Chapter 15
After a relaxing, rejuvenating, unhurried shower that nearly released the morning’s tension, Morgan was toweling off her hair when her smartphone buzzed again.
Almost immediately, the restorative efforts she had just completed were ruined. When she glanced in the phone’s display showing the source of the incoming call, any last bastion of stress relief was obliterated.
It was her ex-husband, Brock Ballentine.
Morgan frowned as she hit the answer button on the phone’s display. She might have lamented her ex-husband’s call, but she never once considered not taking it.
“Yes, Brock.”
“What’s this I’m hearing of a scandal?” Ballentine blustered. “Some sort of embarrassment that could spill over onto me and my children?”
“Good to hear from you, too,” Morgan deadpanned.
“Come now, Morgan,” her imperious ex-husband lectured. “You can’t possibly expect pleasantries. Not with these wild rumors zipping about.”
“You’d think I would have learned from eight years of marriage not to expect pleasantries from you, Brock,” she somberly said.
“Get on with your life, woman,” he snorted. “This is about the future.”
“No,” Morgan corrected. “It’s about you. It’s always about you. What did Morgan do now to fuck things up for Brock?”
“I hope you’re not talking like that around our children,” he said.
“Maybe you’d know if you ever bothered to see them.” Morgan swung back.
“I see them,” he said weakly.
“Is that all you have to do? Wave at them from your limo? Exchange platitudes and pleasantries over the phone? Send them parcels from whatever five-star hotel that hosts your latest business meeting? I have news for you. Hotel gifts are all the same, no matter where in the world you happen to be.”
“I did not call to re-litigate our custody arrangement, nor to defend my parenting skills,” Ballentine said, not even attempting to take a stand on such shaky turf. It’s what made him such a skilled negotiator. Brock Ballentine saved all his battles for when he held the high ground. Sun Tzu would be proud.
“Perhaps then you’re calling to compliment me on the successful launch of my new project,” Morgan fished, trying to find a weak nerve that would send a jolt of guilt racing through her ex-husband’s otherwise impenetrable system.
“That’s just it,” Ballentine pounced, seeing firmer footing now. “I’m hearing you got sidelined at the last minute. Word is, that joke of an ex-jock, Linden, had to close for you. Why weren’t you at the biggest client meeting of your life, Morgan? I know you well enough that you wouldn’t have missed it.”
“And why would Mr. Fortune 500 care about our little private company that could?” Morgan deflected the question.
“I don’t,” he bellowed. “But I do care about my reputation. And if something makes my ex-wife and the mother of my kids too toxic to preside over her own meeting, I need to know about it.”
“It was a private meeting.” Morgan retreated to the company line once again. “You know I can’t confirm or deny who attended and who didn’t. Corporate strategy is off limits. Lord knows, you shut down many a conversation between us with that line.”
“This is not the same, and you know it,” Ballentine huffed. “Don’t make me come in there and clean this up. You might not appreciate how I sanitize the situation.”
“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” Morgan reassured. “I mean it.”
“I do worry,” he said. “This isn’t the best time for me, you know? I realize you have to have your little hobby with these video games, or whatever it is that you’re doing. But we both know that the real money still comes into this enterprise from my accounts. That’s what will fuel the children’s trust funds, pay for their Ivy League educations and purchase their futures. You do realize this, don’t you?”
“Yes, Brock,” Morgan droned back, as the conversation had taken its inevitable turn. With Ballentine, it always came back to money – his money. Everything and everyone took a backseat to Brock Ballentine’s bank account.
“Then you might want to take greater care to ensure whatever you do in your little playground doesn’t sully the real work I accomplish in the cut-throat theater of international business.”
Ballentine was just pouring it on now, just twisting his thumb and grinding it in. Morgan let him continue the lecture.
“I just can’t afford a scandal, even if it only involves my ex-wife. Please tell me you haven't allowed that ball-playing buffoon you work for to get one over on me,” Ballentine warned. “I won’t allow a moronic minion like that to hold anything over my head. I’ll take any and all measures to prevent it.”
“Brock, really.” Morgan tried brushing it off, but she couldn’t help but wonder what measures her ex-husband was talking about. “Don’t you have bigger things to worry about?”
“Yes,” he hissed. “I do. But I always watch my back. Always.”
“I’m not your enemy.” Morgan pleaded innocence. “I never was.”
“So, you’ll let me know if there’s anything I need to know – as soon as I need to know it?”
“Yes.”
“And I do mean anything, Morgan,” Ballentine forewarned. “Absolutely anything. Any little thing.”
“Anything, Brock,” she said. “I got it.”
“No surprises, then?” he pressed further. “You know how I hate surprises.”
“I don’t like them much, either, Brock,” Morgan added, referring to the scores he had sprung on her over the long, tortured course of their marriage. Not the least of which was the conniving mistress whom Brock Ballentine eventually elevated to be his second wife.
“No one does,” she added. “No one.”