she pulled at their divorce proceedings. The stunt that won her fifteen million dollars of his money, plus stocks.
Agreeing to hand over that type of money to his wife of four years didn’t just sting, it scorched his ass, burned Nate to a crisp. But it was what it was, and all he could do was try to get on with his life.
But he failed.
A week after the divorce hearing, Nate found himself calling Abbey Kurt, a woman in his company who did investigative work for him. He gave her Tori’s employment file and whatever other information he had on her.
“Dig up whatever you can on this woman. Then let me know when you find her,” were Nate’s instructions.
Crossing Tori off the list had given Nate a satisfying sense of closure. Last night, at eighteen minutes after ten o’clock, he had picked up the phone and called Monica.
She was crying.
“Is it okay that I called you?” Nate said, easing into the conversation. “I know our relationship hasn’t been especially amicable, if you can even call it a relationship. If you want me to hang up and never call you again, I will understand.”
It took Monica a moment to respond. “No,” she finally said, as if still uncertain. “No.”
But Nate could still hear that crying tone in her voice. When he asked what was wrong, Monica said it was nothing.
Nate sensed it had to do with that clown, Lewis, she was dating and thought maybe getting close to her would be easier than he had thought.
For the first five minutes their conversation was simply curt and civil, asking and answering how each of them was doing. After running out of conversation and a long silence, Nate said, “I’m calling because I know you’ve seen how your stock in Kenny Corporation has dropped.”
“I have,” Monica said. She had stopped crying, but her voice was still low.
“I noticed you haven’t sold any of it.”
“I have faith that you’ll do whatever you have to do to bring back its value.”
“The company was having trouble for a while. You know why that was, don’t you?” Nate said, having to stop himself from sounding too accusatory.
“No. Why?”
Nate decided to change the subject, not admit to Monica just how distraught he had been after the divorce. “It was brought to my attention that you’re now a business owner, and your stores are thriving.”
“Really. Who brought that to your attention?”
“Monica,” Nate said, avoiding her question. “I don’t want this to be adversarial. I was calling because you know how much I value your opinion. I can’t deny that part of the reason my business is a success was because of your input. I was just hoping that you could help me now.”
The next morning, Nate stepped off the elevator and into the lobby where large silver letters, reading KENNY CORPORATION hung above the heads of two attractive dark-haired receptionists wearing phone headsets.
“Good morning, Mr. Kenny,” the women said, almost in unison.
Nate nodded, walking farther onto the floor, past dozens of cubicles, along the east side, which was constructed of floor-to-ceiling windows, giving a spectacular view of Lake Michigan.
Nate took the long way to his office, through the break room, just to see if anyone was lounging on the clock.
The room was empty.
On the wall hung a fifty-two-inch plasma flat screen TV, airing twenty-four-hour business news and scrolling stock numbers. Nate’s business had encountered some pretty serious problems, and although he had stopped himself from telling Monica, he could attribute them to her.
After his divorce, Nate had sat at home, depressed for a month, delegating his authority to his V.P., an older man named Eric Stancil.
Nate would receive daily phone calls from Stancil on situations needing Nate’s attention.
Nate would simply order him to “handle it.” Upon Nate’s return, there was much catching up to do—clients that had gone neglected, deals that could have been brokered better if only Nate had been there.
It was something he wasn’t concerned about at the time, and not until he had been back at work for three weeks did it finally start to hit him just how serious the situation was. The company had suffered losses greater than ever before, but since then, Nate had been diligent in working to return Kenny Corporation to its former status.
“Good morning, Mr. Kenny,” Nate’s secretary said when he reached his office. Sandra Browning was the woman who had finally replaced Tori. “Here are your messages, sir,” the short, thirtysomething redhead said, standing from the desk chair to hand Nate the slips. Nate stepped into his huge, window-lined office and sat behind the massive oak desk.
Last night, after Nate’s request for Monica’s help, her end had gone silent. A moment later, he heard her chuckling a little.
“You serious?” she said.
“Very. Considering the number of Kenny Corp. shares you hold, I thought you might be open to the idea.”
She accepted, and Nate told her they would need to meet.
“Where?” Monica asked.
Nate told her after being in his office every day, sometimes for twelve hours on end, he didn’t want to have to stick around there a moment longer than he had to.
It had taken him almost a year to bring the Tori situation to a close, and Nate didn’t want to spend that kind of time closing on Monica, so at the risk of being overly aggressive, Nate said, “I bought a new house. We can meet there. You can tell me what you think of it.”
Again Monica was silent for a moment, making Nate think he might have blown a very important opportunity.
“Okay,” Monica finally said, softly. “Give me the time and the address and I’ll be there.”