by Hannah Ford
It isn’t right, what I’m doing to her.
I can see the anguish and pain on her face, and I can’t take it, being the cause of her hurt.
I slide a slip of paper across the desk.
On it is the name of a coffee shop in Brooklyn, along with an address.
“Grace’s debit card was used at this coffee shop,” I tell her.
Chloe frowns and takes the piece of paper, studying it. “But the police… they never said anything about her using her debit card at a coffee shop.”
“They searched the area around the coffee shop, asked if anyone had seen her. But no one had.”
“And that’s it?” Her eyes flash with anger that’s for once not directed at me. “That’s all they did?”
“They concluded that if Grace had even been there in the first place, she must have moved on from the area. Or that someone may have stolen her debit card. There are no cameras in the coffee shop, so we can’t confirm it was her that actually used the card.”
“But she might come back.”
“Chloe.” My voice is a warning as I can see the wheels in her head already turning. “You can’t go there.”
“I have to,” she says, standing up. “If there’s even a chance she was there and might come back, I have to be there when she does.”
“No,” I say firmly. “You don’t.” I realize now that in my haste to try and lure Chloe to my office, I failed to think about what would happen once I gave her this new information.
And now she’s already heading for the door.
“Wait,” I say, standing up, hearing the desperation in my voice.
“What?” she asks, turning around.
“You’ll need somewhere to stay in the city. You can’t possibly afford to stay at the Clemente for long. I’m surprised you could even afford one night.”
“I’m not paying for it.”
My jaw twitches. “Who is?”
She raises her chin in the air. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have an interview tomorrow with Nicholas Cove. For an internship.”
“Nicholas Cove?” My hands tighten around the edge of my desk. “Chloe.”
“What?”
“Nicholas Cove has been trying to get a meeting with me for months. He’s also been trying to get in touch with River about investing in Genovin.”
She stares at me, not comprehending what I’m saying, and when she finally does, her eyes widen and then narrow. If she was mad before, she’s furious now, the hate that’s directed toward me radiating off of her so intensely it’s almost tangible.
“So you’re saying that’s why Nicholas wants to meet with me? Because he knows about my connection to you?”
“I’m not saying anything. Except that you need to be careful.”
“I can’t believe this,” she says. “You use information about my missing best friend to get me here, and then once I am, you insult me, making it out that anything good that might be happening to me is only because of you.” She shakes her head. “You really are an arrogant prick, aren’t you? Don’t call me again.”
And then she turns and walks out of my office.
Chapter 6
CHLOE
I take the train to Brooklyn immediately, finding the coffee shop that Gage told me about rather easily.
The subway ride here was forty-five minutes, but I don’t remember any of it, because I’m livid. How dare Gage insinuate that Nicholas Cove only wants to meet with me because of him? Is he really that arrogant?
I know the answer to that question is yes, the bastard really is that arrogant. But another part of me knows there’s a chance he’s right, that Nicholas only called me for an interview because of my connection to Gage and River.
Once I’m inside the coffee shop, which is called Fuel, I order a decaf latte. The place is surprisingly hipsterish. I was kind of picturing something dark and dim, maybe down a side alley or something, the kind of place where shady things happen. But the reality is much different. The inside is decorated to look like a garage, with tables in the shape of tires and the walls hung with chrome-framed pictures of iconic cars. The clientele is on the young side, with guys sporting long beards and girls in Warby Parkers.
The door to the place is an actual garage door, and it’s open, leaving the entire front of the shop open to the sidewalk. Tables spill outside, and I take my latte and sit down at one of the outdoor tables. It’s a little too cold to sit outside, but if Grace has been here, she might be somewhere in the neighborhood, and I’ll have a better chance of seeing her if I’m out here.
I set up my laptop and do research on Cove Capital, glancing up every time someone walks by to make sure it’s not Grace. I sit there ordering decaf lattes until the sun goes down and the shop is ready to close.
There’s been no sign of my best friend.
I pack up my computer and walk back to the subway, take the train back to my hotel room.
I take a long shower, then slide into bed.
I’m exhausted, physically and emotionally, and I fall asleep right away.
When I wake, I can tell it’s nowhere near morning. I’d pulled the blackout drapes closed and had fallen asleep with the tv on, but it must have been on a timer, because the screen is dark and the room is completely black.
I lie still for a moment, confused as to why I woke up.
I grope for my phone in the dark.
2:34 am.
There’s no sound in the hallway -- no annoying hotel guest stumbling home in the middle of the night, making too much noise and waking everyone up.
There’s just silence.
And darkness.
But something about it is setting me on edge.
And then I hear the turn of the door handle.
I scramble to sit up, grabbing again for my phone, but I’m so panicked that I drop it on the floor.
The door starts to open.
I fastened the chain lock, so even though whoever is out there must have a key card to my room, they’re stopped by the chain going taut between the door and its frame.
My hand brushes against my phone, and I grab for it, but inadvertently push it further under the bed, just as whoever is in the hallway mutters a curse under their breath and then kicks the door in with such force that the metal chain holding it closed snaps off the door frame and flies across the room.
Gage stands in the doorway, his large frame illuminated by the light in the hallway behind him.
“You’re awake,” he says, and steps into the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Are you insane?” I cry, scrambling across the bed so that I’ve put as much distance between us as I can.
He’s over near the bathroom and he flips the light on in there, so that it casts a soft glow across the room.
He kicks his shoes off – sneakers, which I’ve barely ever seen him in – with ease, as if it’s totally normal that he’s here, as if this is his room and he’s coming back to it, instead of what he’s really done, which is break into my room and bust the door down.
“You broke the door,” I say.
“Don’t be dramatic, Chloe.” He’s sliding into bed beside me now, his movements again casual and easy, like he belongs here. It’s so shocking that for a moment I almost believe that he’s supposed to be here, that I somehow invited him here. That’s what his arrogance does – it makes you think that whatever he’s doing, whatever he’s taking from you, was your idea.
He turns over so that he’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
I sit on the far side of the bed, my knees pulled up to my chest, as if making myself as small as possible will protect me from him.
I want to ask him what the hell he’s doing here, but I stay quiet. Let him talk first. It’s petty and childish and I don’t care.
“Do you know what I did today, Chloe?”
“Made another billion dollars?” I say snidely.
“I did nothing.”
“Good f
or you. Thinking of a vacation, are you?”
He stays silent, and then his voice changes, going low in the dark. “I did nothing because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
My heart pounds at his words, but I won’t let myself believe him. “Well, maybe you should get a hobby. I hear golf is popular with your set.” It’s a test – I know he hates when I give him my smart mouth, know that it brings out his need to punish me, but that’s what I want. I want him to try to punish me, and if he does, this time I will safe word and send him home. I’m done trying to ace his tests.
The silence settles around us once again.
“I haven’t eaten all day,” he says finally. “I have no appetite. I went to the gym for three hours. But I couldn’t get you out of my head. I can’t...if I don’t have you, there’s nothing.”
I stay quiet, even though this is the most he’s ever said about how he really feels, the most he’s ever opened up. But I’m done with talking – every time I tell him what I need, he finds a way to avoid giving it to me. So unless he’s going to be honest with me, then his words mean nothing.
“Words don’t mean anything to me,” I say. “I need actions.”
“Sitting outside your house until you finally deigned to see me wasn’t an action?”
“It was,” I admit, my legs slowly unfurling out from under me. “But I need more.”
“I want to give you more.”
“Then do it.” I shrug in the dark, even though Gage is still on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s not rocket science, Gage. You want something, you do it. I know you’re capable of it. You built a billion dollar company from nothing. You know that if you want something, you go after it until you get it.”
He stays quiet, and I hold my breath. Dammit if that little bit of hope that I’ve tried my best not to feel ever since he walked into this room isn’t multiplying, betraying me as it tries to break through and work its way into my heart.
But I’m not going to let it.
Not this time.
So when Gage reaches for my hand under the covers, I pull back.
Silence covers the room again, dark and thick like a blanket. Finally Gage says, “I’m going to sell River’s company to Gavin Winthrop.”
I frown. “You don’t own River’s company.”
“I’m going to invest in Genovin and convince River to give me a majority stake.” His words fall over the room and he turns to me in the dark, onto his side so that he’s facing me. I turn onto my own side, facing him back.
“So you’re going to take over River’s company by letting him think that you want to invest in it, and then turn around and sell it out from under his nose.”
“Yes.”
My eyes are adjusting to the dimness of the room, the only light the one that’s spilling out from the bathroom, the door ajar. “You realize how fucked up that is?”
“Yes.” But the way he says it, makes it clear that it’s not up for discussion.
“Why?” I ask calmly. “Why do you want to do that?”
He pauses, and when he speaks again, he makes it sound simple. “He deserves to be destroyed.”
I reach out and take his hand, running my finger over his scar, the one on his wrist, the one he got from the fight he was in with River. “But what happened to you when you were younger…that wasn’t River’s fault,” I say gently. “He was a child, too.”
“Oh, he was at fault.”
“He was doing what your stepfather – his father -- told him to do.”
“River never stood up for me,” Gage says. “He never told his father to stop.”
I close my eyes, because I’m staring to feel the pain radiating off of him, and it’s almost like it becomes my own. I can feel how hard it is for him to talk about this, and how much pain rests inside of him. And of course I feel sad for him, for growing up the way he did.
“Gage,” I say, my voice breaking.
Suddenly, he grabs my hips, pulling me flush to him. I suck in a breath as I feel the outline of his hard cock against my belly.
“Don’t try to talk me out of this, Chloe,” he says, his voice low. “You wanted to know these things about me. So I’m going to tell you. I’m going to tell you that I’m going to destroy River’s company.” He’s talking devoid of emotion now, one hand on my hip, the other on the small of my back, up under my shirt, on my bare skin, holding me against him. “I’m going to make him lose everything.” His golden eyes are locked on mine, and my heart thrums hard against my ribs.
“And when I’m done,” he says, and now his nails are pressing into the skin in my back. It hurts, but I don’t move. “I’m going to go after my stepfather, and my mother, and I’m going to destroy them too.”
He’s looking me straight in the eyes, no apology, no doubt in his mind about his decision.
“What will you do?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “But it will be worse than what I’m going to do to River.”
I reach out and press my hand flat against his chest. His heart beats strong and steady, like he’s not worked up about this at all.
I close my eyes as his lips press against my collarbone. “So now you know,” he says simply. “Now you know that I’m going to destroy my entire family. I’m not going to be talked out of it.” His tongue slides over the hollow of my throat, and I shiver.
“But maybe…” I start, and he stops.
“No.” He looks right at me. “You have to understand this, Chloe. You have to understand that there’s nothing you can say or do that will change my mind.” The light from the bathroom illuminates his features, and his jaw tenses as he talks. “I can’t be saved. Not from you, not from anyone else. I need you to understand that. Not just know it, but understand it.”
I nod. “I understand.”
He stares into my eyes. “I’m not a good man. I’m not good enough for you, for your purity, your innocence.” For the first time, his eyes blaze with emotion, and his voice cracks. “But dammit, Chloe, I love you. I can’t live without you.”
“I love you, too.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, the sides of his mouth quirk up into a slight smile, just for a second, and then it’s gone.
He kisses me, really kisses me, his hands in my hair, his arms around my waist, his tongue in my mouth. The stubble on his face scrapes gently against my chin, and my hands grab the back of his neck and pull him toward me.
I want to lose myself in this kiss, to lose myself in him.
Because for the first time, there’s nothing between us -- none of his domination, none of his secrets. Nothing except the two of us, and the love we’ve just told each other we feel.
He pulls back and he looks at me, his eyes searching mine, his hand cupping my chin. The connection between us is so intense that I close my eyes and take in a shuddering breath, almost not able to take it.
“Chloe,” he breathes, and for a moment I want to tell him that I don’t believe him, that I don’t believe he’s bad, that even though he’s told me not to, I do think that he can be saved. And that I can be the one to save him.
Because even though he’s told me not to think that, I do.
I trust him with everything, especially now that he’s told me about his plan for River’s company. The only thing I don’t trust him with is how he sees himself.
I can show him that he’s a good man.
I can show him that he’s worthy of love, that his life doesn’t have to be about power and revenge.
It can be about love. Trust. Happiness.
But before I can say anything of this, he kisses me again.
And then his hands are snaking up under my shirt, pulling me toward him again until I can feel the hard power of his body against mine.
He kisses me for what seems like forever, until my head is swimming and my lips are swollen and I want him so badly I feel like I’m going to go out of my mind.
He pulls off my tank top and I ta
ke of his t-shirt. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and I can see the dips and ridges of his muscles, everything about his body taut and perfect. I suck a breath in through my teeth – no matter how many times I’ve seen him shirtless, I can’t get used to it.
I let my hands run over his abs, counting the six-pack in my head.
He pulls me back toward me, hard against his chest, so close that my bare breasts flatten against his bare pecs. But there’s nothing dominating about the gesture, except a feeling that we belong to each other.
And then he’s kissing me again, over and over, his tongue sliding expertly against mine, his hands sliding up my back lazily.
His hand skates over the top of my shorts, sliding down under the waistband, then further down over the outside of my panties.
“Chloe,” he murmurs. “God, Chloe, I want you.”
“Fuck me,” I say softly, my finger tracing the hard line of his jaw. “Please. I want to feel you inside of me.”
His eyes search mine, and he hesitates for only a second.
He goes to reach for something, and I realize he’s getting a condom.
“No.” I stop him. “Please, I just…I just want you. Nothing else.” Now that this is happening, the thought of anything between us, even a slip of latex, is unbearable. “I’m on the pill,” I say, “for other stuff. And I’ve never been with anyone before, so… I don’t… I mean…” I’m fumbling, but if I’m going to have sex, this is the stuff I’m going to have to talk about. “Have you been tested?”
“Yes,” he says, his eyes on mine.
“Okay.” I pull him back toward me.
“Are you sure?” he asks in the darkness, his voice soft.
“Yes.”
And then he’s pulling off my shorts and panties, and his pants and boxers are somehow gone too, and then I can feel his finger trailing over the outside of my pussy, but I don’t want his finger.
I want his cock.
“Please,” I moan, and now I’m writhing. “Please.”
“I need to make sure you’re ready, baby,” he says. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m ready,” I say, grabbing his wrist. “Please, I need to feel your cock inside of me.”
