My Finance Ex Humiliated Me At A Gala — He Didn’t Know Who Was Listening
Part 2
Monday morning arrived with a torrential downpour washing the crowded streets of Manhattan in a bleak, gray sheen.
For Brian Mitchell, the violent storm was just beginning.
He walked into the glass-walled offices of Harrison and Gable at exactly eight in the morning.
He was holding his double-shot espresso, fully ready to pitch a multi-million dollar merger.
Instead, his security key card flashed a solid red at the turnstile.
Two burly, unsmiling security guards instantly escorted him straight to human resources.
There, he was handed a devastating termination letter citing gross misconduct and severe financial discrepancies.
When Brian demanded a furious explanation, the HR director simply slid a thick folder across the mahogany desk.
It contained crystal-clear photographs of Brian actively engaging in illegal insider trading.
Those photos had mysteriously arrived on the CEO’s desk just thirty minutes prior.
By noon, Brian’s luxury apartment lease was suddenly and inexplicably revoked.
The building management blamed a bizarre clerical error that the landlord flatly refused to fix.
By three in the afternoon, his customized sports car was aggressively repossessed by a towing company.
They had no record of a repo order, but they took the expensive vehicle anyway.
Brian was left standing alone on the wet sidewalk holding a sad cardboard box of his office supplies.
He frantically dialed his powerful friends, but absolutely nobody answered his desperate calls.
He had been completely socially and financially erased in a mere matter of hours.
Meanwhile, miles away in a sprawling, highly fortified estate in the Hamptons, I was completely unaware of the absolute apocalypse raining down on my ex.
I had received an urgent call Sunday evening from Dan’s chief of staff.
He offered me triple my usual catering rate to privately serve a week-long series of executive meetings at the Robinson estate.
The unbelievable money was simply too good to pass up.
It was more than enough to finally open the second bakery location I had been dreaming of for years.
When I arrived at the grand mansion, however, there were absolutely no executives.
There were no high-level business meetings.
There was only Dan.
He was sitting casually at the head of a massive mahogany dining table.
He was wearing a dark Henley shirt that hugged his muscular torso perfectly.
He was quietly reading a thick, leather-bound ledger.
The warm fire crackling softly in the hearth cast dancing shadows across his incredibly sharp jawline.
“Mr. Robinson?”
I asked tentatively.
I nervously wheeled my heavy cart of fresh ingredients into the grand dining room.
“Where are the guests?”
I questioned.
Dan closed the ledger slowly and stood up from the table.
He moved toward me with the slow, deliberate grace of a lethal apex predator.
“There are no guests, Megan.”
He stopped mere inches away from me.
“It’s just us.”
I gripped the handle of my cart tightly.
“I don’t understand,” I stammered.
“I prepped elaborate meals for a dozen people.”
I nervously wiped my trembling hands on my white apron.
“I have thirty pounds of braised short ribs and enough rich risotto to feed a small army.”
I was hyper-aware of how my generous hips bumped awkwardly against the edge of the metal cart.
“Then my men outside will eat exceptionally well tonight,” Dan replied smoothly.
The intoxicating scent of rich bergamot and expensive tobacco completely enveloped my senses.
“I brought you here because I wanted to see you.”
His intense gaze locked onto mine.
“I wanted you in my home, completely away from the filth of the city, away from annoying pests.”
My heart hammered aggressively against my ribs.
No man had ever looked at me the way Dan Robinson was looking at me right now.
How does an ordinary baker from Queens handle being claimed by the most dangerous man in the city?
