Dana’s eyes were bright, excited, the way I felt inside, bubbling like a lava lamp. “No, we probably shouldn’t. But isn’t it awesome that we have the means to be impulsive? If we want to be?”
I stopped the stroller, unable to move until this tension was unraveled.
“I don’t know when we’d have the chance to be this impulsive again,” Callie said, coming to that conclusion slowly.
Dana nodded. “We should do it. Raise our kid in France and open ourselves up to new experiences and adventures. We should totally do it.”
She and I both looked to Callie, waiting with bated breath.
Slowly, Callie’s indecisive expression eased into a smile. “You only live once,” she said.
I suppose that meant yes, because then Dana and Callie were hugging each other and kissing, and it was probably pretty hot, but all I could think about was turning the stroller around, getting back to my apartment, packing up, and getting on a plane so I could get to my wife as soon as humanly possible.
When the two of them finally broke apart, they held hands and looked at me. “What do we do next?” Callie asked.
I didn’t hesitate for a second. “We go to France and get my wife back.”
I caught a cab and headed back to the city, but instead of going to my house to pack a bag and make arrangements, I went to the office first. There was someone I had to deal with, someone I should have dealt with a while ago.
It was still early in the afternoon, so fortunately Donovan was in his office. I could see him through the clear glass, and he wasn’t on the phone, so I strode right by his secretary, walked in, and shut the door behind me.
“I’m in love with Elizabeth. I married her for real, and we’re going to stay together.” I probably could have called, but I wanted to see the look on his face when I told him this.
Except he just leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, ankle resting on the opposite knee, and said, “I know.”
“What do you mean you know?” How could he possibly know? Even Elizabeth didn’t know as of right now.
“You went off-script at the wedding. Said your own vows. That had to mean something. Had to mean you’d fallen for her. And doesn’t every woman fall for you?” He cocked his head, smugly.
“Every woman doesn’t…no.” Did they? I wondered. Didn’t matter. Elizabeth did. “Yes. She’s in love with me too.” It irritated me that he had this figured out already. But not enough to dim my mood. “Invoice me for your ring. I’m keeping it.” I’d debated getting her a new one, but there was sentimental attachment to this. It was the one I’d already proposed to her with, and she’d told me she loved it. It was part of our history, and I was eager to put it back on her finger and didn’t have time to get another one.
“Sure thing.” He raised a brow. “Anything else?”
“And I have a kid.” He definitely didn’t know about that.
“I know.”
Fuck him.
“How? I haven’t told anyone?” I mean, I told some people. Nate—did Nate tell him?
“I read an article about it online,” he explained matter-of-factly.
“But that was… How did you… That was a gossip site! Why would you even think that was real? How did you even see it?” Jesus, did this man know everything?
“I’ve had Google alerts set for both you and Elizabeth since you got engaged. I’ve told you that. I wanted to get ahead of any bad press or rumors if need be. When that came up, I remembered you telling me about hooking up with that senator’s daughter. Plus, a player like you was bound to knock a girl up eventually.”
Fuck him again.
“Okay. Fair.” I definitely had something that would throw him a curveball though. “And we’re moving to France. I’m taking over the new company there.” No way he could have guessed that one.
“I know,” he said, again. And before I could ask how, he added, “Of course you are. You were always going to move to France. Elizabeth’s company is there. Why did you think I wanted this merger to take place so badly?”
“Oh, don’t pretend you thought we were going to get together the whole time. That you were arranging the whole situation so I could have something to do in a foreign country.” He might be a puppetmaster, but surely that was taking it too far.
He only shrugged. “Sabrina will be better at your job here. She knows more about your accounts than you do at this point.”
I tilted my head, unsure whether I wanted to punch him or give the guy a hug.
I settled for a smile. “This thing you do? This big brother thing, where you fix everything in my life, save the day every time?” I let him think about it for a minute. “You don’t have to do it anymore. I’ve got it together now. I can take care of things from here on out.”
“You sure about that?”
He was a righteous little asshole, but deep down I was sure he knew I was saying thank you.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“You’re welcome.”
I turned to leave, then remembered. “Hey, I want my Walking Dead comic back.”
His eyes narrowed. “Did you watch the security tape?”
I shook my head, baffled. “I don’t need to watch the security tape. I know you’re the only one who takes my shit. Hand it over.”
He paused, reluctant. Then he tugged open a drawer and pulled out my revered issue and handed it over.
“Thank you. For everything.” I backed out of the room, still looking at him. “Oh, and Donovan, one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Can I borrow your plane?”
21
Elizabeth
My father’s house was ridiculous. A private mansion with a sprawling landscape and wooded garden. The twenty thousand square-foot residence included an indoor swimming pool, extensive wine cellars, roof terrace, and staff apartments. There was even an actual petrol pump on the grounds.
As a child it had felt large and overwhelming and hollow, even with its fully decked out playroom and million-and-one places to hide. I’d only ever wanted to just crawl up in the library. And that was the one room I’d always been kicked out of, not because I was too young or because my father forbade children from touching his books, but simply because there were always so many other adults ambling over and through the rooms and offices that my presence in the library was always a nuisance.
Even with the bustle of his fully staffed house, it had felt like a lonely place. So when I landed in Paris at 7:00 a.m. on Thursday, I chose not to drive the twenty minutes to Neuilly to change and settle into the house, which was kept up by two live-in staff members, and instead made my way to his much smaller, six thousand square-foot apartment in the heart of the city.
My apartment now.
The five-bedroom penthouse apartment overlooking the Eiffel Tower was also too quiet, even with the live-in maid who greeted me when I arrived. My feet echoed on the wood floors, and while I had the entire library to myself, I’d never wanted to be anywhere less.
How was I ever going to make a home here?
Those weren’t thoughts for dwelling on when I was jet-lagged and miserable from missing Weston. And this was only day one without him. I had the rest of my life to get used to my new reality.
I had a feeling I’d need that long to adjust.
“Mr. Huber isn’t quite back from lunch yet. I do apologize he’s not here to greet you.” Darrell’s secretary was overly kind and penitent, speaking so quickly I almost missed some of her words in her accent. I was glad, though, that she chose to speak English since my French was rusty.
I looked at the time on my phone. It was a little before one and my meeting was set for half past.
“I’m early. It’s my fault.” I tried to put the woman at ease.
“I am sincerely sorry, Ms. Dyson. He really wanted to make a good impression. Can I get you some tea? Coffee? Pastries? Something else to drink or snack on?”
I’d been attended to my enti
re life and still had never had anyone fall over me as she was doing.
“Nothing, please. Though, I could use a place to make a phone call. International.”
“Please. Use Mr. Huber’s office.” She was already up and headed toward Darrell’s door with her key before I could stop her.
“I don’t want to intrude on his personal space,” I attempted anyway.
“It’s no trouble. He would want this. It will be your office soon anyway,” she said, smiling over her shoulder as she pushed the door open.
I had to take a deep breath then to steady myself, my legs all of a sudden feeling wobbly on my heels. It hadn’t occurred to me that I would be taking over Darrell’s spaces, places he belonged and worked in. Lived in. I wondered what his staff—what my staff—thought about that.
I didn’t linger on the thought too long, because the door was open now, and I could see into the office that had once been my father’s, a place I’d visited often as a child when I’d made trips to France. It had always seemed like a secret cavern. Like the holiest of holies, a place in which I’d never been fit to truly dwell. I’d always been excited and thrilled and honored when I’d gotten to visit my father there, even if it was only for a few minutes to kiss him on the cheek before being bustled away to a nanny.
I stepped into the room reverently, shutting the door behind me so I could make my call in private. While I hadn’t meant to arrive early, and I certainly hadn’t meant to overtake my father’s former office on my own, I was glad now that I got this chance. There was an emotional element to being in the Dyson Media headquarters that I hadn’t quite counted on. Sentimental nostalgia and the first true sense of grief at the loss of my father that I’d had since his death. I took another deep breath and let the emotions settle in me as I took in the room.
It was large, spacious. Not much had changed since the last time I had been there. The couch and chairs that surrounded the fireplace and bookshelves were still exactly the same. My father’s oversized executive desk still sat ominously near the windows where he could look out at the park while he thought. A second, more modern desk sat perpendicular to it now. This was the one that was stacked with files and papers and Post-it notes with memos jotted down in illegible handwriting. I assumed that was where Darrell worked, and I made my way over to my father’s leather wing chair—his throne—preparing to make my call.
It was only 8:00 a.m. in New York. Early still, but business people were already at their offices. As I dialed the United States country code, I tried not to think about Weston or wonder what he was doing. This conversation wasn’t about him. It was about me, and it was short and brief. My mother had been right—I had hired an advisor as a crutch. It was much easier to tell Clarence I didn’t need him in France, it turned out, then it had been to tell my husband.
My soon-to-be former husband.
Of course, that was because I did need Weston in France. When I’d told him I didn’t, it was a lie.
I felt the loneliness and sorrow of missing him prick at my eyes, and I tried to distract myself, running my hands along the top of the desk, focusing on how different the feel of this oak was to my palm from the one in my mother’s apartment, the one that would soon be shipped to me.
“Teach me how you did it, Daddy,” I said quietly to the desk, to the office, to his ghost. “Teach me how you learned to cut your ties.”
I was answered with silence.
I hadn’t remembered wishing I could talk to my father like this in a long time. And I’d wished so many times.
With Darrell still gone, I searched for something to occupy my mind. I opened one of the desk drawers, looking to see if it still contained my father’s items inside.
The first drawer had miscellaneous desk supplies and didn’t give me any true hint as to whether they were of a personal nature or not. The second seemed to hold frequently used files. Many were missing and I assumed Darrell had pulled them out as he needed them. The top drawer on the left-hand side was a different story. As soon as I opened it, a single piece of paper fell to the floor. Which was sure to happen, because the drawer was crammed full of folded papers, not at all organized like the other drawers had been.
When I bent to pick up the dropped note, my heart skipped.
I recognized the paper stationery.
With shaky fingers, I picked it up and unfolded the item, scanning through the carefully written words to be sure, but only took one glance to recognize it as mine. I pulled more from the drawer, unfolding each of them, checking them one by one. All of them were from me. My letters—the ones I’d mailed him throughout my life, stuffed here in his left-hand drawer, the one at the very top, overflowing, some of the papers so worn they’d obviously been read many times.
Maybe letting go of attachments wasn’t a lesson my father could teach me after all.
If there wasn’t a sudden ball at the back of my throat, I might’ve muttered a thank you to the air. An I love you. An I forgive you. But, if he was out there somewhere, I had a feeling he already knew what I was trying to say better than I did.
“That was the only drawer I didn’t go through,” a deep voice said, pulling my attention.
Darrell had walked in without my noticing.
“We cleaned out most of his other stuff, but I thought you’d want to do that when you got here, personally.”
I nodded. Swallowed hard, then thanked him.
Awkward silence fell between us. I sat in my father’s chair and Darrell stood there looming in the doorway of his office—my office?—my father’s office, unmoving. He was a tall man, and I’d always felt small in his presence.
But today, even in my sitting position, he didn’t feel so overwhelming.
Perhaps it was the power of Daddy’s throne.
We both seemed to realize that one of us needed to talk at the same time. “I’ll just sit—” he began gesturing to the seat nearby while I simultaneously said “I could move over to your desk—” since there weren’t other chairs around my father’s.
We both smiled.
“Shall we sit on the sofas?” I asked.
“After you.” He held his hand out toward the seating area, but we fell in step together walking toward the arrangement of couches and chairs as though we were equals.
It was only twenty feet to our destination, but while we crossed I had a sudden flashback to the first meeting I’d had with the men at Reach, when I’d gone in with false bravado, determined to run the show, intent on proving that I had “balls.”
I planned on leading today as well. Strangely, these six months later, I felt more aware of all the things I didn’t know—about business, about life—but the confidence I wore was genuine. After everything that had happened, it was validation to recognize I’d grown. If it was the only thing I walked away with, it wasn’t nothing.
“Your marriage—” Darrell began as soon as we were seated, quick to get to the heart of things.
I interrupted him. “—Is being annulled, but should not stand as a barrier to my inheritance, according to my lawyer. If you wish to contest, I will fight its validity considering the circumstances surrounding the ending of my marriage. You should also know that I’m not above staying married in name only if it’s how I hold on to the reins of my company.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but I lifted my hand to silence him. “I’m happy to discuss that matter further and at length, though, before I do, I have a question for you. You may find that the subject of my marriage or my inheritance isn’t as entertaining once we’ve talked.”
His forehead wrinkled in a single spot, a section of muscle that was due for more Botox. Then he settled back into the couch, his mouth in a straight line. “Go on, then.”
I hadn’t needed his permission, but it was a relief not to battle. Hopefully we could stay on friendly terms. “I’ve been watching you since you’ve taken over the company,” I began. “Many of your decisions have seemed in line with my father’s vision at first glanc
e, but on further inspection, it appears you may have different intentions for Dyson Media. What is your overall agenda as CEO?”
“Well.” His lip quirked up in a snide smile. “You may not enjoy hearing this, Elizabeth, but your father, good businessman that he was, was not exactly a saint in terms of his human relations, and he was not quite on the cutting edge of the new era of technology. Knowing that this company would only be in my hands for a short time, but that I would still hold shares after Dyson’s inexperienced, overzealous daughter took over, I’ve been trying to make changes that will have long-term impact for good. I’ve changed the hiring policies to bring on more diverse employees, cut off dead weight, and invested in contracted relationships with partner companies that will bring beneficial change to how media is viewed in Europe and possibly worldwide.”
He was smug and boastful in his delivery, as though he thought this might be his last chance to passionately speak his mind about the business he cared for deeply.
I could see it from his side, actually. Darrell had twenty years on me. He’d spent his life on his career, and a twenty-five-year-old rich bitch had shown up to pull the rug out from under everything he’d worked so hard to earn.
I imagined I’d be sour about it as well. Though, I doubted I’d be so nasty.
Temperament aside, his answer had been the one I’d been hoping for. “I appreciate your candor, Darrell. And I’m in full agreement about your assessment of my father’s outdated business vision. Which is why I’d like to ask you to continue on as the CEO of the company. I do hope you’ll say yes.”
He blinked several times, his eyes wide. “I thought… It seemed that… You aren’t planning on taking the job for yourself?”
It was awfully delightful to see Darrell Huber at a loss for words.
“I’ll retain my executive position, and I do expect to be very involved.”
“Sure, sure.”
“I won’t be here full-time, though. I plan to be traveling back and forth between here and New York every month.”
Dirty Sexy Games Page 22
