MATTHIAS
M
y entire family is waiting outside the courthouse when I’m finally released, something I’m sure both the board and our PR department is absolutely thrilled about. I’m also sure that Damien
told them he did not give a flying fuck, and was the first one on the scene.
But the board and the PR department would’ve been right. Because other than the family, the paparazzi are out in full force to support my stint in jail.
“Matthias! Tell us what happened? Were you trying to murder Patrick Linzer?”
“Is Clarissa Masters engaged to you just for a green card, like she did with Patrick before he dumped her?”
How the fuck do they know that? The fucker must be awake and running his mouth off. I really should’ve finished him off. They’d hold a freaking parade for me, I would’ve have gotten a key to the city if I didn’t already have one.
“I’m not answering questions, so you can just stop asking.” I shout, even though there’s no point. If vultures were human, they’d be the paparazzi.
Clarissa pushes through the crowd to me. I grab her and pull her into me for a tight hug. Seeing her just brings me peace. How can one person both stir up so many emotions and yet be my calm in the storm all at once?
“Hey, you okay?” I whisper in her ear. She nods, but it’s clear she probably hasn’t gotten any sleep since she saw me handcuffed and driven away in a cop car. “Let’s go. I could really use a shower.”
We take a step down to the footpath and they swarm around us with nothing but a cop or two pushing them back.
I drape my arm around Clarissa and shield her as we make it over to where the rest of the family is standing next to my car.
“Hey. How’s the honeymoon?” I say to Damien, who pulls me in for a tight hug.
“Eh, once you’ve seen one beach, you’ve seen them all.” He pulls away and gives me a wry smile. “You might owe My-Linh a trip to Bora Bora though. That was our next stop.” He opens the car door for me; Clarissa climbs in, and I follow.
Before he gets into the driver’s seat, he turns toward the paparazzi and yells. “My brother is the single highest donor to the Children Are The Future fund, he runs the New York City marathon every year and raises more money than most of you will see in a lifetime. Maybe that’s what you should be writing about instead of this bullshit. Get a life. Before I buy up every single newspaper and the lot of you will be out of a job.” The car door slams as he slides behind the wheel.
“Well. Good thing Paula isn’t doing anything right now,” I tease him.
He ignores me and turns the car into traffic.
Despite how good it is to finally see Clarissa and my family; I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours stewing over my arrest. Who could’ve known I was there?
Leanne?
Who was she going to tell? With her job, she deals in confidentiality, having such a high profile client list. If this got out that she released my location to the cops, the only houses she’d be designing would be doll houses.
Someone must’ve seen us last night.
Maybe even one of the other tenants.
Either way, I’m going to get to the bottom of this. And I’m going to make sure that Patrick wishes he never got up off the ground.
“You want to go home?” Damien asks
“No,” I say leaning forward, “to the office. I need to go to work. I’ve got to figure out what happened and where we go from here. Kids & Care IPO is in a month. We need to spring back from this.”
The news had evidently spread through every corner of the office and when I get there, everyone makes a really concerted effort not to look at me, but also not to avoid my eyes. I would love to see that interoffice memo explaining what happened and how to act.
“Matthias!” Hannah jumps up from her desk when she sees me, purple rings circling her eyes, just like the rest of the closest people to me.
“Hey, Hannah, fancy seeing you here. I thought you would’ve taken advantage of me not being here to do some shopping on the company credit card.”
She hugs me, and there’s the tiniest little sob. It does nothing to help the lump that’s been growing in my throat since I saw how much my family has cared about me.
“Get back to work, okay?” I say softly, and she nods, wiping her eyes, while everyone suddenly finds something in the floor or carpet really interesting.
Her face hardens and she leans and whispers, “Matthias… you have some people here to see you.” “Who?”
She swallows. Whoever it is, she doesn’t even want to tell me. That can’t be good. Can’t be worse than the police, though.
I run into my office and see them, sitting on my couch like they fucking own it.
Terry, Gerry and fucking Patrick.
The three fuckerteers.
This has got to be some sort of sick joke.
Patrick looks better than I expected him to. His left arm is in a sling and his face is basically one giant bruise. Too bad it doesn’t cover up how dog shit ugly he is.
“What the fuck are you three doing here?” I fume.
“You two”-I point my fingers at Terry and Gerry-“aren’t even supposed to be in New York.”
In the background, I hear footsteps as everyone follows me into the office, seeing the shit show in front of me. I hear a woman gasp, or maybe it’s all three.
I don’t blame them.
Seeing all three of them here is like a sign of the apocalypse.
“Matthias, how are you feeling, son?” Gerry asks, saccharine sweet, and it makes me want to actually throw up.
I take a step towards them. “Just answer the question. Actually, you know what? Just get the fuck out. All three of you.”
He stands up, tugging on his shirt cuffs. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, son.”
Anger swarms around me. “Gerry, I swear to God, if you call me ‘son’ one more time, I’m going to break every fucking bone in your body.”
He sighs and shrugs. “It’s exactly these violent tendencies that have you gotten into this… pickle, son. We’re going to have to do something about this.”
“You don’t have to do anything about it. I will take care of it.”