by L.J. Shen
Jo had just become filthy rich in her own right.
And I had just been reduced from an almost-billionaire to a man who was still rolling in it, but wasn’t going to make any Forbes lists anytime soon. Not that I cared. The money didn’t mean shit. Revenge did.
I said nothing while Eli watched me, his face wrinkled and wary.
I’d been blindsided.
My father knew all along that I hated him. Hell, maybe he’d even suspected my plans. I didn’t know how or why, just that Josephine was a step ahead of me all this time. I gulped down a sour ball of anger.
Eli came around to my side of his desk and sat beside me in a second chair. Plastering the will back onto the desk, we both read through it with hunched backs. The will was dated in June, ten years ago. My mind whirled with so many different emotions.
A bad year. A bad month.
“Anything weird happen around that time?” Eli echoed my thoughts. “Anything that could make your father change his mind about the provisions he set up in the prenup?”
My father had been open about the terms of the prenup. She got nothing if she ever filed for divorce. He used his money to keep her married to him, controlling her with the threat of being penniless.
So she’d stuck around. I wasn’t surprised he’d left her something after all these years. But everything? It looked like Jo was the one controlling him all along. That shouldn’t have been a surprise to me either. Fucking Jo. She’d been whispering in his ear again.
The will was dated shortly after I finished high school. After I threw Emilia out of California for good and everything went to shit. After I went off the rails completely…
Ten years ago was when Daryl died.
“Yeah.” I crushed the will between my fingers. “Jo was going through a difficult time. Her brother died. She may have strummed my dad’s emotions. I just…” I took a deep breath. “I guess I’ve always hated him, but it still hurts to know he hated me too.”
“I don’t understand why he’s always favored Josephine over you, but it’s time to move on with your life, son.” Eli knew what my friends didn’t.
When I was twenty-two, the HotHoles all came back to Todos Santos for Thanksgiving. We all stayed at Dean’s house and got plastered. I’d just gotten accepted to law school, so I thought it was a good idea to wander into Eli’s study in the middle of the night and look through his shit. He was there, and I was so drunk, so lost, so sad, that somehow, I’d ended up confiding in him about the abuse.
I’d kept my mouth shut about my mother’s murder, though, just like I had with Emilia.
I chose to handle justice myself, and I did. Until today.
Everything was collapsing. I was a walking, talking ghost. A no one. A man without a cause.
“Don’t let what they did to you define you. Find something else that makes you tick.” Eli’s voice shook with emotion. He didn’t care anymore that I’d fucked up his son’s face. Because my life was so much more fucked up than Dean’s ever would be. “Live, Baron. Live well. Don’t look back. And don’t ever visit that place again.”
He was talking about the mansion I’d planned to burn to the ground. The place where I was going to build a library to honor my mom.
When I walked out of Eli’s office, I collapsed on the steps leading to his patio and lit a joint. I fished out my cracked phone and called Emilia. She didn’t answer.
I called her again.
And again.
And again.
Then I started leaving voicemails. Voicemails that didn’t make any sense and that I knew for a fact I was going to regret. Her answering machine greeting was her singing in her sweet voice, followed by a breathless, girly giggle when she got to her punchline:
“Hey, this is Millie! Wanna hear a joke? Knock, knock! Who’s there? Not me, so leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!”
I don’t know what your fucking problem is, Help, but you need to get back to me because…because I’m your boss. I pay you good money. I’m waiting for your call.”
“Hey, this is Millie! Wanna hear a joke? Knock, knock! Who’s there? Not me, so leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!”
Are you mad at me? Is that it? Is this because I didn’t pick up the phone when you called? Should I remind you I had important shit to deal with because my dad had just died? Besides, I was upfront with you the whole time. This is not a relationship. It’s two people fucking the obsession out of each other. Get back to me. Now.
“Hey, this is Millie! Wanna hear a joke? Knock, knock! Who’s there? Not me, so leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!”
Emilia! What the fuck!
Then, out of the blue, my phone vibrated in my hand. I let out a sigh and felt a little warmth finally seep into my chest. I swiped the damaged screen quickly.
“When you get here, I’m going to deny you every fucking orgasm you almost-reach for a whole week,” I growled.
A throat cleared on the other end of the line. “I’m afraid that won’t be necessary, Baron.” It was Jo, and her voice sounded amused. “Remember when you said we needed to do the dinner and wine thing more often? Well, I’d just love to see you tonight for a meal. Do you prefer red wine or white?”
My jaw ticked, and I would have hurled the phone across the patio if not for my need to hear from Emilia. I hung up and screamed until Keeley, one of Dean’s sisters, came out and dragged me into the house to calm down.
For the next twenty-four hours, I was coddled and fussed over by the Cole women like a pussy, while Dean came in and out of the house and shot me dirty looks.
“Fire her,” I heard him singing from his kitchen at one point while his mother sat next to me in the living room with a cup of tea and recounted every single family catastrophe she could recall and how things had somehow miraculously gotten better.
“Fire the girl, fire her now,” he continued, undeterred.
She was driving a new wedge between Dean and me, and she wasn’t even taking my calls. Hell, who knew if she was even down with helping me take Jo down? I seriously doubted it. No, I was on my own.
I thought I was going to use Emilia LeBlanc, but I was no longer able to control my plans for her, or for me. She was the only person I wanted to speak to when my world collapsed. No matter the outcome of the will, I couldn’t see letting her walk out of my life. Not again.
I sat in her ex-boyfriend’s living room, my face squeezed into his mother’s chest like a child, and realized that it was too late to back out.
I no longer wanted it to stop.
I was going after her.
And fuck the consequences.
TWO DAYS AFTER I READ the will, I heard Jaime let himself into my wrecked hotel suite with the key card I’d given him so he could come and go as he pleased.
“Jesus. How long has it been since you let housekeeping in?”
Dean’s blood was still on the carpet.
I lay on the unmade bed, smoking and staring at the ceiling. Jaime threw a paper bag on the nightstand beside me before taking out bottled water, wrapped sandwiches, Tylenol, and other crap he thought I needed. I’d gotten wasted with him and Trent after I left Dean’s, because who the fuck wouldn’t after they’d just been disinherited.
I puffed a cloud of smoke, and he grabbed the joint from between my fingers, put it out, and yanked me by the collar of my stinky white shirt.
His nose crushed mine. “You’re still a millionaire. You’re still young, rich, and healthy. And all you can think about is your stepmom getting your dad’s dough? Big fucking deal.”
He had no idea of the truth, and I didn’t want to let him in on the reason why I’d collapsed like a fucking pussy at Dean’s house. I just narrowed my eyes at him. “No one asked you to save me, Prince Dickbag.”
“So what are you gonna do, man?”
I sat up straight on the edge of the mattress and tugged at my hair. “New York,” I said, wishing the joint were
still lit. “I’m gonna go back to New York.”
“I suspected you’d say that.” Jaime took a seat next to me. He smelled good. Of soap and life.
I used to smell like that too before life fucked me over.
“You can’t go back to New York, Vic. It’s Dean’s branch. He’s already pissed off with you for the Emilia shit you pulled. You can’t work there with him right now, and anyway, who the hell is going to run the office here?”
“I don’t give a fuck. I’m going to New York to claim it as mine.”
“You mean to claim Millie as yours.”
“No,” I lied. “I mean I want to work in New York. I’m sick and tired of LA.” I jutted out my chin, daring him to argue. I was a stubborn bastard and he knew it.
Jaime threw his head back and laughed, and I felt anger bubbling inside me. What was so funny about this situation? His laughter died down, but only after a full minute.
“Listen to yourself, Vicious. You’re obsessed with this girl. You’re in love with this girl, always have been, ever since you realized she’s not afraid or impressed by your bullshit. You bump into her in New York and the first thing you do is hire her. You’re in deep denial. You want her, fucking everything about her. You don’t need to steal Dean’s office. Just tell her.”
I shook my head again. It didn’t make sense. Or at least, I didn’t want it to.
“I’m going to New York.”
“Dean’s gonna be pissed,” Jaime said for the millionth time.
“Too bad. Plane reservation’s already made.” That was as far as I had gotten so far.
I needed a plan. I needed it fast.
I started with a call to HR in New York to tell them that Emilia LeBlanc was on paid leave. She wasn’t going to show up at work without some in-person persuasion—I gathered as much from her not taking any of my calls, texts, or emails. In the meantime, I asked the HR manager to inform me if Dean tried anything fishy with her job, and I made sure I had access to all of Emilia’s employee records, just in case.
Which also gave me access to her company email. It was just like high school—me thumbing through her mail to see what plans she had next.
I saw she’d already contacted a recruitment agency to have another PA on standby in case Dean or I needed someone next week. Honestly, even that annoyed me. She was clearly pissed at me, and she couldn’t even do that all the way without making sure everyone around her was nice and comfortable. Me included.
I wasn’t too worried. It wasn’t like she could go far. I knew where she lived, and she had no job prospects except wriggling into that slutty waitress outfit again. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have taken a job with an asshole like me in the first place.
On New Year’s Day, I boarded a plane back to New York. I didn’t know what I was doing or where I was staying. Dean was back at his apartment, and it was clear Emilia didn’t want to see my face.
Too bad for her.
In Manhattan I checked into another hotel and didn’t even bother unpacking this time. All the utilitarian rooms blurred into one another. Hotels poisoned the soul. Lucky for me, mine was already tarnished.
After a quick shower and a shave, I decided it was past time Emilia explained herself. I went to Dean’s building and waltzed in, using his electronic key. I knocked on her door three times and paced the hallway outside her apartment, raking my fingers through my hair.
Nothing.
I knocked again, this time banging my fist against her door. “For fuck’s sake! The least you can do is face me in person. I’m still your boss!”
Just as I finished the sentence, the door flung open, and Rosie stood on the other side.
“Where’s your sister?” I felt my jaw ticking.
She hugged the door, her chin stuck out. “Actually, I didn’t open the door to answer your stupid questions. I opened the door to tell you that you’re not, in fact, my sister’s boss anymore. She found a new job. We’re moving out on Sunday. Thanks for nothing, douche.” She smiled sweetly and tried to slam the door in my face.
I had to shove my foot between the door and the frame, just like I’d done the first time I came to see Emilia. The LeBlanc sisters definitely didn’t like my presence.
“Where is she?” I repeated. I didn’t believe Rosie about the new job. This wasn’t happening. She wouldn’t have given up her high-paying job at FHH…would she?
Fuck. Of course she would. This was Emilia.
“No,” Rosie said. “She doesn’t want to see you anymore. First, you make her break up with her boyfriend and force her to leave California…” She trailed off, awarding me with one of her infamous go-fuck-yourself stares. Her voice dropped an octave. “Then ten years later, you sleep with her in his bed. Whatever revenge tour you’re on, she doesn’t want any part of it.”
Shit. She knew about Dean.
But I knew Rosie wasn’t talking about the real revenge I was after, with Jo. That was a good sign. Emilia had kept my secrets.
I shouldered my way into their apartment, scanning it for her. She wasn’t in the living room, but endless cardboard boxes were, and they were already sealed and ready to be moved elsewhere.
Rosie wasn’t lying.
Not about moving away and probably not about Emilia finding another job.
“I need to talk to her,” I said.
Rosie shook her head. “Vicious, please. She’ll never admit it, but I can tell she cares about you. Too much. And if there’s even the smallest slice of goodness in you, you’ll leave her alone. You guys are toxic together, and you know it.”
“That’s bullshit,” I fumed. “We’re not toxic together.”
Though I knew she was right. I was missing a few pieces. A few chips I needed in order to be able to love like a normal person does. That’s why I liked breaking things, and why I especially enjoyed breaking Emilia. She was the purest thing I’d ever met.
“Where is she?” I asked again, not making a move. I wasn’t going to leave until she told me, and I think she knew it too. “Where’s your sister? I need to speak to her. We can do this shit for hours, and I still won’t stop asking until you give me an answer.”
Rosie looked down. “She’s gone to an open gallery night by the Hudson. The Height of Fire exhibition. She starts work at a gallery there on Monday. A woman she sold a painting to who used to work at Saatchi really loves her work and…”
I didn’t give a fuck about the rest. I just turned around and stalked for the door, but Rosie jumped on me like a little ninja, clasping her hands around my midsection. I spun around, staring at her coldly. She winced, as almost everyone did when I used that look on them.
Everyone but Emilia.
“Please don’t, Vicious. She’s the strongest link in our family. She takes care of me. She is the reason my parents go to sleep at night trusting that we’re okay in New York. You can’t weaken her. She is our wall.”
I shook my head and left.
Like the fucking wrecking ball I was.
THE NIGHT WAS RAINY AND cold, almost cold enough for snow but not quite. I was glad for the coat I’d invested in with Vicious’s money. I didn’t even feel guilty.
My new boss, Brent, a man in his late thirties, lived near the apartment we were about to vacate, so we’d shared a cab and then had a quick drink while he filled me in on what to expect at the exhibit.
My new job at the gallery was just an internship, and the pay was awful, but when Rosie saw the look on my face, she’d basically forced me to say yes. My baby sister was feeling much better and was picking up her old job as a barista once we moved. A job where the tips were great, and the owner was flexible with the hours she could work.
I tried not to give myself too much crap for agreeing to work for Vicious in the first place. My situation was dire, with Rosie’s health and everything, but never again. I was glad it would be over this weekend after we moved into our new place. I was eager to release myself from Vicious’s painful claws.
It was the New
Year, and he was my resolution. I was done with him.
Brent and I hurried the short distance to the gallery through the horrible weather, and I heard a familiar voice that made my heart stop.
“Emilia!”
My first instinct was to not turn around, to keep on moving, especially since my new boss was there. But I wasn’t capable of ignoring anyone. Not even him. I spun slowly on my heel, the sleet lashing on both our faces as I drank Vicious in. He ran across the street to get to me, his whole body tensing when he noticed Brent next to me.
“Who the fuck is this tool?” He scowled.
Oh, God.
I blushed furiously, turning to Brent with a crimson face. The last thing I wanted was for my new job to start off this way. I inwardly cursed Rosie for telling Vicious where I was, because I knew he had no other way of finding out I would be here. Then I proceeded to also inwardly curse Vicious for having a broken gaydar, because Brent was clearly playing for his team, not mine.
“I’m so sorry, Brent. Please don’t mind him.” I kept moving, my eye on the entrance door ahead.
Brent quirked an eyebrow but thankfully didn’t say whatever was on his mind at that moment.
Vicious chased us, his long strides catching up with our hurried steps with ease. “I don’t care who this fucker is. We need to talk.”
“Please turn around and walk away before this evening ends with a restraining order. I’d hate for it to ruin your glowing finance career.” My face was dead serious and my voice so cold I wasn’t even sure it belonged to me.
We were power-walking on the sidewalk as he jogged beside us on the street, his hands tucked into his wet coat. I refused to glance at him because I knew I’d surely cave if I did.
“It’s important,” he said, ignoring my threat.
“Not as important as my career.”
“I’m not leaving this spot until you talk to me.”
Brent was looking all kinds of uncomfortable beside me, his expression begging for cues about how to respond: Did I need help? Did I want some time alone with this guy?
