If he isn’t careful, he might actually sound compassionate. “She didn’t do drugs.”
“Grow up, London.”
That severs the hold I have on my temper. “Fuck off, Jacobi. I know you’re having fun telling me this. Get to the point. What the hell do you have on Diana?”
“She liked snorting lines with hundred dollar bills. A little cliché.” His jaw clenches and he looks away. Something tells me he has more to say, and I have no idea what would be silencing him.
“What?” I snap.
He lifts a dark brow.
“Say it,” I bite out. “You obviously know something else. Might as well tell me if you want me to sign those papers so damn bad.”
As if footage of Double-D’s Trip Down Under wouldn’t demolish the company’s stocks and close the doors, he’s claiming my co-CEO was involved in drugs and prostitution. The suburban moms peddling Natural Glow’s products from their homes would show less compassion than the rock standing across from me.
“Think about it, London.” His voice is soft. “Who would she have been around during that time of her life?” He takes a step closer. “Who would have given her those hundreds, even rolled them for her?”
Who? Why does he think I’d know—
I gasp. My stomach roils and I press a hand to my mouth, fighting the bile rising up. I’ve never understood why TV showed people vomiting when they receive terrible information. I get it now.
Jacobi takes another step, but I shake my head and back away from him. There’s only one person that I know from Diana’s past.
My dad. How could he accuse my dad of doing such a thing?
“Prove it.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t want to see that.”
I close the distance between us. His scent surrounds me, and to make it worse, I catch a whiff of peppermint and grapefruit, like he massaged away a headache before our wedding. Or someone else did it for him. The nausea returns.
Poking him in the shoulder, I say through clenched teeth, “Show me. You want me to sign those papers so damn bad, show me.”
His expression is carved of granite as he regards me, then he nods and crosses to his desk. Withdrawing a small laptop from the top drawer, he fires it up. Once it’s on, he clicks a few keys then moves over so I can be front and center of the screen.
My heels click ominously on the marble floor as I go to stand next to him. The image makes me wince. A younger Diana is laughing, sitting on some guy’s lap who isn’t my dad. Her hair’s bleached blond and frizzy like it needs a good six inches trimmed. Her makeup’s straight-up Wet n Wild and her clothes could fit into a matchbox. But it’s Diana.
Jacobi hits play.
I jerk and a small gasp escapes when my father’s voice rings through the office. The camera angle widens and he comes into the frame, leaning over white lines, a green bill rolled up between his fingers. Credit cards litter the table.
Diana pitches forward across the man’s lap, her ass in his face and her boobs spilling out of her bikini top. “Dennis, you’re so, like, crazy.” She practically crawls over the table to do the next line. “I’m going to have to, like, raise my rates just for you, big boy.”
Her high-pitched laugh is one I’ve never heard. I spin around, putting my back to the damning evidence. Jacobi has more than enough to crumple my company.
“How did you get that?” My voice is shaking, but the shock doesn’t keep questions from gathering. Dad was smarter than to keep something like that.
“Our parents ran in the same circles.”
I look over my shoulder at him. “Were your parents there?”
“Maybe. But they didn’t take the video if that’s what you’re asking. Otherwise, the company wouldn’t be an issue now.”
His parents would’ve blackmailed mine long ago, if they were anything like him.
“My question still stands. How did you get it?” Who else knows about this other than Diana?
“I’m in IT, London.” The trace of condescension in his voice spins me back around. People in IT don’t make mansion-on-a-beach-in-Malibu money. He wants me to think. So I do and it’s not hard to figure it out.
“You’re a hacker.”
His nonchalant shrug was aggravating. “In my spare time.”
“You must’ve blackmailed a ton of people to get all this.” I wave my hand around the room, ending at the window with the ocean view.
Thunder clouds darken his expression. “I earned all of this through hard work and smart investments.”
I cock my head. “Prove it.”
The only reaction I get is him slamming the lid down on his laptop. “Sign the papers.”
I glance at the desk. The idyllic image of my parents has been shattered, and my company won’t be far behind.
Chapter 2
Jacobi
Natural Glow is mine. I’ve already done market research on the value of the company. The next step will be putting out feelers, get interest stimulated so I can command a top bid.
But that’s at the back of my mind. London is my wife and she’s staying in my home.
“You can take the bedroom next to mine.” I never expected she’d sleep with me after she found out who I am. But I want her close enough to keep an eye on her.
She strolls down the hall like she owns the place, aiming for the stairs. “This house is half mine now. I’ll take whichever bedroom I want.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. She’ll find out soon enough why the bedroom next to mine is the best choice.
I follow her all the way to the farthest reaches of the upper level. The house circles around the courtyard. If I step in and look out the window, I can look across the courtyard to my bedroom, which is over the office we were just in. A deck runs the length of the second level with stairs that descend to the courtyard.
This bedroom has three walls of windows and a set of French doors that open to the deck like my room. The side windows face the beach and the wooded area surrounding the gated community I live in. Not only is the community gated, but the driveway to my house is as well.
She tugs the door open and freezes. Her gaze slides to mine, anger sparking the yellow in her turquoise eyes. A half-moon table faces the only full wall. It holds three monitors, with two more on the walls that function as TV or computer screens, and if she taps on the surface of my desk, my ergonomic keyboard would pop up. If she bumps another control, my touch screen would slide into place.
I like variety.
“I converted it to an office when I moved in.” I had it done before any other room in the house. It’s actually two bedrooms and a study made into one, with a private bathroom that includes a whirlpool tub.
That leaves only one other bedroom besides the one next to mine.
A look of utter distaste stains her face when she studies my equipment. My digital talents are no longer appreciated.
She breezes past me, inspecting the room, her emotions playing across her face. Determination fades to frustration when she realizes this is one giant room that takes up most of the wing. She leaves my office and goes straight for one of the two other doors in the hall.
Whipping one open, she growls and I hold back a smile. It’s another bathroom. Rich people hate sharing bathrooms, so this mansion has as many as bedrooms.
She hesitantly opens the third door in this wing and peers inside the remaining room. Her shoulders slump briefly before she flicks on a light. “Is this where electronics come to die?”
I look in from behind her. Rows of shelves flank the room, each with a pile of something related to computers or gaming. “Everything in here works, from the 8-track player to the VCR. I’m able to run and convert any format of media.”
“You need another hobby.” She bumps past me as she abandons the room. My eyelids drift shut at the floral scent she leaves in her wake. Heat floods my body at nothing more than her shoulder brushing my chest.
She should be out of my system by now. I was
with her less than a couple of weeks. No one else I’ve been with warranted a single thought once I left their beds, no matter how good the sex was.
That’s the problem. Sex with London wasn’t just good. It was fucking phenomenal and I want more.
Good thing for the woman getting closer to my bedroom, I’m in control and not my dick.
I don’t stop her from entering—as if I could. I wait, anticipating how London seeing my room will make me feel. As she enters, I’m satisfied. Way too fucking satisfied that she’s in my bedroom.
I lean against the doorframe. She’s in the middle of the room, staring out the window at the beach. It’s a beautiful view that I don’t take for granted and witnessing London appreciate it only stokes my satisfaction.
Pivoting, she scans the rest of the room. “It’s a mausoleum like the rest of the place.”
“A what?” I heard what she said. How can she equate my spacious beach home with a place that houses tombs?
“A place for dead things. There’s no life here.” She gives my room one last look. “Makes sense. You’re sucking the life out of me.”
Oh, I disagree. Her eyes are alive with the insult and her chest heaves. London’s very much alive and I can prove it.
I stalk toward her. I don’t miss her shaky breath, or how she fortifies herself for my approach. “No life left in you? Do you need CPR, London? A little mouth to mouth.”
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t touch me.”
I don’t back away. “I won’t touch you until you ask me to.” I lean down farther, my mouth a whisper from the shell of her ear. “Until you beg me to—again.”
Her body jolts like my words are pure electricity. She collects herself and turns her head toward me. Our lips are dangerously close. “You don’t have enough contracts drawn up to get me to do that.”
She strides away from me and finds the bedroom beside mine. It’s the same size as the electronic storeroom in the other wing.
She exhales, like seeing a bed instead of shelving or a desk is a giant relief and I’m sure it is for her. “I have my own bathroom?”
I point to the door across the hall. “But you can use my master bathroom anytime you want.”
She shoots me a glare and inspects the bedroom, going to the bed and tipping the corner of the mattress back.
Curiosity gets to me. “Looking for loose change?”
“Bedbugs. I always check new and strange places.”
“Did you do it at the resort? In your suite.”
“Yes.”
Seriously?
She gives the room one last inspection and digs her phone out.
Shamelessly, I hang around to find out who she’s calling. Diana? She wouldn’t be home yet.
“Yes, I need a car at…”
My blood pounds between my ears as she rattles off my address. “What the hell do you need a car for?”
She rolls her eyes and ignores me. “I’ll also need a roundtrip, and I’ll have bags coming back.”
It dawns on me that she doesn’t have more than her phone with her. She needs her belongings. “They aren’t going to get through the gate.”
She continues her conversation, giving me her back. “Yes. How long?”
“They’re not getting close to my house. I will drive you—unless you want to hump your bags half a mile in those heels, belle.”
Her shoulders stiffen. “You know what, I’m really sorry to have wasted your time. It looks like I already have a ride. A less desirable ride with a driver that won’t be nearly as competent, I’m sure.”
My lips twitch. What would I have thought of her if today was the first time I’d met her?
She tucks her phone back into a hidden pocket in her outfit. “Where’s your car?”
Without waiting for my answer, she sweeps down the stairs and waits at the bottom directly under the large chandelier that was once the crown glory of this place. Now it’s dated and I never use it for lighting. She folds her arms and taps her toe.
I don’t bother to let her know where I’m going. Her heels click a fast pace as she catches up.
My spacious garage has only one car. Despite what my house and electronics room may look like, I don’t boost my identity with possessions. One car is enough. I open the garage door from my phone and wait by my Audi.
“I expected something flashier.”
I hide my grin. “Anything other than a black car attracts attention.”
“Right. You’re a snake who hides in the shadows and lets grudges fester.”
“The source of that grudge led to my parents’ death, London. What do you call that?” Dammit, I didn’t plan to tell her that much. I’m the bad guy as it is. Her stepmother can finally take some responsibility and telling the story isn’t asking for a lot.
“How can starting a skincare line company do that?” she asks as I get into the driver’s seat.
“Ask Diana.”
She slides into the passenger side and I’m tempted to drive all over California to keep us closed into this small space. Having her next to me is soothing in a way I can’t describe.
“If she didn’t tell me about snorting coke, I doubt she’ll tell me about the rest.” She sinks her forehead into her hand. “If she even remembers.”
She has a point. The drugs might interfere with how Diana recalls those years. But until London asks her, we won’t know.
I reach over her to grab the seat belt.
She slams herself against the seat as I buckle her in. “You could’ve asked.”
“I didn’t realize you wouldn’t buckle yourself immediately. Don’t you have a bone of self-preservation in your body?”
“I didn’t need one until you.”
Touché. “Get used to it, belle. I won’t be following you around to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why?” The real question is, why can’t I stop?
“Because you sound like Jake when you say it and you’re not Jake.”
I was the one touching her, sleeping next to her, making her come in the shower. But I was doing it as Jake. The last thing I need in this mess is to be jealous of a guy who doesn’t exist.
* * *
London
I’m taking my time and he knows it. Just like he knows that I’m packing way more belongings than I originally intended.
We face off against each other in my living room with LA as our backdrop.
“It means a lot to me.” I’m angry enough that he shouldn’t sense my lie. I’m moving in with him under major duress. He gets no say in what I bring with me.
“You don’t need a makeup vanity.” He’s using that think about it, London, tone and I want to dropkick him out of my penthouse picture windows. “There’s plenty of counter space and lighting at the house.”
“It’s an antique.”
The fight distracts me from how good he looks among my things. How no man ever entered my home like he dominates it. That suit that fits him ridiculously well doesn’t help. But from my tour around his living space, I suspect that he rarely wears suits.
And I should not be pleased that he dressed up for our wedding.
He pins the vanity in question with a disbelieving look. “It’s likelier that it was manufactured five years ago to look like an antique.”
“It’s mine.”
He relaxes, a devious grin playing on his lips. I’ve tasted those lips. A lot. I need to quit watching his lips. “Are you planning on moving in permanently?”
Well played, jackass. I lift my chin. “I want my stuff in order to feel comfortable while I’m forced to stay in a strange place.”
The lift of his brow also says well played. “Fine. I can arrange for movers to come and grab whatever you want.”
“Unless I’m a prisoner, I can arrange for it.”
The ripple that passes through him is nearly invisible, but I’m way too attuned to him. “Fine.”
He obviously
isn’t used to dealing with people. I bet when he doesn’t get his way, it’s like his world’s poles reverse and he’s flipped end over end. But he’ll never show it, I know that from our time together, and I can feel it more than see it. Being out of his house, arguing with me, it’s outside of his comfort zone. The zone where he reigns over every detail.
I believe he told me the truth in Cabo, for the most part. His sins were in his omission of critical details, but I believed the stories of his childhood. He’s alluded to Diana and my dad being the reason for it. After I arrange my things, Diana and I will have a long talk. I’ll open it with, “So, you snorted coke with my dad and he paid you for sex?”
It’s not the “hookers and blow” history that I’m hung up on. Shocking yes, but not as scandalous as Jacobi probably thought. My parents had been clean as long as I knew them. They’d left that life behind—and apparently the friends they hurt—and created a beautiful life that helped a lot of people.
The secrets cut though. The thought that they built my fairytale life off the backs of another couple who had a little boy is painful. A little boy with guarded dark eyes and a slight pout to his lower lip. No one is born that vindictive. Jacobi grew up that way.
So, yeah, I’m in this until I know what’s going on—and what went on.
I have two suitcases that hold more than I need since I won’t be going into the office. It hurts to even think that.
I can’t leave yet. I can’t go to Jacobi’s hauntingly gorgeous place with only two suitcases that won’t fill a corner of the spacious room I’ll be staying in.
He had at least two whirlpools in the house and a hot tub out in the courtyard.
I need more shit to bring with me. What else can I pack? The kitchen has food that’s going to spoil. I grab some tote bags from a cupboard underneath a counter and start on the fridge.
Redeemed: Ruined and Redeemed Duet - Book 2 Page 2
