Hitched: Volume Two

by Kendall Ryan

“So?”

  Squaring my jaw, I put on the hardest, most contemptuous tone I could. I refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing my voice shake. “Do you have some sort of point to make? Or did you just want to remind me what a scumbag you are?”

  “Give up and let my father buy Tate & Cane,” he demanded. “I could also ask you to get down on your knees and suck my dick, but we both know you’re not even good for that much.”

  “Only because you always jammed it down my throat like you were drilling for oil. Or compensating for something.”

  “Do you want the deal or not?” he snapped.

  Oh, Brad hadn’t liked that. I could just imagine his curled lip. I felt a rush of simultaneous triumph and terror at having pissed him off.

  “I’m afraid this is a limited-time offer. If you want to save Tate & Cane, have your board e-mail me a buyer’s contract by the end of the week. Or I’ll release these photos—destroying your reputation and probably your company’s too—and then Daniels Multimedia Enterprises will just buy Tate & Cane anyway when its deadline is up. One way or another, my father will get what he wants.”

  My heart was hammering so hard, I could barely catch my breath. I tried to buy time to think by arguing with him, digging for any crack in his resolve. “Is this all about your dad? What are you getting out of this?”

  “Being a good son is its own reward. As well as building a strong company to someday inherit . . . and seeing a snotty bitch get what she richly deserves.” His tone impaled me like shards of ice as he went on. “Whatever explanation you prefer. Pick your favorite; it doesn’t matter.”

  So that’s what this was really about—punishing me for daring to break up with him. Even for Brad the Demon Ex, this was insane. I’d never dreamed he’d go so far for such petty revenge.

  “What matters,” he continued, “is your own decision. My offer is quite generous. I’m willing to pay millions of dollars for your company instead of just demanding you hand it over.”

  I swallowed. “You said I have one week?” I asked, hating how small and weak my voice sounded.

  “That’s right,” he said, sounding pleased to have finally reined me in. “Good-bye for now, Olivia. We’ll keep in touch.”

  At least, I thought that’s what Brad had said. I couldn’t hear over the rush of blood pounding in my ears. His last words could have been you’re fucked.

  And they might as well be. I stared down at my phone, wanting to cry and puke and scream all at the same time. What the fuck was I going to do? What could I do? No way out. I couldn’t think straight. My already-simmering anxiety had boiled over. Animal panic flooded my brain. Can’t breathe. Trapped . . .

  Even then, part of me already knew I needed help. I should have asked Noah. But how could I possibly face him? I’d handed Brad the rope to hang us both with. I’d given him exactly what he needed to destroy our fathers’ legacy and six thousand jobs.

  Brad’s toxic influence came roaring back full force, making me relive all the sick, distorted feelings that our relationship had ground into me for over two years. My vision clouded, my lungs burned, my stomach twisted with anxiety.

  No, I couldn’t tell Noah. The way he’d look at me . . . I didn’t know which would be worse, his disappointment or his pity. My pride couldn’t take another blow. I’d just shatter.

  In that moment, I hated myself more than I’d hated anyone in my life. I was trembling with shame and helpless rage.

  Why the hell did I ever take those pictures for Brad? I’d always let that scumbag use me, just rolled over and did whatever he wanted. If I hadn’t been so naive and desperate, I wouldn’t be in this mess right now. Why did it take me so long to hear the tiny voice in the back of my head screaming this relationship is wrong, it’s killing you, get out now?

  Well, I’d listened too late. And unless I did something right now, our whole company was going to pay for my mistake.

  I had to find Brad and stop him, although I had no idea what I was going to do or say when I got to his office. My instincts just screamed that there was a threat and that I needed to meet it and fight and kill it, because if I stood still, it would find me and hurt me first. Letting it come to me would mean that I’d already lost.

  Half-blind with adrenaline, I ran out of the cottage, jumped into our rental car, and hauled ass for Nantucket’s only airport. I had one thing on my mind: taking down Brad and making him pay.

  Dark and frantic thoughts barreled through my brain. I’d been right all along to feel skittish about marrying Noah. If Brad was going to ruin our company no matter what I did, then what was the point? If this exploded into a media scandal, the best-case scenario was that I’d have to step down while the company carried on without me. In which case, the question of my inheritance was moot. I could already see the headline—“CEO Forced to Resign Amidst Nude Photo Scandal.” Not how I wanted my first appearance on CNN to go down.

  Nauseated, with tears stinging my eyes and still decked out in all my meaningless finery, I floored the gas pedal and left our wedding far behind.

  The flight from Nantucket, as short as it was, still forced me to sit and think. I realized that I’d let my emotions run away with me—quite literally. How the hell was bolting supposed to fix anything? As satisfying as it would feel in the short term, I couldn’t just barge into Brad’s office and start screaming obscenities at him. No, I needed a plan before I acted.

  I needed help too. But with my stomach still churning with anxiety and shame, I didn’t want Noah to know about my dirty pictures—or about how much power Brad apparently still wielded over me.

  So instead of meeting Brad, I took a cab to an Upper East Side hotel, promising myself that I could solve this problem alone, and nobody would find out what I’d done for Brad or what he’d done to me.

  I just wanted to feel like I wasn’t totally useless. I knew that stopping Brad wouldn’t make up for the way I’d treated Noah that day, let alone justify it. But I figured that a victorious return was better than slinking back with my tail between my legs. It was bad enough that I’d betrayed my fiancé; I didn’t want to dump all my problems into his lap too. I was determined to stay independent. I was Olivia Fucking Cane. I would find a way to fix this.

  In the end, though, I couldn’t keep inventing excuses to avoid Noah. I spent two sleepless nights pacing my hotel room, trying to brainstorm ways to defuse Brad’s blackmail threat . . . and I came up with jack shit. Every idea was worse than the last. There was no way I could fight back without getting other people involved and drawing attention to my dirty little secret.

  At sunrise today, I gave up and went to bed, where my mind kept spinning until I fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

  Later in the morning, as I stared into the mirror, I was forced to admit what I’d known all along. I can’t do this alone. This mistake was too old and too deep to be undone easily—or maybe at all. And Brad’s claws were sunk too deep in me. Just remembering his voice on the phone made my heart race and my stomach twist. I could barely think straight, and that asshole wasn’t even here right now.

  No, I had to face facts . . . and Noah too. So I took a shower and made my haggard face as presentable as I could. With nothing else to wear, I put on yesterday’s clothes—what should have been my wedding dress. I went downstairs, ate a bagel without tasting anything, and took a paper cup of coffee from the continental breakfast bar, then called a cab to take me to our penthouse.

  It was time to go home to my husband.

  • • •

  The sound of the doorknob turning startles me out of my painful memories. I jolt upright and watch, my heart beating fast as our front door swings open.

  Noah steps over the threshold . . . then sees me and freezes. He stares into my eyes like he’s seen a ghost. Anger, relief, and hurt fight for control of his expression.

  All my carefully rehearsed words desert me at the sight of him. My throat feels dry, and with my heart hammering, I utter the first words I can thi
nk of.

  “I need your help.”

  For a minute he says nothing. He just keeps staring at me, fighting to school his features. Finally, he replies, “First, I need some answers.”

  His voice is tight, barely keeping control. But he didn’t say no. That’s about the best I could have hoped for—hell, the best I deserve. I nod and rise to my feet.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he asks. He still hasn’t moved from the door, as if he doesn’t want to get too close to me.

  “I’m sorry I left. I was at a hotel.” I know that doesn’t come close to answering his real question, but I have to start somewhere.

  Noah slams the door shut and strides toward me. “Jesus Christ, Olivia. I thought you were gone for good. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Biting my lip, I swallow hard. The pain in his voice is palpable. I betrayed him . . . there’s no other way to put it.

  His outrage keeps pouring out, burying me like an avalanche. “You left me standing at that altar for a fucking hour. I’ve never been so humiliated in my whole life. And I’ve been losing my mind ever since. We’ve had to lie our asses off to keep the media from suspecting anything, all while I had no idea where the fuck you were. I knew you didn’t want to marry me, but for God’s sake, I never thought you hated me this much.”

  The word feels like a cold needle in my heart. Hate him? No, I don’t, I couldn’t . . . but that’s exactly how I acted, wasn’t it? Like I didn’t consider him worthy of basic respect. How can I fault him for thinking that’s how I felt?

  Scowling, Noah cuts his hands through the air. “You abandoned me. Without a word. Without giving anyone a chance to do anything. I had no idea what the hell was going on. What was the point of running away? Why didn’t you just tell me you were upset? What happened to being partners and working together? I thought we were getting somewhere, but apparently—”

  “I know, okay?” I yell.

  Hearing my own voice crack is the final straw. I suck in a shuddering breath and it spills out again as a loud sob. Tears start leaking down my cheeks as I hug myself tight, unable to meet Noah’s eyes. I hate that I’m falling apart in front of him like this.

  “I know I hurt you,” I said. “I treated you like shit. You worked so hard to earn my friendship, my trust—and what did I do with yours? I was stupid and awful, and there’s no excuse. But Brad just scared me so bad, I didn’t know what to do. I—”

  “Whoa, hey, wait a minute.” Taken aback by my sudden breakdown, Noah sits down awkwardly beside me, his eyes wide. “Brad? What’s he have to do with this? You didn’t run away because of the inheritance contract?”

  “What? No. Why would I?”

  A look of disbelief and wonder crosses his handsome features. “Because I went to see you before the ceremony started and left it on your desk, right before you disappeared. What was I supposed to think?”

  His confusion blurs things even more. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts enough to say what I need to. “That’s not it. I need to tell you something.”

  I swallow hard to gather my courage. It’s time to let down my defenses. Not only because Noah deserves an explanation, but because I’ve realized something. I trust him to help me without judging me. Like I should have trusted him all along.

  “Right before the wedding started . . .”

  Dammit, my voice won’t stop trembling. I take a deep breath. Maybe it’ll help if I pretend I’m telling a story that happened to somebody else.

  “Brad called me. He said he’d release . . . n-naked pictures of me if I didn’t sell Tate & Cane to Daniels Media by next week. So that’s why I left. I thought I could stop him, but then I realized I had no idea what to do. So I came back here to ask you for help.”

  There, I got through it. Not much detail, but I told the truth and the world didn’t explode.

  Although Noah just might. His nostrils flare and I watch in astonished horror as his face turns brick red. It would almost be funny if the situation weren’t so dire.

  Finally, very softly, Noah growls, “I’m going to rip his rotten dick off and feed it to him.”

  A hysterical little half giggle, half hiccup bursts from me. “Please don’t.”

  I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hands, already feeling more in control. Noah’s not going to let Brad win. More importantly, he’s not going to let me go through this alone.

  “Right. You probably already thought of that idea.” Suddenly Noah’s warm, strong arms enfold me tightly. He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of my head. “I wish you’d come to me sooner, Snowflake. You don’t always have to bear everything alone.”

  And that fact seems so obvious now. I thought I understood that before, but now I’ve learned that Noah is here for me—for real, for always, no matter what.

  Sniffling, I turn to wrap my arms around his waist and let myself relax into his comforting embrace. Our first hug that isn’t motivated by a contract or a bet or anything but honest affection. It’s pure and solid and exactly what I need. Already I’m starting to feel a little calmer.

  “You’ve got me in your corner now,” Noah murmurs into my hair. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  My breathing slowly deepens and evens out as my tension ebbs away. I was so anxious about Brad’s threat hanging over my head, but my fears seem much smaller with Noah here to help me fight them.

  A few minutes later, he breaks the soothing silence to ask, “Do you want some tea?”

  I give a weak chuckle through the last of my tears. “Wow, you really are English.”

  “Mum swore by it.” Noah pulls back slightly, just enough to look at me. “And once you’re feeling better, we can start figuring this thing out.”

  I nod. “Do you have any ideas?”

  His lips curl up in a sly smile. “A few.”

  I grin back at Noah. Somehow I get the feeling that Brad is in deep shit. With Noah by my side, I feel safe for the first time since this disaster began.

  Chapter Three

  Noah

  Olivia looks cute in the morning. She’s still asleep, lying on her side, facing me, with the sheets tangled around her hips. Her tangled hair fans out behind her like spilled honey. Thank God she’s not in that dreadful fleece onesie again. Her gauzy white tank top dips low to hint at the deep valley of her cleavage and rides up to expose the creamy soft expanse of her belly.

  Forget cute, she looks positively edible. I want to run my tongue along the top of her breasts, tease her perky nipples through the thin fabric until she wakes up, moaning my name with her hands buried in my hair.

  Not gonna happen, I know. This is Olivia we’re talking about. Every victory is hard won, and every time I get close to her, she pulls back two steps further.

  But a man can dream.

  Eyes still closed, she stretches leisurely, letting out a little squeak as her long legs straighten under the bed linens. I appreciate the moment, admiring her as she wakes. My normal MO doesn’t allow for sleepovers or morning-after encounters. But if this is what they’re like, count me in.

  After a moment, she blinks open her eyes.

  “Hi,” I say.

  She swallows, her gaze dropping from mine as if she’s self-conscious about me watching her wake up. “Hi.”

  “Are you ready for today?” After I calmed her frayed nerves, we spent hours last night going through my plan and rehearsing.

  “You really think it will work?” she asks for the hundredth time.

  But I understand why she’s nervous. We’re about to go toe-to-toe with one of the greatest bogeymen of her life.

  Feeling a rush of protectiveness, I reply patiently, “I know it will.” Men like Bradford Daniels are easy to outmaneuver. All they care about is their ego, and once you threaten that, they cave like little boys on the schoolyard.

  I push the blankets off and sit up. There’s coffee to make for Olivia, breakfast to prepare, and a hot shower calling my name.

  “Holy m
-morning wood,” Olivia stutters, her eyes glued to the spot where my manhood is trying to escape my boxer briefs.

  Down, boy.

  I smirk at her. “What? He’s happy to see you.”

  Her eyes lift to mine. “Really? You’re glad I’m back?”

  “Of course I am. What kind of question is that?” It’s like she’s constantly testing me, just waiting for me to slip up and tell her I’m done with her, with this game we’re playing. To me, though, it’s not just a game.

  I want to tell her I’ve been awake for ten minutes, admiring the view, and this wood is exclusively for her. But I hold my tongue, sure that admission would freak her out.

  “I just thought . . . when I left . . .” She pauses. “I was sure I ruined everything.”

  Having her back here in our bed makes me glad I didn’t give in to all those baser instincts that told me to fuck and pillage my way through Manhattan when she left. I tip her chin up to force her to meet my eyes.

  “You’ve got some making up to do, but nothing’s ruined.”

  She nods, relief and gratitude shining in her eyes. And something else too—something so warm, something I don’t dare to name, let alone hope for.

  I hop out of bed and head toward the bathroom, wondering how all of this will unfold today, and in the days to follow.

  • • •

  Later, when we’re dressed, fed, and ready, we stop in front of the building where Bradford Daniels works for his daddy’s company. I can practically feel the apprehension flowing off Olivia in waves.

  “Are you ready?” I ask.

  She gives me a tight nod, her deep blue eyes full of worry. “No. But I don’t think I’ll ever be. We just have to go for it.”

  I squeeze her shoulder in reassurance. I’m almost . . . proud of her. She’s shaking in her high heels and yet she’s still standing here, ready to fight.

  “We’ve got this,” I promise her. “Don’t look so worried.”

  It’s time to grab the bull by the balls. I pull open the glass door, and we head inside and slip past the receptionist like we know where we’re going. I figured that the element of surprise is always better when you’re playing hardball.