Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Fuck.
Is he right?
Do I still have a chance?
Even if I do, I might not after this Finch meltdown. That’s going to require bringing in Fyo and there’s never any guarantee there won’t be blowback with that.
Especially if it’s the kind that lands me in prison.
“Go work on damage control. I’ll figure this out.” The least I can do for my grandparents is have Keenan on the hunt.
He stands up and gives me a look like he’s holding back more comments.
Wise decision.
He’s been with me long enough to know what I should do if I still had a functioning brain that wasn’t occupied with begging Piper to talk to me and tearing Apollo Finch ten new assholes. He’ll be the biggest asset this company has when the board selects a new executive.
“Shut the door behind you,” I add.
I wait until he walks out with a deafening click of the door.
Once I’m alone, I turn to my computer.
Here we go.
I pry open my laptop and start typing. There’s no good way to say any of this, but it has to be done.
Gramps,
I’ve let you down. I’m not the leader you were and my mistakes are too painfully obvious to ignore.
That’s why I’m writing to let you know I’m doing the only thing I still can—and the only decision I know you’d have the stones to make in my place.
I’m taking the fall.
You’d never fire me, and it isn’t fair to put you in that position.
Therefore, I’ll be resigning by end of day.
-Brock
Short, sweet, and straight to the point.
I read it twice and hit send. Then I click over to my pre-written resignation email to the board and email that, too.
Done.
Now, I just have the rest of my life to make Moon Bitch regret the day he ever met me, and win back my girl.
I go through the office and throw my things together, trying to finish before Keenan tries to talk me out of it.
Every memory here feels like an uppercut.
The photos of me when I was six, perched on Gramps’ shoulders, both of us dressed in these ridiculous neon-orange shirts.
A scale model of the Winthrope Chicago, my grandparents’ legacy, a gift from the Brandts.
That black mug with the owls I pushed into a corner two weeks ago, still smeared with Piper’s lipstick. It was the last morning we were together in the office, having coffee, laughing and planning what felt like world domination.
Or at least dominating those damned reviews.
Goddamn, that hurts.
This isn’t the way I ever planned to leave this place.
I was supposed to stay here until I got too old and grey and senile to run the place.
Just like Gramps.
Instead, I ran the company into the ground in record time.
As I slink out of my office and head home, I’m glad I don’t have to go to that fucking joke of an awards ceremony.
I’d be the pariah everyone mutters about under their drunken breath.
At home, Andy flies up from his nap at my cleaning lady’s feet and follows me into my room. He’s pacing back and forth for an hour before he breaks into the same mournful howling he’s been doing ever since Piper walked out.
Just my fucking luck.
She messed with my dog’s head, too.
“Hold on, little air raid siren. We’re getting your walk in early today,” I tell him.
It’ll also get me the hell out of this miserable house.
We head out into dusk. Andy wanders the path listlessly, barely sniffing at the flowers like he normally does. I ignore the nonstop vibration of my phone in my pants.
After our walk, I scoop Andy up on the couch and drink myself into a stupor.
I wake up with a brutal headache, my chest buried under dog.
I hear the thud as he jumps down and lets out another long baying howl at the moon rising through the window.
“Andy! Enough. Are you trying to split my head in two?”
I drag myself over to the table, shoving a few handfuls of cashews into my mouth from a tin. A few more for Andy gets him settled again.
I resist the urge to pick up my phone. I’ll have to call Fyodor tomorrow and tell him we’re using the nuclear option, but first I need to sleep off this damn hangover.
Leave it to the sandman to be a colossal prick.
I toss and turn half the night, growling at the nauseous images flashing through my brain.
Darren laughing in the mess hall, talking shit to other airmen about the woman he was cheating on Vanessa with, goading me to walk over and knock his teeth out.
The heat in Piper’s eyes, her lips, her soul the first time I slid into her.
Awful, glassy tears spilling out of her the day my dumbassery cost me everything. Fuck, how did I let her go without even telling her—
Wait.
I leap out of bed and wince as my hungover brain screams at me. There’s also something buzzing on my nightstand like an angry bee.