by Gemma Hart
Prove Me Wrong
Gemma Hart
Copyright 2016 Gemma Hart
All Rights Reserved
This work is not bound by DRM, which allows you as a reader to enjoy this story on any digital platform you choose to use. But please respect the work of this author. No part of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Any similarities to events or situations is also coincidental.
© 2016 Gemma Hart
All Rights Reserved
Dedication
To literally the BEST readers in the world!
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Table of Content
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Epliogue
Bonus Story!
Chapter One
Jonah
The tires swerved smoothly down the road as I drove down the dark road. I glanced down at my dashboard and saw the glowing numbers of my speed climb past three digits.
I should slow down but fuck it. If someone wanted to pull me over, let them. I’d give them a few grand as payment in advance for the speeding I’d be doing as soon as I drove off again.
My hand gripped the wheel tighter. Fucking Martin Lowell. Fucking prick. Fucking asshole.
I swerved again around another corner. It probably wasn’t safe to be driving around so recklessly around these rural interstates but I could care less what was safe now.
“Fucking cunt,” I muttered under my breath. Even though I was a good day’s drive away from New York City and Martin Lowell, I still couldn’t get over my anger and frustration. It seemed like it was following me no matter how far or fast I drove.
No matter how much I cussed him out or raged against him in my mind, I could still see Martin’s face clearly as if he were right in front of me.
I had come home after a long day at the corporate offices. I was tired from literally talking nonstop for ten hours straight. I was ready to pour a glass of whiskey and let my mind disconnect.
But as soon as I had opened the door, I had felt something in the air. Something off.
I slowly swung open the door and saw Martin Lowell sitting on my very expensive leather sofa. I raised a sardonic brow as I took him in, not even bothering to ask how he had gotten in.
This was Martin Lowell, one of the world’s richest men. He was worth billions. If he wanted a door opened, he would get that door opened. I was sure my doorman had probably tripped over himself to find the right key to open my door.
With that kind of wealth, very few people could stand on equal footing with him.
One of those few people being me.
But then again, I’d always been quite special, I had thought dryly.
Letting the door shut behind me, I walked over to the sleek mahogany bar and casually poured myself a drink. “Whiskey?” I called over without raising my eyes.
“Why not,” he replied just as coolly. He looked me over. “Coming back from Vanessa’s?”
I brought over the two crystal cut tumblers of the amber stuff and handed one to Martin.
Taking a seat across from him, I crossed one leg and looked at him directly, completely ignoring his question. I knew it was only meant to poke at me, to get a rise out of me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked without rancor. I took a sip of my drink.
Martin huffed a laugh before taking a sip himself.
“Is that any way to talk to your uncle?” he asked with mock disapproval. But I saw the coldness in his eyes, the calculation. Just as I’m sure he saw it in mine.
Getting no response from me, he gave a small shrug. “You know that the board will be meeting in a few weeks,” he said. He gave me a level look. “I wanted to make sure that you knew your role for that meeting.”
Martin Lowell owned Lowell Enterprises, one of the biggest corporations on the planet. It brought in billions each year and made sure that it kept its founder, Martin, at the top of the Forbes Richest Men list every year.
But no matter his success, his company always fell short of DXC Global Ltd—my company.
And in a few weeks, there would be a meeting with the board to approve a joint shipping venture with Lowell Enterprises. It would be the deal of the century and could possibly bring in a record profit for both corporations.
From a financial and business perspective, it was a deal ripe for the taking. Any other company would kill for such an opportunity.
But from every other perspective of common sense, I knew it was a fucking mine field I would be walking into if the deal was approved.
Martin never liked that David Lowell, my stepfather, had left the company to me. As someone who was not even a biological Lowell and had not even entered the Lowell household until I was twelve, I was still considered very much an outsider to Martin.
And to honest, I had been surprised as well at David’s trust and estate reading. David had never seen me as a son. That had always been clear. He had loved my mother and that was it. I had come along with her as an unwanted bonus.
I had never called the man ‘dad’ or ‘father’ and he had never remotely acted as a paternal figure. Until his death three years ago, all I had ever heard from him was a constant stream of curses and criticisms, which sometimes took the form of whacks and punches.
I had gotten into Wharton Business School, the best in the nation, but David complained I hadn’t gone to Harvard instead. I had graduated at the top of my class and had gotten offers from companies across the globe with a starting salary that had several zeroes in it and David complained how I was ungrateful and selfish to not come work at DXC Global Ltd. And when I gave up all those opportunities and came to DXC, David complained about how I was a freeloader and was only riding on his coattails.
It was safe to say, no tears had been shed the day David Lowell had died.
There had only been surprise. For both me and Martin.
Martin had assumed he would get controlling shares of DXC Global. I could tell he had already made plans to combine it with Lowell Enterprises to make a massive company that would give him lifetimes worth of riches.
His head had nearly exploded in rage when he had heard my name called as the controlling shareholder instead.
But that didn’t mean Martin Lowell would give up so easily.
He made sure to use his loose connection as my uncle, a title he loathed before David’s death, and tried to influence every deal and merger DXC Global got.
For the most part, I was able to ignore him. Martin raged at me, telling me I was going to run my father’s company to the ground and lose billions. But instead DXC Global thrived and I made it better than ever
.
Which only fueled Martin’s anger and resentment.
Which explained why he was now here in my apartment. He wanted to use any method he could to show me he still was a man to be reckoned with. Break into my apartment? Easy. Tell me what to do with the merger? Simple.
Martin wanted to make sure that I knew who was in charge.
And in this case, Martin was.
“I’ve spoken with Cadwell and some of the other board members,” Martin said casually as he took another sip of his whiskey. “They seem pretty excited with the prospects of the merger.”
And that's where Martin had me. With such a huge deal like this, the entire board would need to make a unanimous decision. There was no way that they would turn down this merger. It meant guaranteed returns. If I opposed the deal in anyway, there was a good chance they would vote me out of the company.
Something Martin would love to see.
“Well, no one ever accused Cadwell of being a thinker,” I remarked.
Martin huffed a laugh but his eyes turned steely. “Thinker or no, he knows how a business should be run. Unlike some,” he said pointedly, looking at me. “This deal is worth billions. Not millions, son. Billions. And it would bring DXC Global and Lowell Enterprises into an untouchable level of business. We would be unstoppable.”
With a grunt, he rose to his feet and walked towards the front door. He paused only for a moment by my side.
“The consequences of hindering such a deal would be incalculable,” he said quietly, the threat clear as day.
I sat still in my seat, keeping my eyes forward as anger burned like a smoldering coal inside me.
I heard Martin’s steps as he reached the front door. But before the door swung open, there was a pause in the air. From the huge windows in front of me, I could see Martin’s reflection as he stood by the door, looking at me through the reflection.
“How long has it been now?” he asked in a casual tone as if suddenly remembering a silly topic of conversation. “Seven years? Eight?” He cocked his head. “Since Cheryl died?”
My jaw tightened and my hand reflexively closed around the whiskey tumbler, threatening to crack the glass.
Martin let the question hang for a moment, letting the image of my mother play through my mind like he knew it would.
Then he shook his head as if distracted. “Ah, well, nevermind.” He turned towards the door. “Good night. I’ll see you in a few weeks then.”
As soon as the door shut, I immediately rose to my feet and grabbed the keys to my car and left.
It wasn’t that Martin knew what buttons to push; it was that he knew when to push them. He knew exactly the right moment to make my blood boil and to make my heart crack in anger.
I had thrown myself into my sports car and had screeched out of the garage and onto the narrow streets of the city. I drove and drove and drove, letting my mind blank itself out through the dark and twisting roads.
I stopped here and there for gas or for some coffee but I moved in a haze of quiet rage. Everything seemed unreal and distant from my bubble of anger that consumed me.
I knew I was getting tired and that I should stop somewhere but I couldn’t bring myself to stop moving. It felt like if I kept moving, the anger could be kept at bay. It wouldn’t eat me up till all I saw was blackness. It wouldn’t take over my body and my mind till I woke up somewhere with my knuckles bloody and raw, having taken out my anger in violence.
The soft gray and pink fingers of dawn began to creep over the horizon. I had no idea where or how far away from New York City I was. My eyelids feeling like concrete bricks, I pulled off the interstate and drove down towards wherever the off ramp took me.
I soon found myself pulling through a small town square. I slowed to a crawl as I looked around the quaint buildings and the antique looking streetlamps.
What the hell?
Where was I? The 1950s? Did towns like this actually still exist outside of a movie set?
With the blurriness of sleep taking over my consciousness, I began to wonder if maybe I was just hallucinating this. After all, I had been driving for nearly a solid day on nothing but coffee and anger. I could very well just be driving through a forest that I was hallucinating into an It’s A Wonderful Life remake.
Soon I was driving through what seemed like the edge of the square. The whole place was quiet and empty. Not a single body around. It almost seemed a little eerie. Then I remembered how early it was. It was barely light outside.
I was about to continue driving, despite my weighted eyelids and my slumping body. If this was a hallucination, I sure as shit wasn’t going to be sleeping out in some dirt field so some delirious angel can come to me and tell me how my life was worth living.
Not today, crazy town. Not today, I muttered mentally as I drove past a wide road. On one side was thick forest while the other side had a string of shops. There was a small diner, a bookstore, a thrift store, and at the corner was a hardware store.
And near the corner seemed to be a girl dragging a decapitated moose head over the curb.
I squinted, leaning forward over my wheel.
Was it medically possible to completely lose your mind from exhaustion and coffee?
I slowed the car down till it was basically inching at a snail’s pace. I watched as the small figure heaved and pulled against what was definitely a giant moose head. She gripped the huge antlers but was having trouble pulling the thing over the curb. So busy with the head, she hadn’t yet noticed my car.
I braked.
Ok, if this was how far my delusions had gone, I needed to stop driving. I pulled the car to the side of the road and parked.
I took one more glance of the girl and the moose head to make sure I had it right.
Yup. That was definitely a girl. And that was definitely a dead moose head that was missing the rest of the body.
Shaking my own attached head, I got out of the car. Might as well go ask the delusion what she thought she was doing in the crack ass of dawn with a dead animal’s head.
But if she revealed herself to be some kind of angel ready to show me the way to a more enlightened and peaceful life, I was going to punch her in the mouth. Angel or no.
Chapter Two
Clara
“Oh come on, Geoff,” I panted as I pulled at the antlers. The head barely budged. “This is just ridiculous.”
“You could say that again,” a deep voice said from behind me, dryly.
I gasped and whirled around, letting go of the antlers in my surprise.
Standing behind me was a man that looked like thunder incarnate. Big, powerful, magnetic, and just a touch frightening. He was all of those things. Standing well over six feet tall, he had a brush of dark hair that matched his dark stubble. Even in the dark light of predawn, I could see the glint of his dark blue eyes. They were the shade of deep ocean. His gaze was mesmerizing and hypnotic as the dark shades of blue shifted from azure to almost purple in the light.
He was wearing a black leather jacket over long black jeans but I could tell immediately that he had a body to match his powerful presence. His build alone was broad and tall like a quarterback. Nothing about this man seemed to be soft or flabby.
In short, I had never seen a man like this before.
“Who the hell are you?” I asked breathlessly.
An amused dark brow quirked up. “The man watching a potential animal murder cover up. What the hell are you doing?”
I looked down, seeing the moose head again as if for the first time. “Oh, right,” I said, remembering my task. “Geoff.”
This time both the man’s brows went up. “Geoff?” he said incredulously. “Do you name all your victims before you decapitate them?”
I rolled my eyes as I took another grip on the antlers. “I didn’t decapitate him. He came decapitated,” I said, as if stating the obvious.
The man watched me with marked amusement as I tried to heave the stupid heavy thing. “Oh, of course,”
he said. “Because otherwise, it’d be ridiculous.”
I gave a sigh and rolled my eyes again. If the stranger wanted to chat, he would need to do it while working then. “Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me?” I demanded.
The man looked surprised but he only hesitated a moment before carefully approaching the head, looking warily at it as if it might still try and bite him. “What are you trying to do here?” he asked.
I jerked my chin towards Mackleson’s Hardware Store. “I’m trying to get Geoff in there,” I said, grunting a little as I pulled. “I need to get him in the back room.”
The man looked over Geoff with some hesitation as if he couldn’t believe what he was doing before bending down and grabbing the head around the neck. With a massive heave, he lifted Geoff clean off the ground.
“God, how big was this thing when it was alive?” he grunted as he carried him towards the hardware store.
“Never mind that. Just don’t bang his antlers as you bring him in,” I said, making sure the whole head fit through the narrow doorway. The man grunted as he followed my lead towards the back room. I quickly opened the swinging doors and held them back so he could come through with Geoff.
“You can set him down right there! Next to that light!” I called out. “But be careful! Don’t hurt him!”
“Oh, heaven forbid I hurt a dead fucking moose head,” the man grunted as he put down Geoff near the light. But despite his words, he was careful in making sure the antlers didn’t smack into anything.
With a huge sigh, the man straightened up. The back room was dim. Only one of the freestanding lights was turned on. But it was enough to dully light up the entire back room.
The man looked around slowly in surprise.
“What is this?” he asked quietly.
I smiled as I looked around the room, a little proud. “It’s my studio,” I said. “It’s where I photograph all my pieces.”
“Your pieces?” He looked down at me, eyes dark and curious.
