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“Hello!” Ian says, his voice echoing throughout the pin-drop silence. “My name is Ian. I am a Botsford. A proud Botsford. Like my cousins on the Las Vegas branch of our tree, I was raised within the golden walls of our family business. From a young age, my father taught me the values that make up this company. From hard work to honesty and — most of all — integrity. These same values make good men. And women,” he tacks on with a smirk. “There is nothing I want more than to see this company succeed because of the leadership of good people.” He pauses, his eyes growing heavy as he scans the crowd. “Which is why I find it so disturbing to bear witness to dishonesty and immorality happening right under our noses.”
Paige shifts in her seat.
Ian taps to the next slide. “How can we make this company better?” he reads aloud before eying the crowd again. “There are myriad ways we can improve the day-to-day of our guests and the employees working on the ground floor, but I think that genuine change must come from the top. You’re absolutely right, Graham,” he says, staring right at him. “The Botsford Plaza Hotel has a stellar reputation, and I hate to see that reputation sullied by a lack of integrity amongst its senior staff members.”
He taps again, filling the screen with a photo of Paige... and me. We’re sitting in an airport terminal. O’Hare, by the looks of it.
I look at Paige. Her eyes stay locked on the screen with confusion, her skin pale as snow.
“When our corporate office sends its personnel around the world, we expect those individuals to be the best at what they do,” he says.
He triggers another photo, prompting a few muted whispers throughout the ballroom. The two of us again, this time having lunch together in Manhattan. An innocent business lunch, as I recall, but this split second of smiles and laughter could reasonably appear... not so innocent.
“We expect them to imbue the very qualities that this brilliant company supposedly stands for, but, unfortunately, we’re not always so lucky.”
He taps the computer again and several gasps rise behind us.
Oh, no.
Oh, shit...
A new photo. This one of Paige and me together in that dark corner of Ryan’s House in Boston with our lips locked and hands on each other.
I look at her beside me again as she brings a stunned hand to her mouth.
“The Botsford Corporation Code of Conduct has very clear rules against entanglements with subordinate staff,” he says, his tone full of judgment. “This vile behavior endangers the trust of our workers, the fluidity of our operations, and the reputation we all hold dear. It creates conflicts of interest that inhibit true growth and block the advancement of employees who may be more qualified for opportunities... like promotions.”
The bastard taps one more time and my stomach twists.
The two of us alone together in her apartment. Naked. Tangled up beneath the sheets.
A shot that could only have been taken from outside her bedroom window this weekend.
Graham rushes toward the computer as voices of protest rise from the front rows.
I tightly close my fists. Angry. Betrayed. Violated.
This motherfucker.
Ian steps to the side, happy to let Graham disable the presentation now that the damage is done.
“How can we make this company better? It’s simple, really,” Ian says with his hands in his pockets. “They say a few bad apples spoil the bunch. Perhaps, then, it’s time for us to take a long, hard look at our current leadership and demand that they be held accountable for the depravity they’ve allowed on their watch. And then maybe, just maybe, we’ll all be able to trust in that golden reputation again.” He smiles, smug and happy. A king of chaos. “Thank you.”
The murmurs continue behind us. I ignore them, turning toward Paige. She sits still with her mouth open and sagged, as shocked and disgusted as I am.
“Paige?” I ask.
She looks at me as tears stream down her face, then quickly rises from her chair and darts past me into the aisle.
“Paige!”
She ignores me along with everyone else, keen on reaching the exit as fast as possible.
I turn forward, my ire pointing at Ian Botsford. He hasn’t moved from his spot up front, looking positively fucking delighted in himself.
I stand up from my chair.
I walk toward him with a steady, eager stride.
