CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Roman
My hands clenched around the steering wheel. I hated leaving Adara with that look on her face. I knew I’d hurt her. I’d just fucked her brains out and then essentially walked out.
But dammit… I had shit to deal with. Surely, she could understand that.
A new story broke overnight and would be appearing in all the newspapers this morning. Already, since New York was three hours ahead of us, Crave.com stocks had ticked lower. The phones were ringing off the hook, both large and small clients demanding answers, some wanting to break their contract. It was a disaster.
When it hit, the article alleged that Crave.com and our famous coffee brand, Krave Koffee, were exploiting the workers in a small village in Brazil. At the least of their claims was the allegation that I was paying a fraction of the cost for the beans.
I squealed to a stop in front of a gas station, went in and bought a paper. I wanted to know just what was waiting for me when I got to the office.
The front-page article summarized my local dealings, then read:
“The reason we get everything on Crave.com for such a steal is that they’re stealing from their suppliers,” said an unnamed source. Crave founder, Roman Wellington, a supposed long-time champion of fair trade and global equality, has been revealed in a scandal which alleges he’s forced child laborers and underpaid workers to live and work under slavelike conditions in Brazil. His company has also been named in a lawsuit that claims he’s trafficked young workers for the fields and the sex trade.
After reading those words, my mind whirled with anger. I didn’t dare read the rest, but Adam had told me there were interviews with workers from our coffee operation in Brazil and testimonials from villagers, farmers, and children who all claimed to have been bought by our company. The most convincing of these interviews was a fifteen-year-old girl who said she’d been sold to Crave.
Throwing the paper down on the passenger seat, I hit the gas, pushing the engine to bleed out my anger on the car instead of my innocent employees waiting for me at the office.
This couldn’t be happening.
My company’s entire reputation rested on our commitment to fair trade and exemplary business practices with developing nations that profited both our economies.
Crave.com had been my childhood dream. I wanted to create a company that didn’t inflate prices or pad the pockets of only one side of the retail exchange. I wanted fair prices for all, prosperity for all.
We saved people money, and made other people money. My employees also enjoyed good salaries. But we didn’t traffic in people. Just the opposite, we were advocates against such practices.
Now, with this popping up, if someone found out I’d been to Jewel it would finish off my reputation. Embarrass my family. Affect how Adara was welcomed back into the world when she went.
Not to mention that my entire business model was built on the company’s reputation. A story like this, especially if it demonized me, would absolutely ruin us.
The saddest part of all this was, despite the rumors that I was an absolute asshole, I really cared about what we did at Crave. We elevated the quality of life for so many people who’d otherwise be living in poverty. For people living in those small villages, we provided education, healthcare, housing, and infrastructure.
I myself made sure these changes were made in the places we worked with. I was stunned and unable to believe that someone on my team had taken advantage of this incredible resource. Our moto was “Crave what you believe in.” Our beliefs and our reputation were our brand.
When I got into work, the looks on everyone’s faces made me think that I’d already died and come back as a zombie. There was such a mix of shock and horror as I passed through. But I couldn’t let it daunt me.
“Adam,” I barked. “No calls.” Being pleasant wasn’t on my priority list. “And book me a trip to Brazil, ASAP.” I walked into my office and slammed the door.
At my desk, I looked over the article and what was popping up online. I would need to call in someone who could get to the source of this and turn it around. A detective slash publicist.
I made a call to the company attorney, and he was already on it. So far, he hadn’t been able to find record of a lawsuit anywhere. Something wasn’t kosher.
I could hear Adam outside my door fielding calls from reporters, saying I wasn’t offering any statements at the moment. He was a good assistant. I didn’t expect anyone to bang down my door with him out there, which was great. When this was all over, I needed to reward him.
My door was slung open, and I’d jumped to my feet before I focused on Peter standing there, looking like a ragged Bear Grylls.
I groaned, mourning the peace and quiet that swiftly died with my brother-in-law’s presence.
“Broooo!”
My eyes rolled back in my head, and I flopped back down in my chair. I hadn’t the energy for him right now.
“What the fuck, dude? USA Today is smoking crack. When did you become a slave owner?”
It wasn’t a real question, so I didn’t bother to answer.
“No worries, Roman, I’ll help you get to the bottom of this nonsense. A competitor is probably out to get you. People will believe anything, don’t sweat it.”
“That’s okay, Pete. I’ve got it handled.”
Pete strutted into the room, running his fingers through his now even shaggier beard. “You shoulda come with us, let loose. We had such an amazing trip and you’d be high on fresh air and wouldn’t be trippin’ on any of this.”
“I’m not… trippin’,” I spit out, “and if you are—”
“No, no, haven’t tripped on anything other than wine for a long time. Hey, you want some good news?”
On top of what I was dealing with at the moment, a Pete-good-news-fest was all I needed, but I bit down on my tongue and nodded because he was my brother-in-law and Lil would be pissed if I blew up on him. The last thing I needed was for her to start a campaign for anger management.
“We met this guy on our vacay. He’s one of the creators of the Coachella Music Festival in the California desert, and he wants you to be one of their sponsors. They never have sponsors, cause they’re a ‘for the people’ kinda thing, but your company is so in line with their philosophy, he wants you.”
I tapped one of the newspapers. “I’m sure he won’t touch me with a ten-foot pole now.” I wanted to close my eyes and let the world fall to pieces around me. I was tired of having to construct and manage everything.
“Some douche set you up with that article. This’ll all blow over by then.”
I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. “Tell him no. I don’t need any more public humiliation right now.”
“Sorry, Romy, I already agreed for you. He was there when we heard the news. We have total faith you’ll find the asshole who’s making all the bad press. The festival isn’t until April. We assured him you were the real deal, and he’s gonna hold judgment, so he’s solid.”
I rolled my eyes and leaned back farther in my chair. “You can’t just agree to a business transaction for me, Peter.”
He was being supportive, and Coachella would be great publicity for us. However, the taste of defeat was still sour in my mouth.
On any other day, this would’ve been great news. I usually didn’t let shit get to me, but this wasn’t just a rumor. Someone was at work here to ruin my company. No, not someone. It was Jack Marshall, the bastard. And if I could prove it, I was going to ruin him.
Adam knocked on the door, which was still partially open.
“What?” I answered, irritated.
“Sorry, Mr. Wellington, the earliest flight I can get for you to Espírito Santo is tomorrow. They don’t have anything available before that.” His eyes were wide and fearful.
I didn’t want to make any more enemies, so I nodded, adding a tight smile. The look of surprise on his face was priceless.
“Great, book it,” I said, and ignoring Peter, went back to looking over the books for the coffee farm in the mountains near Espírito Santo, Brazil. I would get to the bottom of this, even if it killed me. I didn’t want to leave Adara right now, but maybe it would be for the best. It would give her time to get settled, rest, have some peace without me waving my dick at her every five seconds.
“Adam, in response to reporters who call, tell them I’m looking into who is spreading lies about the ethics that we hold so dear to this company. Thanks.” I smiled again, and he backed into the doorframe before stumbling into the outer lobby.
“You’re going to Brazil?” Pete’s eyes lit up.
“To investigate. I don’t believe anyone in this company would commit the atrocities we’re accused of, but I won’t know for sure until I speak to the ones interviewed. But Adara’s at my house…”
“The girl? You, no-second-date Romansky, has a woman staying at his house?” Peter’s eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open, making him look like a goofy cartoon character. “I’ll go to Brazil with you, dude. We’ll film the whole thing. And in the meantime, I may know someone who can get a line on Mr. Jack Marshall.”
I hesitated. The last thing I wanted was to take a trip with Pete, but maybe it was right. I needed to get this scandal under control. I couldn’t let its nastiness smear onto Adara. She’d been through enough.
My cell rang. It was Thomas and I snapped it up. “Yes.”
The detective exhaled a long breath. “Nothing on Jewel, but I wanted to share an interesting piece of news I’ve uncovered.”
My balls tightened. “What’s that?”
“I was putting our feelers and spoke to Adara’s manager, Neil Ferguson. Apparently, the manager, her record label, and about an army of people have been looking for her for months, and have kept it under the radar in the hopes they would find her unharmed.”
“Seriously?”
Thomas made an affirmative noise. “Seriously. Apparently, they’ve been looking for her because they have some big opportunity. They are wanting her to come back for some type of award, and they want to relaunch her career. But she’s been so well hidden away, even their damn PI couldn’t find her.”
“Thanks. I’ll let her know.”
“I’ll be going out to your estate to interview her tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. The day I was leaving for my own personal crisis. She would have to go through the interview alone.
As I disconnected the call, I stared at the phone.
Adara was on the cusp of returning to stardom, and she didn’t even know it.
She would soon.
I called the contractor I used for all my renovations and ordered a sound studio to be built in the guest wing. I wanted it stocked with a fucking guitar and every damn thing a super rock ‘n’ roll star could ever possibly need.