Chapter 2 · He's the Only Normal One

Just then, the office door was flung open with a bang.

The sales manager came rushing in, practically tripping over himself, his face drenched in sweat.

"Mr. Powell. Bad news. Something's happened," he blurted out. "Your girlfriend, Miss Reyes... she..."

I frowned.

"What, did you fish her out of some river this time?" I asked.

"Uh? No, no, that's not it," the sales manager stammered.

He looked like he was about to cry. "While you were in the meeting, Mr. Jackson from the Westside Project wanted to make some minor changes to the final proposal...

"She thought the client was disrespecting her work, so she dumped coffee right in his face."

The office went dead silent.

Great.

So that was what all the drama in the conference room was about: bursting in, crying about our anniversary, just so she could play the victim and throw me under the bus first.

Before I could even say anything, my assistant was already acting like he was in a soap opera.

"Who the hell do they think they are, making Miss Reyes mad?" He turned to me, face full of outrage. "Mr. Powell. Just say the word. I'll have the legal team destroy them, guaranteed bankruptcy in three days."

I closed my eyes, my temples pounding.

If I stuck around these people any longer, I was gonna pop a blood vessel.

"You." I pointed right at his nose. "Shut up."

The assistant flinched at my shout and shut up, looking embarrassed.

The sales manager, face miserable, added, "Miss Reyes just left chaos behind and took off."

So she didn't jump into a river; she just ran off.

"Where is she?" I asked, my voice flat.

"She... she booked a flight to Yosay City..." the sales manager stammered.

"What's she doing in Yosay City?" I asked.

"She said... she said she was horribly wronged and upset, so she's going to see Mr. Holmes from Holmes Group... to vent," the sales manager replied.

I laughed out of sheer frustration.

Marcus from Holmes Group. My biggest rival.

And now, my girl went straight to my arch-enemy to whine about me.

This was way beyond just being crazy.

She basically tossed my reputation on the floor and invited the whole business circle to trample all over it.

"Book a flight right now..." I started.

Before I could finish, my assistant's eyes lit up like he'd just been revived in a video game, rushing over to score points.

He said, "Mr. Powell. Your private jet is already fueled up and waiting on the tarmac, ready to take off and chase after Miss Reyes whenever you say the word."

I closed my eyes again and took a deep breath, so I wouldn't actually throw this fool out the window.

I opened my eyes and stared him down.

"Do you have any common sense?" I said, exasperated. "For a private jet to fly to another city, you have to apply for a flight route with air traffic control at least 24 hours in advance.

"I'm a CEO, not a damn Transformer, I can't just take off whenever I want."

I pointed toward the door. "Get out. Tell HR to book the next available flight to Yosay City."

I turned to the sales manager. "Tell HR to draft the termination contract and bring it to the airport.

"Even if you have to chase her all the way to Yosay City, make sure she signs it.

"And have the legal team prepare a legal notice, hold her personally liable for all the losses from the Westside Project.

"Once she signs, tell her to get lost."

After sorting out Caroline's mess, I was ready to head home.

Let's see what kind of soap opera the real and fake heiresses were acting out in the villa today.

The whole company was whispering about my decision, giving me the kind of look they'd give a lunatic.

They were not wrong.

This whole world was nuts.

It was rotten from the roots up.

So I would set things right myself.

Before I could even get out of the parking garage, my car was completely stuck at the exit.

The noise from outside was deafening, practically stabbing at my eardrums.

My driver, Sydney, went to see what was happening, and when he came back, his face was as pale as a ghost.

"Mr. Powell... Cameron and Andrew are brawling right outside the company entrance," he said.

My dear brother, Cameron.

My dear uncle, Andrew.

And they were fighting over a woman.

Was our security just a bunch of idiots?

I pushed open the car door.

In the middle of the crowd, two men were brawling, their suits a mess, both of them sporting bruises and cuts on their faces.

And right in the middle of the chaos stood a woman, Natalie Davis.

She was yelling, "Stop. Please, stop," but there was a twisted satisfaction in her eyes.

My useless brother, Cameron, was the textbook definition of a spoiled rich kid.

He tipped the hostesses at the bar way more than he gave his girlfriend for living expenses.

He claimed it was some kind of "test", pretending to be broke to see if she was just after his money.

What a joke.

And of course, his girlfriend, Natalie, caught him red-handed while working part-time at the bar.

Chapter 2

Just then, the office door was flung open with a bang.

The sales manager came rushing in, practically tripping over himself, his face drenched in sweat.

"Mr. Powell. Bad news. Something's happened," he blurted out. "Your girlfriend, Miss Reyes... she..."

I frowned.

"What, did you fish her out of some river this time?" I asked.

"Uh? No, no, that's not it," the sales manager stammered.

He looked like he was about to cry. "While you were in the meeting, Mr. Jackson from the Westside Project wanted to make some minor changes to the final proposal...

"She thought the client was disrespecting her work, so she dumped coffee right in his face."

The office went dead silent.

Great.

So that was what all the drama in the conference room was about: bursting in, crying about our anniversary, just so she could play the victim and throw me under the bus first.

Before I could even say anything, my assistant was already acting like he was in a soap opera.

I closed my eyes, my temples pounding.

If I stuck around these people any longer, I was gonna pop a blood vessel.

"You." I pointed right at his nose. "Shut up."

The assistant flinched at my shout and shut up, looking embarrassed.

The sales manager, face miserable, added, "Miss Reyes just left chaos behind and took off."

So she didn't jump into a river; she just ran off.

"Where is she?" I asked, my voice flat.

"She... she booked a flight to Yosay City..." the sales manager stammered.

"What's she doing in Yosay City?" I asked.

"She said... she said she was horribly wronged and upset, so she's going to see Mr. Holmes from Holmes Group... to vent," the sales manager replied.

I laughed out of sheer frustration.

Marcus from Holmes Group. My biggest rival.

And now, my girl went straight to my arch-enemy to whine about me.

This was way beyond just being crazy.

She basically tossed my reputation on the floor and invited the whole business circle to trample all over it.

"Book a flight right now..." I started.

Before I could finish, my assistant's eyes lit up like he'd just been revived in a video game, rushing over to score points.

He said, "Mr. Powell. Your private jet is already fueled up and waiting on the tarmac, ready to take off and chase after Miss Reyes whenever you say the word."

I closed my eyes again and took a deep breath, so I wouldn't actually throw this fool out the window.

I opened my eyes and stared him down.

"Do you have any common sense?" I said, exasperated. "For a private jet to fly to another city, you have to apply for a flight route with air traffic control at least 24 hours in advance.

"I'm a CEO, not a damn Transformer, I can't just take off whenever I want."

I pointed toward the door. "Get out. Tell HR to book the next available flight to Yosay City."

I turned to the sales manager. "Tell HR to draft the termination contract and bring it to the airport.

"Even if you have to chase her all the way to Yosay City, make sure she signs it.

"And have the legal team prepare a legal notice, hold her personally liable for all the losses from the Westside Project.

"Once she signs, tell her to get lost."

After sorting out Caroline's mess, I was ready to head home.

Let's see what kind of soap opera the real and fake heiresses were acting out in the villa today.

The whole company was whispering about my decision, giving me the kind of look they'd give a lunatic.

They were not wrong.

This whole world was nuts.

It was rotten from the roots up.

So I would set things right myself.

Before I could even get out of the parking garage, my car was completely stuck at the exit.

The noise from outside was deafening, practically stabbing at my eardrums.

My driver, Sydney, went to see what was happening, and when he came back, his face was as pale as a ghost.

"Mr. Powell... Cameron and Andrew are brawling right outside the company entrance," he said.

My dear brother, Cameron.

My dear uncle, Andrew.

And they were fighting over a woman.

Was our security just a bunch of idiots?

I pushed open the car door.

In the middle of the crowd, two men were brawling, their suits a mess, both of them sporting bruises and cuts on their faces.

And right in the middle of the chaos stood a woman, Natalie Davis.

She was yelling, "Stop. Please, stop," but there was a twisted satisfaction in her eyes.

My useless brother, Cameron, was the textbook definition of a spoiled rich kid.

He tipped the hostesses at the bar way more than he gave his girlfriend for living expenses.

He claimed it was some kind of "test", pretending to be broke to see if she was just after his money.

What a joke.

And of course, his girlfriend, Natalie, caught him red-handed while working part-time at the bar.