Bad Duke

by Emily Bishop

  “Bullshit,” Eddie says. “I saw how you looked at him. You can lie about it all you want, but you’re falling in love.”

  “I am not.”

  He laughs. It’s infuriating. “Everyone can see you’re falling for him. Now, I can see you’re a smart girl. If you’re really smart, listen to this. Gray is not capable of love or change. He was born irresponsible, and he’ll die irresponsible. Don’t go getting your heart broken for someone like him.”

  “Gray’s not perfect,” I shoot back, “but he’s a good man at heart. Everyone has issues to get over in life. Problems to solve. He wants to live a better life, and I believe he can, even if you don’t. Even if no one else believes it, I do.” Wow, my voice sounds strong.

  Eddie shrugs, then shoves his hands in his pockets. “Well, it’s your funeral.”

  “I would have thought that, as his cousin and friend, you’d be more supportive.”

  He begins to walk away. “I’m just realistic. If you want to live in a dream world, that’s up to you.”

  He disappears behind the archway bushes. I scoop up a handful of gravel and chuck each piece into the fountain one by one. I try to be calm, but Eddie has rattled me. I felt so collected before. I knew I had feelings for Gray, but not so much I couldn’t keep them under control. I could be calm and a little detached. I do want the best for him, which doesn’t mean I have to fall into his arms and onto his cock and declare undying love, does it? Now I don’t know if I’m coming or going. For fuck’s sake.

  My phone buzzes to life. It must be work. I hurry to get it out from my over shoulder bag. Yes, it’s the office.

  “Natalie,” I say, trying to sound cheerful. “How are things going over there?”

  “Oh god, Iz,” she says through tears. “Oh god.”

  My heart pounds. “What is it? What is it?”

  “The 7th Street store just had a fire.”

  “What? How bad was it?”

  Natalie lets out a little sob. “Terrible. The whole store’s gutted. The stock’s burned to cinders.”

  “Oh my god.” The weight of the news makes me drop to a crouch. My head reels. I steady myself with my other hand and the gravel pinches my fingers and palm. I take a long breath in, then puff out through my mouth, to try to calm myself. “Is everyone all right? The staff? The customers?”

  “Everyone lived, praise the Lord,” Natalie says. “But some are in the hospital being treated for burns. There was an electrical failure or something. Kind of like an explosion, one of the staff told me.”

  I leap to my feet. “I’m coming there, right now. I’ll get a flight.”

  “Are you… are you sure? That won’t jeopardize our loan?” I told her I came to the UK to see a British investor about another line of credit. It wasn’t strictly a lie, but it still felt bad.

  “No,” I say. I wonder what Mr. Fink will think about me flying back. If he’ll still release the money to Gray. My brain rides roughshod over the question. I have to get back to Seattle to see these people in the hospital. “I’m coming as soon as I can.”

  I hang up the phone, shove it back in my bag, and sprint back to the mansion. My mind thunders. Electrical explosion? Surely everything was up to code? I delegated that all to Natalie a while back. Everything’s insured, so that’s all fine. But as soon as I think of the people, my heart sinks. An explosion? How terrifying must that have been! I picture smoke and flames and screams and people panicking, running in all directions.

  I’m panicking and running just the same as I get to the mansion. I leap up the grand stairs by twos and threes, then turn the corner to sprint down the upper hallway. But as I turn, I smash right into Gray and holler with the shock. Then I push back off him and go for the door handle. “Sorry, Gray,” I say, then duck into the room. I look around wildly, trying to think of what I can pack at lightning speed.

  “What the hell is going on?” he asks as he follows me in.

  “No time to explain.” I drag my case to the dresser and start shoveling clothes in it. “I’m going back to Seattle.”

  “What? No!” He rushes over to me. “I was looking for you, and I saw you and Eddie talking outside. What has he been putting in your head?”

  “Nothing.” I don’t care about any of that anymore. Not right now. “One of my stores had an electrical explosion. People are in the hospital.”

  I expect him to shrug and say, “But what about the billion?”

  But he sinks down on the bed. “Oh, shit.”

  “I’m going to the hospital right now. Even if I have to hitchhike across the ocean. I’m going to the airport. I need a taxi.”

  “I’m coming with you,” he says firmly. “Don’t even try to argue. You’re not doing this alone.”

  I fling a bundle of socks and panties in my case. “If you can pack in two minutes, then you can come. Otherwise, I’m leaving without you.”

  Chapter 21

  Grayson

  DAY 16

  Thankfully, we’re not in England. The taxi ride from any of the London airports to the mansion is excruciating. In Seattle, it’s just a half hour taxi from the airport to the hospital. But still, that’s far too long for Isabella. She spends the whole ride on the edge of her seat, staring out the window with a frown. She grips the headrest of the front passenger seat from her place in the back with tight fingers.

  “This is all my fault,” she whispers under her breath.

  “No, it isn’t,” I say firmly. “You’ve already said you inspected the building, and the insurance is all up to date. Sometimes these things just happen.”

  “It could have been prevented,” she says. “It could have been prevented. I should have prevented it.”

  I hate to see her like this. Overcome with a feeling I’ve never had before, one I can’t name, I snatch her hand up in mine. “Look at me, Isabella. Seriously. It’s not your fault. You weren’t even in the country. You did everything that was your responsibility. You couldn’t have done any more.”

  She lets her hand rest in mine for a sweet moment then pulls it away with a sigh. “I don’t know. There must have been something wrong. I should have seen it. I should have known. I was in that store less than a month ago.”

  “It was an electrical problem, you said, right?”

  She bites her lip. “Um-hm.”

  “Well, you’re not an electrician. How were you to know if there was something wrong?”

  “I can’t keep making excuses, Gray. It’s my store. There was a problem. People got hurt. I can’t explain it away. I just can’t.”

  The sadness in her eyes is haunting. If only I knew some technique, some trick, the right words, anything, to take it all away. “You’re a good person. You didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  She looks back out the window again. “But it did. It did, it did, it did.”

  “Yes, but at least no one died.”

  “Not yet,” she says darkly. “You never know. Someone could die in the hospital.” Then a whimper escapes her lips and she snatches up her iPhone from her purse. “I’m checking the news again. Maybe they have updates.” As the page loads, she repeats over and over, “Please let no one die, please let no one die….”

  I wish it right along with her and realize how out of my depth I am. She holds so much responsibility with this business. It’s only now that fact hits me square in the face. How different her life is from mine. How small mine looks in comparison.

  “Oh, thank god,” she says with a relieved exhale. “There’s an update here. No one’s died. They reached Natalie for comment. She said we’re going to investigate the whole thing and see what happened, and that I’m going up to the hospital.”

  I watch her, seeing her in a whole new light. “You’re doing very well.”

  She puts her iPhone back in her purse and stares back out the window. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I say decisively. “Yes, you are.”

  She looks up at me and for the first time since she heard
of the fire, smiles a real smile. It’s small, and it’s tentative, but it’s real. “Thank you. I’m trying.”

  “And succeeding.” I want to tell her all about how I see her now. All about how I understand what she’s been saying all along. About responsibility. About doing something more than drinking and partying. About life having some kind of meaning that I wasn’t seeing. But I can’t find the words. I’m not used to these kinds of conversations at all. Conversations where the words coming out of my mouth actually reflect what’s on the inside. I’m much more used to twisting words and toying with people’s feelings until they give me what they want. Having an agenda. I don’t have any agenda here except expressing what’s inside me. That feels weird. But even as I keep my mouth shut, the words long to spill out. I feel this tugging sensation in my chest, like something wants to come out of it and go toward her.

  “Thank goodness,” she says as we turn into the street where the hospital is. The traffic has been jam-packed. “Thank you,” she says to the driver. She rummages in her purse and pays him.

  Then we’re out of the taxi and running. She practically sprints along the sidewalk. Dodge this way, weave that way, around all the people. I could go faster than she does, but I follow just behind. She’s the leader here. This is her turf. I want to watch her in her element. It’s all new to me.

  The check-in and elevator ride is a blur of frenzied activity. But just before the elevator opens on the third floor where we’ve been directed, she looks at herself in the mirror. Her hair is wiry and frazzled. Her eyes have red rings around them. “Oh, fuck, I look like death.” She tries to push her hair back into some kind of submission, but it’s not playing along.

  “You look beautiful,” I say, and I mean it. Sure, she’s not perfectly groomed. But that’s because she’s been trying like a madwoman to get here and couldn’t get much sleep on the plane. I’d much rather have thus than some dolled up girl with perfect hair and no responsibility. These thoughts are all new. Exhilarating.

  “Yeah, right. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” The elevator doors open and she clears her throat, pushes her shoulders back, and walks into the hallway.

  I follow behind, an observer. I feel like an explorer, discovering new territory. She’s been “here”—not this hospital, but in this position of power and duty—a thousand times before. A seasoned veteran. We turn into the ward.

  A nurse meets us outside the door as he comes out of the room. “Who are you here to see?” He looks frazzled, too, like he’s run off his feet.

  “I’m Isabella Price,” she says in a measured tone. “I’m here to see the burn victims. It was my store in which the… incident happened.”

  “Oh.” His eyes widen. “Are you sure you want to come in?” He lowers his voice. “You’ve been a hot topic of conversation in here. And not all of it’s flattering.”

  God. I think I’d have turned running if it were me. But Isabella gives him a diplomatic smile. “I think that’s to be expected. I have to see them.”

  The nurse raises his eyebrows as he opens the door. “Well, all right. Good luck.”

  As we walk in, every head turns in our direction. I scan everything quickly. There are two beds, each with a patient. There are visitors, too, little groups of family and friends crowded around.

  “That’s Isabella Price,” someone whispers.

  A woman sitting in the corner on a visitor’s chair, next to the bed where a teenage girl plays on her phone with headphones on, pushes herself up on the chair arms to standing. She glares at Isabella and marches over. “Miss Price?” She sticks out her hand.

  The teenage girl glances up, rolls her eyes, and looks back down at her phone.

  “Hello,” Isabella says. She shakes the woman’s hand, and I can see the woman shakes so hard it must be bone crushing. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Well, I’m not pleased to meet you,” the woman says. “Not at all.”

  “Don’t you talk to her like that,” I say, before I’ve even thought.

  Isabella turns to glare at me. “I’ll handle this, thank you,” she says under her breath. Then she turns back to the woman with an all concerned smile. “I can understand we’re not meeting in the most ideal of situations.”

  “The most ideal of situations?” the woman repeats, fury bubbling in her voice. “This is a disaster! My daughter was shopping in your damn store when the explosion went off. She now has burns all over her leg and won’t be able to walk for a week. And she’ll never be able to wear short clothes again, unless she wants the whole world to stare at her. That’s all your fault.” She pokes Isabella in the chest.

  It takes all of my strength not to holler. But I keep my hands at my sides and let Isabella take care of it.

  “I am so sorry about your daughter,” Isabella says, and the weight in her voice makes everyone know she means it. She gestures toward the teen. “Is that her over there?”

  “Yes,” the woman says defiantly. She seems taken aback, like she was expecting Isabella to defend herself, and then she could unleash a tirade of abuse.

  “May I speak to her?”

  “I don’t think—”

  The teen now has her headphones in her lap. “Yes,” she says.

  “This is the owner of the store, Melody,” her mother replies in a patronizing tone. “The woman whose negligence got you hurt.”

  Melody rolls her eyes. “Yes, Mom, I know. I want to ask her a question.”

  I feel so protective of Isabella I want to jump in front of her and screen everybody before they can get to her. You have a question? Ask me first. You have an insult to sling? Sling it at me and I’ll make you regret trying to ever hurt her. But I know she’d be furious if I did such a thing.

  She advances toward the teen with a friendly, open face. “Hello, Melody,” she says. “I’m so sorry about what happened to you. If you have any questions about what happened, I’ll do my best to answer as much as I can for you.”

  “Oh!” The mother throws her hands up in the air. “How about answering how the hell you can be so irresponsible to let this happen?”

  “Shut up, Mom!” Melody hisses, embarrassed.

  “It’s a valid question,” Isabella says. “A very valid question. I’m devastated this has happened too, for our employees and our customers. We checked all the plans and tested the electricity. We have insurance, as well, of course.”

  “You’d better,” the mother says, “because you’re going to be needing a lot of money to cover these expenses.”

  I see Isabella stiffen. I know what’s going through her mind. All these people will sue her for millions, and her father’s business will die, with or without my cash injection.

  “I can understand your feelings,” Isabella says. “We’re going to do a full investigation to find out exactly what happened and address any problems.”

  “You sound like a sleazy politician,” the mother says with disgust.

  A silence falls around us. Isabella holds her head high, but I see as she clasps her hands behind her back that they’re shaking a little.

  “I just wanted to ask something,” Melody says.

  I hope against hope it’s not a question that’ll bring Isabella tumbling down. If it is, I won’t be able to hold myself back from protecting her. I’ll take her in my arms and tell everyone she’s doing her absolute best and they all have to leave her alone.

  “Go ahead,” Isabella replies steadily.

  “You know that purply-red mascara you stock?” Melody asks. “I really want some. That’s why I was in the store. No one else has it. Do you think you can get some for me?”

  “Melody, don’t be ridiculous,” her mother snaps. “How can you think about makeup at a time like this?”

  “The doctor said the burns would heal, and it’ll look almost normal.” Melody looks up at Isabella. “Please, that’s my favorite mascara, and I ran out last week.”

  “Of course, I’ll do that for you,” Isabella says. “What other makeup
do you like? I’ll bring you a whole set.”

  Melody’s face lights up. “You will? Oh my gosh, well, I like the Revlon lipstick in color 3A, and…”

  I watch Isabella talking to the girl and writing all the makeup products down on her phone.

  Yeah.

  This woman is really something special.

  Chapter 22

  Isabella

  DAY 16

  The hospital wasn’t the lynch mob I expected, but I still feel sapped of energy. I don’t like hospitals as it is. That was the very same hospital I held my father’s gnarled old hand in as he passed to the other side. In any case, neither of these reasons is any excuse for flopping into bed as I want to and denying my responsibility.

  I leaf through papers, desperately hoping to find something that explains it all, and desperately hoping not to at the same time. Electrical wiring sheets. Codes. Plans. I picked them all up from the office on the way back to my apartment. I want answers to give these people. But I dread finding some tiny detail I’ve overlooked. If there’s a loophole for them to sue, I know the business will never recover. Never.

  Gray and I picked up Indian takeout, but we haven’t touched it. It’s sitting on the kitchen counter, looking sadder and sadder by the minute. But I don’t care. I have to get through all these papers for the third time. There must be something I’ve missed. There must be. I don’t know if I want there to be or not. This feels like torture.

  “Come on, babe,” Gray says. He comes over from the couch and touches me gently on the back. “You’ve done enough. Try to relax.”

  “How can I relax?” I rifle through the papers still. “I need to know how much of a mistake I made here. What the future of everything is.”

  “We can’t tell the future,” he says. “You’ve looked through all of that already. You know you have. The food’s getting cold.”

  That sounds so trivial. “Who cares about food?”

  “You haven’t barely eaten since we left England. The plane food wasn’t good, and what have you had since?”