Daddy's Little Pet | 18+

|Plan A Or B|

ROBERT

"No fucking way!" I exclaimed loudly. "This has to be the dumbest joke in history! This cannot be true. Tell me this is a lie. Just some ploy by the media to sell a story, right? I mean, who made this up?" I spat, returning my gaze to my secretary, and flinging the magazine on the floor.

"We can't say, Mr. Clarke, but we know the media will do anything for money. Aside from that, the allegations look too good to be true, and they have photos to back it up." Mr. Patrick, my lawyer, chimed in, his face concerned as he looked at me from his chair across the office desk.

God, this was worse than I'd imagined. I closed my eyes and sighed deeply, thinking about the headline I'd just read.

'SCANDAL OF THE YEAR OR NOT? POPULAR BILLIONAIRE, ROBERT CLARKE, CAUGHT IN A ROMANTIC RUSE WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND & SON.'

The article described and fabricated theories about Dylan being Renee's ex. They even had photos to prove it. My mind replayed the article's content as the words flashed before my eyes, and my jaw gritted in anger and shame.

That's when it struck me. This was true.

I remembered Renee had been surprised to see Dylan at the party that night.

I vividly recalled what she'd said and how she'd apologized to him before leaving.

Dylan was Renee's ex.

He was the jerk who hurt her and weakened her already fragile heart. The bastard who'd cheated on her. I'd wanted to track him down and issue a warning after Renee told me he was still trying to contact her, possibly for a reconciliation. And now the pieces were finally coming together.

Dammit! My head spun as I tried to make sense of everything.

My face was white and ashen, like a sheet of paper. I felt lightheaded and nauseous.

I probably appeared even messier than I felt. With bags under my eyes, wild and messy hair, and working on little sleep, I knew I looked miserable.

I couldn't eat because my stomach hurt, so I drank whiskey all day Sunday, Monday, and today.

I'm sure my body was rebelling against me, but I didn't give a damn.

"How come no one told me about this? Why am I just seeing this?" I asked, shaking my head.

"It was all over the news yesterday, Mr. Clarke. I dashed over here when you summoned me, thinking you'd called because of it. Apparently, my intuition was incorrect." Mr. Patrick shrugged his shoulders.

"I called you because I knew the media would be all over what happened at the party. I've barely looked at my phone or watched TV because I was afraid of what I'd find." I confessed, running my hand through my unkempt hair. "Didn't think I'd see this and... fuck!"

My voice cracked in disbelief and disgust, and I shook my head.

"Goddammit, I feel like a fucking moron! I'd stood still and let Amanda trample all over me. I'm such a coward, and I only have myself to blame!"

"Mr. Clarke, you must calm down and—" Mr. Patrick began, only for me to cut him off.

"How can I relax? Don't give me that shit, man. Knowing my reputation will suffer because of all this doesn't cut it. What about Renee? She only followed me to a party where we were supposed to have the time of our lives. But what did she get? Outright humiliation, and now I've learned that Dylan, my son, was, in fact, her ex-boyfriend. Do you have any idea how that sounds? Fuck! This only exacerbates the situation!" I yelled, pacing agitatedly, my hands outstretched in frustration.