One
“Vultures!”
Miles Wingate balled up the newspaper in his hand and tossed it across the dining room in a controlled burst of fury. The crumpled ball bounced on the polished wooden floor and skittered to rest against the molded baseboard. Even then, he could still see the glaring headline that had destroyed his appetite for anything remotely resembling breakfast.
WINJET FAILS SAFETY INSPECTION!
The syndicated article had cut far too close to the bone, exposing serious flaws in safety procedures at the WinJet aircraft manufacturing plant in Texas. At the very least, the fines would be massive. At the worst, the entire plant could be shut down. The fact that his late father’s cost cutting measures and often-underhanded tactics had come home to roost didn’t cause Miles much surprise. But when it meant his elder twin brothers, who headed Wingate Enterprises, and the rest of his family had to bear the brunt of it? That infuriated him in ways that he hadn’t experienced since long before he’d turned his back on the family business and moved to Chicago.
Still, his dad had been dead and buried for two years. Surely his brothers, Sebastian and Sutton, should have picked up on the discrepancies, which had led to the fiery disaster at the plant last month. Three workers had been seriously hurt. The lawsuit that had followed could easily be handled, but the subsequent internal investigation findings that had now led to a joint OSHA and FAA investigation becoming fodder for the media? That meant serious trouble for the company.
“Not my circus, not my monkeys,” Miles ground out.
And, because he couldn’t tolerate mess, he strode across the floor and picked up the balled-up paper and tossed it in the recycling bin. Even without the reminder there in front of him, he knew he had to do something to get this irritating itch out of his system. He shouldn’t let it bother him that his family name was being dragged through the mud. After all, he’d made his choice to step away from everything associated with Wingate Enterprises a long time ago.
He’d used his knowledge and his contacts to establish his own company, Steel Security, and he had a team of employees that he valued and respected. People who took security, both personal and cyber, as seriously as he did himself. He would never let anything happen to any of them, if he could help it, and if something did occur, you could bet your last dollar that he’d hold himself accountable until proven otherwise. As far as Miles was concerned, his responsibilities began and ended right here, in Chicago, with his team.
But that didn’t stop him from feeling as if he shouldn’t do something for his family. Wingate Enterprises had enjoyed many years of escalating success on the backbone of the employees who worked for the company. His family had a duty to look after those people. That they hadn’t, and that it had come down to something as basic as safety, stuck in Miles’s craw like a dry husk. The injured workers were well within their rights to sue. Everyone deserved to come home safely at the end of their shift. But something about the whole matter didn’t sit right with him. He knew his brothers were nothing like their dad. T
hey didn’t cut corners, and they respected people. He should call them, at least.
“Not my problem,” he reminded himself.
He had to get out, clear his head. It was the start of the new month and a Wednesday morning, his work-from-home day. His usual routine meant he’d go for an hour-long run, come home, shower and lose himself in his work with no interruptions. If he didn’t go for that run, he knew he’d never be able to settle. The phone calls could wait. Already dressed for exercise, he grabbed his earbuds, strapped his phone to his upper arm and headed out the door.
Pounding the pavement between his town house and Lincoln Park, he finally felt his body begin to relax into a calming rhythm. And with every yard he covered, he could feel the distance between the disturbing news back in Texas and the life he’d chosen here in Chicago widening. Yeah, this was exactly what he needed.
Today was set to hit the low nineties but the temperature right now was still comfortable. Despite how things had started, this was going to be a good day.
* * *
Chloe Fitzgerald checked her watch again. He was late. Every Wednesday at exactly 8:00 a.m. Miles Wingate ran in the park. Every Wednesday but this one, by the looks of things, she thought ruefully. It just went to prove, even with the best-laid plans, there was always something that could throw a wrench in the works. She strode back and forth on the pavement, debating whether or not to give up on her idea for today and to regroup. Find another way to engineer that chance meeting with the man who would ultimately lead her to the vengeance her family so richly deserved.
She’d waited so long for this. Years, in fact. Tears of frustration suddenly pricked at her eyes. Why had he changed his routine today of all days? Was it because of the story that had been plastered all over the news? Reading the report that the illustrious Wingate family were under investigation for unsafe practices had given her so much satisfaction. After all, it was past time they got their just desserts. It wasn’t fair that her family had suffered while theirs had prospered—especially when the late Trent Wingate had built a generous proportion of WinJet’s success on the back of her father’s own business after driving her poor dad to take his own life.
Growing up with the stigma of having a parent who’d committed suicide had left its scars. Scars that had deepened with her mother’s bitterness at having to pack up the life she’d known in Texas and accept charity from distant family here in Chicago to get them where they were today. No, their life had not been easy. And there’d been plenty of time for Chloe to think about the Wingates and what she’d do if she ever got the chance.
Discovering that the younger Wingate son lived and worked in Chicago, versus being enfolded into the Wingate Enterprises umbrella, made him more accessible. And, as a Wingate, Miles was no less culpable in her book. Yes, she was all about visiting the sins of the father onto the sons and daughters of that callous bastard, Trent Wingate. His progeny had taken their privileged lives for granted for long enough. It was time they saw their sainted father for the scoundrel he truly was.
The family could ill afford more bad press, and Chloe had plenty to dish out. All in good time of course. To get the ball rolling, she’d contacted the reporter who’d broken the first story about the fire at the WinJet plant with an offer to give him more information about the family at grass roots level. She’d given him her background and told him about what Trent Wingate had done, but the reporter had said the story lacked immediacy. He could maybe use it in conjunction with something else—something more current. So she’d created her campaign.
First, she planned to get close to the family. Then, when she was well entrenched, she’d show them, through the media, exactly what their father had done to hers. And, ultimately, teach them how much it hurt to be betrayed. But first, she had to get close to the family, and if Miles Wingate didn’t turn up for his regular Wednesday morning run, her plans would fall apart.
Which was unacceptable.
She’d spent hours and hours on this. Scheming and waiting to be able to implement her plan until she was on summer break from her job as an elementary schoolteacher. Now it seemed foolish to have pinned all her strategy on an initial chance meeting during his regular Wednesday morning run. But it had made so much sense to her at the time. Bump into him. Strike up a conversation. Let the conversation lead to a drink or dinner, maybe. She wasn’t ugly and she knew Miles wasn’t in a relationship right now. Surely he’d take her bait?
He was a creature of routine. She’d taken heart from that. Except today he’d varied that routine. Normally Miles would have passed this section of path by now and been heading up toward the monument. Chloe ceased her pacing and stood still, searching the area around her for the tall, familiar figure she’d been scoping out for the past couple of weeks.
Maybe she should just start running. Maybe he’d taken a different route today for some unknown reason. Maybe she’d bump into him somewhere else on the many paths that lined the park. So many maybes. She hated anything to be unsure. She’d had quite enough of that in her life. Miles Wingate’s routine had reassured her—underscored that she was doing the right thing.
Routine was the backbone of her existence, too. It was one of the reasons why she’d become a teacher. The sweet young faces in her class might change with the start of each school year, but the basics remained the same. Structure was everything. Planning was everything.
She needed a new plan.
Chloe spun around and started to head back toward her car, at the exact same moment as a tall, blond-haired, male figure came toward her and barreled straight into her. The impact knocked her clean off her feet and drove the breath from her lungs. She landed smack on her bottom on the path and uttered a startled “Oh!”
“I’m so sorry,” the man began. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Can you stand?”
She looked up. The morning sun was like a halo behind him and she couldn’t quite make out his features, but there was something in his deep, masculine voice that she recognized from the online video clips she’d seen about him and his company.
Miles Wingate, in the flesh.