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After all, it was this or fucking buy the magazine she works for to fire her as well as everyone else that works there.
This is more cost efficient.
All of a sudden, the conference room doors are opened by Zaidee who then gestures her warm sienna skinned hand inward. “Mr. Wilcox and his team have been expecting you.”
The pain in my ass that has made it her personal mission to print personal information – that unfortunately aren’t lies – barely flashes my assistant a grin of gratitude.
That’s the real reason why I can’t let this go.
I need to know her source.
I need to know who has broken their NDA.
I need to know who is busy betraying me and my family for a measly payday before my son or daughter is born.
I want them safe.
Protected.
Guarded long before they’ve even taken their first breath.
Which isn’t possible until I know who needs to be removed and from where.
Who can’t be trusted.
And despite Park’s thorough searching, he can’t find any suspicious activity to make such a connection.
Hence the decision to take a more direct approach.
“Ms. Simmons,” I professionally greet. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me and my team.”
Her overly bronzed face doesn’t bother fighting the thrill running through her system. “My editor didn’t exactly present me with a choice, Mr. Wilcox.” She lets her brown gaze glide around the room. “Although, I must admit. I do feel rather outnumbered.”
“I have asked my publicists as well as one of our company’s higher ups to be in attendance.”
“J.T.” He stands and politely extends an open palm at her approaching frame. “J.T. Reese.”
“I’m aware of who you are, Mr. Reese.” She less than kindly shakes. “I’m also aware of your long-standing relationship and dedication to the Wilcox family, including how they took you in like a second son when your own mother could no longer care for you.”
My best friend is instantly taken back. “H-h-how did you-”
“I’m a journalist, Mr. Reese.” A vicious smile slips onto her face during her descent into the closest chair. “I do my research.”
Clearly uncomfortable, he tugs at his collar.
Clears his throat.
Sits down and shoots me a cautious glance.
And here’s another reason to put a stop to her nonsense.
She’s not only upsetting my pregnant fiancée but my best man too.
“Ms. Simmons,” I casually proceed on a folding of my hands, “I have brought you here today because I want information that you have.”
Boredom is the only expression she presents.
“You have a ‘source’ that’s handfeeding you information that has no business being in the general public.”
