Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 131459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
They clearly didn’t hide it in front of the kids.
This meant Genny and Duncan were good.
Tom ascertained the cats had plenty of water, and their beds and blankets were accessible for naps, as his phone beeped with a text and he said, “Good news. I’ll let you go, and I’ll see you soon at Mika’s.”
“You got it,” Matt replied.
“Later, Daddy,” Sasha added.
“Love you both,” Tom finished it.
He got two “love you mores” in return, and on his way through the utility room to the garage, preparing to hold back the furballs who always wanted to follow him wherever he went, and they were following him now, he checked his texts.
The one that came in while he was talking to his kids was from the number that had called twice.
Please phone, Tom. It’s urgent I speak to you. It’s about Miranda.
Seeing that name, Tom stopped at the door to the garage and called the number.
It was answered immediately.
“Tom?” a man asked.
“Who’s this?” Tom asked in return.
“It’s Andrew. Andrew Winston. From the tour. It’s been a while, buddy.”
Buddy?
Tom’s saliva glands were working overtime as he walked back into the kitchen, doing this carefully, due to the gaggle of kittens at his heels.
“Why are you calling, Andrew?” he inquired, stopping at his island, leaning a hip to it and gazing at the serenity of his pool.
He’d need that serenity because he knew whatever this was from Andrew was no good.
“Listen, this is awkward,” Andrew stated.
And that was it, he said no more.
But Tom didn’t like this for a number of reasons, not least of which was that there was no reason Andrew should be calling him.
In his conversations about Core Point, Tom had named no names. No one would know Andrew was one of the actors in that farce. That information wouldn’t be divulged until Georgiana and Kateri had completed their work and the story broke. And with the limited updates he was getting, it was his understanding that wouldn’t be for some time.
As suspected, Georgie and Kateri had discovered the First Four were the tip of the iceberg. AJ Oakley had left a swath of victims not only in his years sitting on boards, but also in how he dealt with his own businesses. There was so much work to be done locking down the entirety of the story, it would be months— and Georgie had warned, it could even be over a year—before they were safe to go to press on it.
“Andrew, I have plans today and I was on my way out the door. Why are you calling?” Tom prompted.
“Listen, this is crazy, and so uncomfortable, once you hear it, you’ll understand how it’s hard to broach. But apparently, Miranda has been spouting some seriously slanderous shit about me.” Pause, and when Tom didn’t say anything, he went on, “I mean Miranda Trainor. You know, Patsy’s friend.”
“I remember Miranda,” Tom replied coolly.
“It’s this whole MeToo witch hunt shit, Tom.”
Tom said nothing.
“She’s saying I was inappropriate with her.”
“Again, Andrew, I’ll ask why you’re phoning me,” Tom repeated.
“Why am I phoning?” He sounded incredulous.
“I haven’t seen you in twenty-five years. So yes, why are you phoning?”
“She’s saying it was that time, decades ago, when we were at Wimbledon.”
“Andrew—”
“And you and I were having drinks at that pub.”
This motherfucker.
“Andrew, you and I never had drinks at a pub. Not only did I barely know you, and from what I’d learned, I eventually avoided you, I didn’t drink when I was competing.”
“We did, Tom. We had drinks.”
Jesus Christ.
“How many players have you approached with this bullshit who told you to go fuck yourself before you came to my name on your list?” Tom demanded.
“We were friends. We haven’t talked for a while, but we are friends.”
“I’m not your friend. I’ve never been your friend. And not talking for twenty-five years is not ‘a while,’ Andrew. It’s the definition of two colleagues who barely knew each other, and on my part, I couldn’t stand being around you, going their separate ways when they stopped competing professionally.”
“This is some serious shit she’s burying me in,” Andrew bit out.
“Is it? Is it shit she’s burying you in, Andrew?” Tom asked.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“If I were you, which, thankfully, I am not, I’d have to ask myself, after all this time, when she retired from the tour, and you retired from the tour, why anything like this would surface now?”
“Because women are doing this fucking everywhere,” Andrew spat. “It’s their way to make money or settle scores or remain relevant.”
Fucking hell.
“We’re done,” Tom said.
“Tom! Fuck!” Andrew shouted into the phone. “There are legal implications with this.”
“Goodbye, Andrew.”
“Tom, if this shit hits, I’m naming you as my alibi,” Andrew threatened.
His vision blurred, his hand tightened on the phone, and it took a moment for Tom to get his shit together.