going straight home to pack my bags."
"Why don't we put all that unpleasantness on hold for awhile? At least, until I've met Christina?"
Bill smiled. It was exactly what he wanted to hear. Two weeks. He had two weeks to come up with something better. And he would. "All right, we'll wait for Christina to come home and I'll introduce you."
And with that, Bill turned and walked out of the office and towards the elevator. Charlotte had already left for the day.
Bill had won round one. He was still in his father's good graces—well not really—but at least his credit cards weren't going to be cancelled and he still had a magnificent multi-million dollar roof over his head. But more importantly, he could still get his hands on some cash—some desperately needed cash. People were depending on him—and he wasn't going to let them down, no matter what he had to say or do.
No matter what.
As Bill walked through the downstairs lobby, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
"It's me. I just came back from seeing the old bastard and he's threatening to cut me off." Bill paused as he listened to the other end. "I know, I know, don't get excited. I'll keep getting you the money somehow. I won't let you down, I promise."
A worried and pensive Bill shut his phone and strode to the exit doors.
* * *
William sat behind his ornate desk and calmly reached for his phone. He dialed.
"Get me everything on a Christina Matteo, a photojournalist at some rag called Streetwise Magazine; and get it to me now," he barked.
He replaced the receiver and stared hard at the closed door through which Bill had exited moments before.
Chapter 12
Christina was ensconced in a tiny cubicle in a corner of the Streetwise Magazine office, downloading a series of photographs she’d taken that morning but her mind was not on her task. It had been three days since the accident and Christina had heard nothing from Bill Havenwood's insurance company. She was worried, very worried.
She'd spoken to Stanley Moore, the attorney for the Magazine and he'd confirmed all of her most horrible fears. She was definitely liable for all of the damages on Havenwood's Ferrari and she'd be lucky—damn lucky—if he didn't sue her for personal injury too—or for mental anguish—or for— Christina blocked the rest of Stanley's speech out of her mind. She just didn't want to think about it. In one sunny afternoon, her life had become a Greek tragedy and it was all Havenwood's fault.
That scumbag was just bad luck.
Suddenly Sue, one of the magazine’s editors, put her head over her cubicle wall. "Christina, there's a Mr. Havenwood here to see you," she announced, before disappearing again.
Havenwood??!!
Shocked, Christina's hands started shaking and her breathing increased. Okay, here it was. The moment of truth when she'd find out how much the damages on that maggot's Ferrari were going to be. Or maybe he was here to tell her he was going to sue her for one million dollars in personal damages—or maybe two million—or ten? Oh, why did he have to be here at all? Why couldn't he just let his insurance company contact her?
Forcing her legs to move, she resolutely walked out into the reception area. But as she entered, she stopped dead in her tracks. There—waiting for her was Mr. Havenwood all right—Mr. William Havenwood Sr., Bill's father, impeccably dressed in his Brooks Brothers navy suit and gray ponytail. Christina immediately recognized him from the pictures she'd taken of him outside his house days ago. But what could he want with her?
He came forward and extended his hand. "You're Christina, aren't you?"
"Y… yes." Christina was wary as she shook his hand. She briefly looked over his shoulder to Jenny who was sitting at the reception desk. Jenny shrugged her shoulders.
"I'm so glad to meet you," he smiled at her.
"You are?"
"Of course. My son's told me everything."
"He has?"
"You sound surprised."
"Well I… guess he would tell
"Why don't we put all that unpleasantness on hold for awhile? At least, until I've met Christina?"
Bill smiled. It was exactly what he wanted to hear. Two weeks. He had two weeks to come up with something better. And he would. "All right, we'll wait for Christina to come home and I'll introduce you."
And with that, Bill turned and walked out of the office and towards the elevator. Charlotte had already left for the day.
Bill had won round one. He was still in his father's good graces—well not really—but at least his credit cards weren't going to be cancelled and he still had a magnificent multi-million dollar roof over his head. But more importantly, he could still get his hands on some cash—some desperately needed cash. People were depending on him—and he wasn't going to let them down, no matter what he had to say or do.
No matter what.
As Bill walked through the downstairs lobby, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
"It's me. I just came back from seeing the old bastard and he's threatening to cut me off." Bill paused as he listened to the other end. "I know, I know, don't get excited. I'll keep getting you the money somehow. I won't let you down, I promise."
A worried and pensive Bill shut his phone and strode to the exit doors.
* * *
William sat behind his ornate desk and calmly reached for his phone. He dialed.
"Get me everything on a Christina Matteo, a photojournalist at some rag called Streetwise Magazine; and get it to me now," he barked.
He replaced the receiver and stared hard at the closed door through which Bill had exited moments before.
Chapter 12
Christina was ensconced in a tiny cubicle in a corner of the Streetwise Magazine office, downloading a series of photographs she’d taken that morning but her mind was not on her task. It had been three days since the accident and Christina had heard nothing from Bill Havenwood's insurance company. She was worried, very worried.
She'd spoken to Stanley Moore, the attorney for the Magazine and he'd confirmed all of her most horrible fears. She was definitely liable for all of the damages on Havenwood's Ferrari and she'd be lucky—damn lucky—if he didn't sue her for personal injury too—or for mental anguish—or for— Christina blocked the rest of Stanley's speech out of her mind. She just didn't want to think about it. In one sunny afternoon, her life had become a Greek tragedy and it was all Havenwood's fault.
That scumbag was just bad luck.
Suddenly Sue, one of the magazine’s editors, put her head over her cubicle wall. "Christina, there's a Mr. Havenwood here to see you," she announced, before disappearing again.
Havenwood??!!
Shocked, Christina's hands started shaking and her breathing increased. Okay, here it was. The moment of truth when she'd find out how much the damages on that maggot's Ferrari were going to be. Or maybe he was here to tell her he was going to sue her for one million dollars in personal damages—or maybe two million—or ten? Oh, why did he have to be here at all? Why couldn't he just let his insurance company contact her?
Forcing her legs to move, she resolutely walked out into the reception area. But as she entered, she stopped dead in her tracks. There—waiting for her was Mr. Havenwood all right—Mr. William Havenwood Sr., Bill's father, impeccably dressed in his Brooks Brothers navy suit and gray ponytail. Christina immediately recognized him from the pictures she'd taken of him outside his house days ago. But what could he want with her?
He came forward and extended his hand. "You're Christina, aren't you?"
"Y… yes." Christina was wary as she shook his hand. She briefly looked over his shoulder to Jenny who was sitting at the reception desk. Jenny shrugged her shoulders.
"I'm so glad to meet you," he smiled at her.
"You are?"
"Of course. My son's told me everything."
"He has?"
"You sound surprised."
"Well I… guess he would tell
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