“Don’t be facetious.”
“Dylan, I don’t have time or care for this.” She reaches out, and I hold it past her on purpose.
“Dylan.” She clenches her teeth and sneers, her eyes darting around quickly, equally concerned about making a scene.
“Come here.” I take her wrist and walk off. She tries to wriggle out of it but seems to remember I have her purse.
I keep walking until I reach the end of the hall and rush inside the next door I find which ends up being a stairwell. I lean against the railing with her purse behind me. She rushes toward me as soon as the door closes, and I lean into her making her stop. The walls on either side aren’t very wide, and we’re closed into a small space—one that makes her scent swirl around me and has no place to escape. I watch her lip twitch, and I have a sudden urge to kiss her pout away.
“I will throw you over this staircase,” she grumbles.
“What’s your problem?” I ask her.
She ignores me, reaching around me, but I move back but not in time for her not to press against me. I silently curse my dick at acknowledging this woman equivalent to an evil spawn.
“You ignore me, walk away from me, look at me like I’m the plague.”
“Because you are, obviously.”
“No, I’m not. I just raised millions of dollars for kids. I’m the opposite of the plague. I’m the Second Coming. What are you?” I half smile. She stares at me with a blank look in her eyes for a hard moment before she stops, steps back, blinks once or twice as she takes a deep breath.
“I’m completely sick of you.”
“We just met. Officially.”
“No, we haven’t. I’m not going to get into this with you. Give me my purse.”
The way she raises her voice hardens her eyes at me, and all I want to do is give her the damn purse back. So, I do. She snatches it away and turns to leave, but as her hand stops on the door handle turned down, she doesn’t.
Forbes looks back at me with resolution in her eyes. It’s like she decided in her head and has gracefully decided to clue me in.
“Dylan, I don’t have a problem with you. I don’t have a problem at all. Not with you or with anyone else. What I do have is an impossible, ungrantable wish that you were dead because you destroyed my life.”
“I what? You…” I trail off, having no idea how to continue this. There is ice in her eyes. I feel her freezing me from the outside in because she is so angry, so… so spiteful.
And I don’t know why.
“So, don’t talk to me, don’t ask me what my problem is. Don’t ask me why I look at you the way I do or don’t. If you can manage that, then I might get a taste of what it would be like if you didn’t exist.”
She pulls the door open and storms through it for it to slam right behind her. I stare after her in shock, not knowing if it’s good or bad. Not knowing why I care, either. Usually, when absolute strangers hate me, I don’t give a shit, but Forbes?
She doesn’t just look at me like she hates me. She knows why and won’t clue me in.
I’m pretty sure she wants me to figure it out.
4
Forbes
“You’re no good for this, why don’t you just go?” An impatient sigh escapes me. I’m not very good at hiding my emotions anyway. That, or I don’t care for doing it much.
“Why don’t I go over it again, and then—”
“No.” I interrupt my colleague who is technically my paralegal, but the term is loosely used. I’m not sure what happened, but somewhere along the way, an entire contract packet got lost in translation—I’m talking initial acquisitions, all the confidentiality agreements, and terms of sale. Gone.
When stuff like this happens, I’m the first one my boss would go to. My boss, who is a big guy in the big office who only comes out to chew someone’s head off or brag about what he just did.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened…” She flusters, standing to pack up all the papers. My office is adjacent to a small conference room where I have meetings and such so that no one has to come to my office. The only one who has been in my office in the year I have worked here is Emily when she came to work here.
I was completely pissed and remember ignoring her for a few days when I found out a simple phone call got her this job while I went through weeks of applications and interviews. I, of course, came to my senses when I remembered she is more qualified than even I am, what with her two degrees and experience in her field.
“Fine. Just leave the contracts. I’ll take care of it.” I look at her for the first time since storming out of my chair.
“Okay, I’m sorry.” She walks out, her tightly bunned brown hair and perfect black office dress annoy me for some reason, and then she is gone.
I’m not sure why I am even so irritated. I have been in a mood all day snapping at the coffee barista, the parking attendant, someone in the copy room I have never seen before, and even Emily when she came by with muffins.
Walking back to my office, I stare at the still-wrapped blueberry muffin on my desk. It must be I want to be mad at her for making me go to that party, though I know it was ultimately my decision. Since college, and for no reason, Emily has been nice to me. It’s hard to trust people because it is apparent they can’t be trusted. If Dylan isn’t optimal proof of that, then I don’t know what will be.
I take my hands off my hips and sit on the edge of my black office chair, the nice one that curves to your spine. My hands scratch my knees of their own accord. I stare down at my dark black skirt, it almost looks blue, and tight white dress blouse, the buttons barely hanging on. All I want is to be out of my clothes relaxing at home. But I can’t do that. It’s only ten, and I am already ready to be back home avoiding all of this. The distraction is welcome, however, because it beats the alternative—laid up obsessing over Dylan wondering why and how he had the nerve to confront me the way he did. When I think of all the stuff he has done, of what happened with my dad… I can’t do it.
Rising quickly, I huff going back over the contracts to fix them. I have to expedite the process now. I will barely have time to obsess over every line and double-check the attorney’s work before I send it off. I dig right in almost forgetting to take my medicine and working up until lunch.
I check my emails. I have another meeting to go to later this week for a new buy-in, but it seems like we are the ones being bought which I don’t understand. It looks more like a sell-off to me, but I try not to worry about these things until I am looking at the contracts.
When I pack them away to fax over, a knock comes to my office door. Only one person knocks, and she walks right in.
“One day you’ll do that, and I’ll be laid up or something. You’re supposed to wait until I say enter.” I glance up at her. She waltzes in grinning and plops onto my plain black chair across from my desk.
My desk is L-shaped in the far right corner of my office. The rest consists of a small black couch that matches the desk and two chairs in front of my desk. The entire room is black besides the gray rug which the company provided. It must be a theme I have going on. And the only decoration I have is a picture of my dad and me at my college graduation which I didn’t know was right after he was fired, and I especially didn’t know would be six months before he killed himself.
“You’re chipper.” I sigh, leaning over my desk to half smile at her. She gives me a bright smile back, and I try not to cringe. She’s always so happy, even when I’m mean as I was this morning. It’s weird.
“I’m not. It’s a normal day for me… but you’ve had a stick up your ass since this morning, and now it’s twisting.” She makes a face, and I manage a small laugh.
I smooth back my hair behind my ears. It falls in loose waves on its own, and I don’t have to do anything to it. I’ve been asked multiple times how I get the color the way it is or what products I use, but I’ve never had to color my hair, and they never like hearing that response. But it’s true.
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Dad said that if Mom were around, she would be able to show me how to do my hair better, but I managed to learn, and he did the best he could. In school, the park, or the mall, I’ve always been the girl with golden hair to people. It’s like having blind expectations to live up to that I never asked for.
“I was. But now I have a reason. The legal assistant left me some contracts with unresolved issues that still swim around in my mind. I got a wonderful email from Nick this morning about it.”
She widens her mouth in that ‘ouch’ face. Nick is mean. He runs the entire acquisitions department. By trade he is a lawyer, here he is our worst nightmare. Emily doesn’t directly work with or under him, but she hears the stories. I have first-hand caught the angry yell and red face he likes to deliver.
“Oh, sorry. What happened?”
I wave my hand. “Nothing. I called her in for the contracts and took care of it myself.”
Emily giggles. “I bet she cried after you got mad at her.”
“I didn’t.” I squeak in a highly innocent tone.
“Right. Well, if you’re done wallowing, we should go out for lunch.” She stands as if I have already said yes.
But it’s Emily, and I can’t say no to her. When I met her in college, I thought she was an overly mistaken, cheery sorority girl or something. Shitty, I know, but she proved me wrong. Then I tried to wean off her because it’s in my nature. We met in class and were study partners when our classes continued to overlap through our sophomore year. Then it went beyond only studying together. And then the whole thing with Dad happened and their family, so I tried to wean off her then, but she was not having it.
I owe a lot to her after losing Dad and going through the surgery. She waited until every word I spoke wasn’t spat or snapped. It took a while. I wasn’t sure why since she had Carson to be friends with, but she has equally been my friend, and I guess she is my best friend or only friend. However, it can be classified.
“Do you know about this buy-in? It looks like we’re selling.” I only glanced at the email, but it could be anything. Emily makes a face before she answers. I can’t place it, and I don’t look at it long enough to.
“No idea,” she squeaks.
“Yeah, okay. The usual place?”
She nods with enthusiasm, and I roll my eyes at her before I follow. Purses in tow, we escape the office and cross the street to the bistro we have eaten at almost every day since we’ve worked together. She started here a few months after I did. My first job was with a financial company I matched with right out of college. A stepping stone. Working for Arnold is the next step to a whole bunch of other things. I could go private, hire myself out, and be an independent company, but that’s way down the line.
A dream, maybe.
We order the usual salad and latte combo, perfect for almost two in the afternoon when we’re tired of how the day is going.
“So, Friday night was fun.” She starts, and I hold back a groan. I knew her inquisition would come at some point.
I spent the weekend going over everything that happened at that party. Every word Dylan said. He must have no idea what he did, no clue at all. So, am I being stupid? Or overly resentful? He thinks he can walk on water, coaxing me away and taking my purse and being an absolute child—and people let him. The only reason he went after me is because I don’t let him. I don’t have some elaborate revenge plan, I don’t care for it. I don’t ever plan to change my mind or get even, or anything. He will exist, and I will hate him for it.
“Sure.”
“They went well over their goal for the kids’ charity.”
“It sounds like you are trying to talk them up.” I stare over the table at her, all perky in her mustard-yellow dress. That color is ugly on anyone except her. Her black hair that she let the dye run out on sweeps over one side in loose curls. We might be the prettiest people at that company.
“I’m not…”
“You are. I get it. They’re like your family. You’re allowed to, but my mind won’t change about Dylan, at least.” I shrug my shoulders.
She purses her lips and furrows her brow in determination, leaning over the table like no one around us should hear what she has to say.
“But why? Forbes, what did he do? You really didn’t even know him back in college.”
I sigh, my fingers tingling with the memory. I try not to think of it often or ever. Because it hurts, and for lack of better words, it sucks.
“No, but he knew my dad.” My mouth dries with the confession. That’s as far as she has gotten. I get that it’s easier to suffer in circles, but this is one Emily will never be in. They can do no wrong, and I won’t take that trust from her.
“Oh… he worked for them, right?”
“Yes.” I nod. She pries for more.
I take a shaky breath and do my thinking as fast as I can. If I tell her the whole story, there is no telling what she will do. Emily is like a fixer, and no one around her can be broken.
“Until… Dylan fired him. And… that’s all I’ll tell you.” I resolve because it gets too dark and twisty from there.
“What? Why?”
“Emily…” I rasp.
“No, no I want to know why.”
A sad laugh escapes me. “There is no why, that’s the problem. He knew it was coming, but he couldn’t do anything about it. It was Dylan being an asshole, I’m guessing. I wasn’t there.”
“Forbes… I don’t get it.”
“If you want to understand it, ask Dylan. He has all the answers. But if you do, I won’t forgive you.” I cross my arms standing my ground as I stare back at her.
She gapes for a moment, then kind of shakes her head at me. Like she…
“Fine. You’ll tell me eventually. I’m not that fond of Dylan myself. Not lately, at least.”
“Why is that?” I ponder the question before thinking.
“He’s been different since their dad died. He wasn’t always like this. In the past three years, he’s brooded, grown a beard, and has an insufferable attitude. None of his brothers can get through to him. No one can.” She blows out a breath and pops her lips at me, shrugging her shoulders as she crosses her arms too.
I start to smile, and she does the same.
“So, I’ll give this Dylan thing a rest. Only because it’s you. But… I don’t want to stop asking you to go places with me if they’re there.”
I giggle. “You don’t have to. With enough convincing, I’ll go for you.”
She smiles at me, and we laugh together.
“Deal.”
5
Dylan
Everyone has left the office, but I stayed behind with the excuse to catch up and get ahead on my work, but really, I couldn’t deal with the people—so many people. My brothers, especially.
Since the holiday party, they have been insufferable with end-of-the-year accounts and such. It’s the most lucrative time of the year because we not only close business for a while, we have so much to do. Closing the account reports and reviewing the revenue and spend for the year is hard work. Finance is arguably the most important because if this place goes belly up, money is the first reason why.
There’re those reasonable excuses and then some irrational ones. Or one—Forbes.
To say I can’t stop thinking about her is an understatement, and it’s an unhealthy one because she obviously wants nothing to do with me. For what reason, I have no clue. I think back as far as I can since what I know is that her dad used to work for us about seven years ago, and up until four years ago he still did, which I can only match with when she graduated from college. When I hole up in my office all day, I have half a mind to pull as much information on her as I can from the investigator we keep on hand. We have a few fixers that work for us which could find out anything and everything about the companies we buy out before we do it.
But I don’t, I stay strong.
That, and work keeps me busy. I settled three of our last acquisitions in re
cord time. The books, the numbers, they calm me down. I never have a problem with those. They don’t give me a headache like my brothers or other work does. I’ve always gotten along with numbers and math.
I was a mathlete in junior high, nerdy, but no one made fun of us since we were always so rich, so people pretended to like us. Jeffrey, though, they outright made fun of him because he is short. But I always kept to myself in the books. My teachers encouraged me once they found out too. When I got to MIT out of high school, it was a no-brainer for me to go. I was happier then, Dad and I got along, and he was already getting me ready to come work for him. Before me, the CFO was an old-fashioned, old man—good at his job but out of date. Dad never planned which of us would work for him, but it became clearer as we got older, and once it was, he always encouraged it. Even if I wasn’t top of my class at any point or perfect with my schoolwork, he was proud of me, of all of us. That’s why it hurts so bad that we ended the way we did.
When I finish, I file all the information in the right places—the spreadsheets, expense reports, everything. I have half a mind to tell my brothers to stop chartering so much private air travel but think not to. I can’t keep them from doing what they want. It’s not my job to tell everyone how to be frugal, and it isn’t like we can’t cover it. I check everything manually as well as in the system. I don’t trust technology like Evan does. And I’m not very good with it either. I still freehand my multiplication and division.
Since it’s only me here, I close everything down and inform security that I am leaving once I finish.
I parked in the underground garage, so it would make it easier to leave. I get home, strip out of my suit, and go straight to the hot shower to clear my head. It takes longer to condition and shampoo my beard and hair, but it’s taken years to grow it out, and I won’t throw it away on brittle ends. My brothers don’t agree with it, but they don’t know what it’s like to be a mirror image of our dad who is no longer here. Since I was a kid, I was told by everyone, including Mom and Dad, that I look just like him.
Wilde About Dylon: The Brothers Wilde Series — Book Four Page 3
