2
Riggs
Calm chaos is all around me, but it doesn't relax me today. It still reminds me of Blakely's eyes after all these years. God only knows where she is, and I used to feel sorry for Hugh and Madelyn that she disappeared into thin air, but now, I'm beginning to enjoy that they have a family issue.
I don't know that he's screwing me.
It's pretty clear.
Wait for the evidence. It's Hugh.
The clawing in my gut has only gotten worse. No amount of surfing can eliminate it, including the last wave I caught, which might be the biggest one I've ever ridden.
The red flags started rising about a month ago when I noticed Hugh was taking longer and longer to send me numbers. Last week, my personal accountant called me.
I never liked Hugh's guy, George. Something about him gave me bad feelings. A few years ago, I met Rachel. She instantly impressed me with her level of expertise, so I tested her with a few personal projects and quickly saw she's one of the best in her craft. It wasn't long before I turned all my accounts over to her.
I wanted to hire her for the business, but Hugh refused to let his guy go. It was the first time he utilized his power to override me in the business. We may both own the company in equal shares, but he's always held veto power.
I agreed to it when we formed the company. I had no money, and Hugh gave me an opportunity I would never have had otherwise. But it burned me when he used it. I can account for over eighty percent of the growth of our firm. I've brought in more business than Hugh, and lately, I'm confident he no longer knows more than me. If anything, he's become a tad outdated. And my decade-plus of experience no longer makes me anything less than him.
Although I'm sure he'd beg to differ. One thing I can always count on is Hugh's ego. He thinks his family money will always trump me since my wealth is new. I'm not naive to it, but I've accepted it over the years. It's just how he's wired.
When I told Hugh I was keeping Rachel for my personal accounts and firing George, he did everything he could to try and change my mind, but I refused.
Now, I'm glad I listened to my gut and brought Rachel on board. She works for me and only me. And while I must be careful to keep things strictly professional since she has the hots for me, she's brilliant.
It's not that Rachel isn't good-looking, but I'm not interested. She was a tad flirty the first time we met, but it quickly got a bit more intense. After that, I made her call me Mr. Madden and not Riggs. That little adjustment made it clear this arrangement was strictly business. I only discuss our accounts with her and never mention anything about my life outside of work.
Rachel called yesterday and insisted I meet in person with her. I don't know what she plans on throwing at me, but I assume it's not good.
A week ago, I asked her to audit the business accounts even though it's George's job. If Hugh knew I'd shared our information with Rachel, he'd have a fit. But my gut said something wasn't right, and I couldn't sleep until I either squashed the nagging feeling or discovered what was off.
I've never allowed Rachel—or anyone else, really—to come to my home. The only people who typically are allowed inside are my cleaners. I bought the Malibu beach house a few years ago, and for some reason, I've kept it my secret gem. Hugh doesn't even know about it.
I have a condo in L.A. where I stay if I need to be in the office multiple days in a row or if I'm frequenting Club Indulgence. Besides that, I spend my time here, waking up every morning to surf the waves and feeling at peace.
Not that I love to be around a ton of people anyway. I do it for business, but ever since I was a kid, I've always been more of a loner. Maybe it's because I've never really trusted the people around me, whether it's the slums or the most expensive suburbs of L.A.
Hugh's the exception. The notion I might have been wrong about him all these years makes me feel ill. Perhaps it's because I never second-guess myself or my decisions. I've always trusted my gut, which makes the idea of him screwing me over even more painful.
He hasn't.
Then what did Rachel find?
I catch a final wave, ride it toward shore, then carry my board up the sandy path to my house. I put it away, go to my outside shower, and strip out of my wetsuit.
The hot water cascades over my body, but no matter how much soap I use, I can't wash the feeling of grime off me.
What has Hugh done?
I turn off the shower, secure a towel around my waist, and go into my house. I get dressed, debate about making my daily green smoothie, then decide to opt out. The clawing in my stomach only grows more intense the closer I get to eight A.M.
The doorbell rings two minutes before, and I let Rachel inside.
She glances around my open floor plan. "Wow. Nice place."
"Thanks. Let's get started," I order, motioning for her to sit at my oversized table.