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“Infamous?” I laugh, cutting her off as I look over at Frank. “This is starting off well. Sorry, continue.” I take another healthy swallow of scotch, my head starting to swim, signaling I need to head home, but I’m far too invested in what this young woman has to say to leave right this second. Not to mention she’s stunning.
“Notorious for being reckless, unmanageable, and oftentimes downright unethical. And yet, you’re criticizing a company for the same behaviors. A company which you openly admit that you plan to destroy, thus proving their own point to them.”
I can’t hide the shit-eating grin that takes over my face. How fucking adorable. Clearly this young lady doesn’t know the first thing about real life and how terrible most humans are, especially the ones with an ounce of money or power. I don’t bother explaining that my comment about a hostile takeover of their company was a joke. She obviously has an already ill-informed opinion of me.
“What are you reading?”
She glances at the book in her hand, then slowly lifts it off the bar to show me.
“The Modern Billionaire,” I read the title aloud. “Ah, let me guess… there’s a chapter in there about me?”
“Just finished reading it actually. Turns out, you’re not a very nice guy.” She gives me a look as if to say, and what do you have to say about it?
I smile, finishing my drink and pulling several bills from my wallet.
“To be clear, I’m not criticizing the company for being unethical or immoral. What I don’t like is when they pretend that they don’t do the same practices as everyone else because they own a few kid-friendly, family-focused businesses. And then they turn around and try to fuck me up the ass because they want to appear that they’re not like me, while gladly cashing my billion-dollar offer. Everybody has a price, Miss, and money isn’t an issue for me.”
She opens her mouth like she’s about to respond, then shuts it again, turning her gaze back to the book in her hands.
“Let me guess, they don’t talk about that in there, do they?”
“Well, not really, no.”
“Didn’t think so.” I nod to Frank and slide on my coat.
“That’s the difference between me and all the other billionaires they shit on in books like that. I don’t pretend that donating to a nonprofit or political initiative absolves me of my sins.”
“That aside,” she says matter-of-factly, “the book’s goal isn’t about shit-talking billionaires. It’s to show that there isn’t an ethical means to get there. Somewhere along the way, you stepped on somebody to get where you are.”
“Why is it, that it’s always people who haven’t lived my life, will never be a billionaire, and don’t know me at all who have the most to say about how I’m living? I mind my business. I show respect to those who show respect to me. I don’t step on anyone to get ahead because I don’t have to. Like I said, money talks. I don’t always handle my enemies like I should, and I don’t spare the feelings of people who try to fuck me over, but most importantly…” I lean toward her, placing my hand on the back of her stool till our faces are close together. Her eyes drop from mine to my lips, then back up before I hear her swallow nervously. “I sure as shit don’t pretend to be a nice guy, sweetheart.”
* * *
Four Weeks Later…
I drum my fingers on the desk in the office the university assigned to me. I told them several times I really didn’t need an office, considering I own one of the largest high-rise office buildings in the city, but they insisted.
“Oh, trust me,” Miss… Miss somebody I can’t even remember now said to me as she gave me a tour of the grounds at a turtle’s pace. “You’ll need it for grading and student meetings.”
God, student meetings.
The thought of being in an enclosed space with students has my jaw clenching tightly. I glance around the room, once again questioning what the actual fuck I’m doing here when my phone buzzes with a text from Lisa.
Lisa: You’ll be fine. Hope you’re already in your class and not hiding out somewhere running late.
“Goddammit,” I mutter, realizing class started four minutes ago. “How the hell—” I shake my head and grab my tablet to head into class.
The room is large, the rows tiered. Students are mingling, spread out in random clumps around the space.
I shut the door, a little harder than needed to get their attention, and immediately the chatter stops, only to be replaced with a few whispers and murmurs.
“Oh my God. That’s Cyrus Gates. He’s our guest lecturer this semester?” I hear one woman exclaim as she leans toward her friend, both women blushing as they look at me.
“Good morning,” I say flatly. “I have no interest in shouting all semester so everyone sit in the front three rows.” They glance nervously at one another, a few obeying immediately while the others question if I'm serious. “Now!” I shout loudly and they scramble to their feet.
“As most of you probably already know, I’m Cyrus Gates. I will be your professor this semester for Ethics in Business. Since this is a grad level course, I expect you all to behave like adults and be responsible for managing your own time. I have no interest in babysitting any of you. I also don’t care to take roll; this isn’t grade school. If you want to pass, show up. Otherwise—” I point toward the door.
I look down the row of students, most of them bright-eyed and eager, a few still shell-shocked, I assume by my lack of warmth. Several are still bundled up from the January cold of Chicago. A few have messy hair where they’ve removed their beanies. For the most part they look young—mid to late twenties, a few forty-plus-year-olds, along with one white-haired man I’d guess to be in his early sixties.
