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“I don’t see any reason to chitchat. What do you need to talk to me about?”
“Well”—she cleared her throat, probably trying to gather her composure after I’d shut her down flat—“a story that pertains to you landed in my lap. Actually, Motor Zone, to be specific. My editors are badgering me to run it now, but since we have history, I thought I’d give you a few days' heads-up.”
My gut clenched. Andrea reported for Denver Times. Last I’d known, she was writing for the entertainment section, but that’d been years ago. She could’ve switched up to the business section in that time. What story she could have possibly had, though, I had no idea.
“Are you going to tell me what it is or make me play a hundred questions?”
“You know, Jake, you’d think you’d be a little nicer since I’m doing you a favor.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, summoning my patience. “If you expect me to do a little dance for you to spill your supposed story, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Either tell me or don’t.”
“Oh, you’ll want to know.”
“All right. Then spill.”
She did. Like an oil tanker in the sea, covering everything good with thick, deadly sludge. I fell back in my chair, covering my face with one hand as everything we’d worked for got shoved to the precipice of a cliff. One word from Andrea, one article in her paper, would send us over.
I made myself play nice for the rest of the call. Told her Sage was fine. Everything was fine. Even thanked her for her call. When she asked if Jeremy or I would give her a quote, I bit my tongue to stop myself from laughing at her sheer audacity. By the time I hung up, my head was throbbing, and I had blood in my mouth.
I did not let any of that stop me from vaulting from my chair and storming down the hall to Jeremy’s office. What did stop me was the sight of my brother in a meeting with two of our lawyers, our head of PR, and Roman fucking Wells.
Jeremy was always put together. Suits immaculate, hair neatly combed, ties tucked neatly at his throat. Today, he looked like he’d been through the wringer. At least a day’s worth of stubble on his jaw, hair everywhere, tie loosened. And when he looked up at me, it was with wide-eyed panic.
I fell back a step, recoiling from the scene like I’d been shot. “You know.”
He shot to his feet. “Jake, wait. Join us. I’ll explain what’s going on.”
“Funny, I just found out and came to tell you.” I gestured to the others in the room. The lawyers, I got. PR too. But Roman Wells? There was no reason for him to be privy to this, not when I wasn’t. “I see you didn’t extend the same courtesy to me.”
“I was going to tell you today.” Jeremy stood in front of me, his hand on my shoulder. “I needed to figure out how to get ahead of this.”
How did we get ahead of a recording of MZ’s spokesperson for the last five years, country singer and all-American dad Dallas Fox, saying some of the most racist, misogynist, vile things I’d ever heard? There was no spinning this as “locker room talk.” And I wouldn’t be a part of a company that tried.
I shrugged him off. “When did you find out?”
“Yesterday. We’ve been working on a plan. How to distance ourselves from this so the Rossi deal doesn’t fall through.”
The one we were supposed to be signing at the end of the week. Jeremy was practically salivating to put his signature on the contracts. His desperation had me on edge, making me wonder if there was a lot more he wasn’t telling me.
“You can’t be serious, thinking about the Rossi deal. Dallas Fox needs to be removed from MZ swiftly and decisively.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Andrea Wallace has the story.”
“Fuck.” He was the one to fall back a step this time. “She called you?”
I nodded once. “She’s holding the story as a courtesy to me, but there’s no stopping this from running. It’s going to come out.”
“Okay, okay.” His head bobbed somewhat maniacally. “We can handle this. As soon as we sign the deal, we’ll fire Dallas.”
“No. That doesn’t work for me. We’re not entering a partnership by deceiving them.”
Roman approached us like he had a right to be part of our conversation. “Jake is right, Jeremy. We’ll have to handle the Dallas situation before we can sign with Rossi. If you don’t disclose this to them, they’ll have you in court faster than you could say the word.”
I turned on him, my jaw tight. “Why are you here?” Swiveling to Jeremy, I asked, “Why is he here?”
Roman did not wait for Jeremy to speak. “I was in a meeting with Jeremy when he received the news, and I’ve promised MZ the use of my PR team. They are well versed in handling crises and working on a plan as we speak. By the end of the day tomorrow, we will go to the press with a statement disavowing everything Dallas had been recorded saying and end our professional relationship with him.”
I didn’t like his use of “our,” like he was part of MZ, but he was. He owned a large portion of this company. His dog was very much in this fight.
I chose not to ask why I hadn’t been brought in yesterday. It didn’t matter. The betrayal was absolute. Wrapping my head around my brother knowing where my line in the sand was and stepping it over anyway would have to come at another time. Once we were through this, I’d have to decide what that meant for us—for me. But not until we managed this crisis.
