by Amelia Wilde
Everything is complete chaos from the very moment I end the press conference, but there’s nothing comparable to when Quinn comes sprinting down the sidewalk in the summer heat and our bodies connect with such force that despite my strength, we almost end up sprawled out on the sidewalk on national television.
Not that it would matter much. Now that I’ve revealed a secret that’s sure to shock the nation, falling down probably wouldn’t get much press coverage.
Although, with the Internet, you never know.
Her kiss is powerful, furious, full of forgiveness.
It takes me by surprise, and at the same time, it’s exactly what I would expect out of a love like ours.
I want to tell her that her presence is a balm on my aching heart, that I would have done all this for her and more, that I know there’s a long road ahead of us, that I know this is just the start.
Instead, I choke out the only words I can muster: “I did it for you.”
And Quinn says the only words I want to hear. “I know. I love you. I love you.”
It’s only when I’m finally able to loosen my grip on her, to pull myself away, that we both become aware, once again, of the cameras, of the bloggers with their phones out, filming every moment of our reunion, and of the kiss, and inevitable live broadcasting of it to their audiences.
All across the country, I’m absolutely positive that we’re making headlines.
I don’t care.
All I care about is that she came back to me, and we have another chance.
I wipe the grin off my face and give the press a serious expression, then nod my head, steer Quinn by the elbow, and guide her inside the lobby, Frank on our heels.
Once we’re in the cool of the lobby, he bursts out laughing. “Boy, what a display!” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll give you two a moment. That was incredible. My God.”
He walks away, hands in his pockets, probably wondering how he lucked into a client like me.
Quinn is still catching her breath, but she instantly reaches for my hand and squeezes it. Her eyes are a mixture of confusion and relief and love and every other possible emotion under the sun.
She opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again. Her green eyes narrow.
“I don’t know what to call you, now that—” She gives a little shrug.
I do. I know.
“My name is Elijah Pierce,” I say, releasing her hand, stepping back, and extending my right hand as if we’re just meeting. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.”
Quinn takes my hand with a smile and shakes with the same firm confidence as the first time we shook hands, six weeks and a million years ago in her office. “Quinn Campbell,” she answers. “Your girlfriend. If you’ll have me.”
I pull her into my arms and hug her again, kissing the smooth skin of her cheek, slightly dewy from sprinting up to the building. “I think the better question is, will you have me? I know I’m not the man you thought you knew.”
“Aren’t you?” she says, pulling back and searching my eyes, her gaze intense. “I’m not sure that’s true, Chr—Elijah,” she says, correcting herself at the last moment. “Maybe you played a part sometimes, like when I saw you at the Swan, but I’ve seen the real you, too. Very real, if you know what I mean.” Quinn’s eyes are sparkling, and I get flashes of all the time we’ve spent in bed together. My cock hardens, pressing against my zipper. “You know,” she continues, her voice thoughtful. “There could be a part of you—the real you—who likes to be the center of attention. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.”
Quinn’s words hit me like a sucker punch delivered by a choir of angels.
It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.
It’s fucking true.
I can enjoy the company of my friends and close down the Swan and be the kind of guy who wants to settle down with a woman, keeping her close to me for the rest of my life.
Whether my friends will still want to see me is a question that remains to be answered.
I scoop her up into my arms and kiss her on the cheek again, then take her by the shoulders and look deeply into those glinting green eyes. “You’re a wonder, Quinn. A damn wonder.”
She grins up at me. After a moment, though, her face turns serious.
“Eli—can I call you Eli?”
“You can call me whatever you want.”
“Have you talked to your father yet?”
The ride up to my father’s floor seems endless, but Quinn holds my hand tightly in hers all the way up, standing by my side in comfortable silence.
My heart pounds.
My father will have heard the news by now, if he didn’t see it being broadcast live. He and his staff don’t miss much.
So I’m not surprised when his secretary stares up at me from her seat, then inclines her head toward the door.
I take both Quinn’s hands in mine outside the entrance to his office and kiss her gently.
“I’ll wait out here,” she says softly, then gives me an encouraging smile.
As I go into my father’s office, I hear his secretary already remembering her manners. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
Quinn’s reply is cut off as I close the door behind me.
It takes an enormous effort to look up from my shoes and into my father’s eyes.
When I do, I get the shock of a lifetime.
He doesn’t look angry.
In fact, he’s smiling at me, with tears in his eyes.
“Dad?” I say, my voice choked.
He gets up from behind his desk, crosses the space between us, and enfolds me in his arms.
“Eli,” he says softly, and I hug him back. “You’ve returned.”
“What?” I say, pulling back so I can look into his eyes. “You knew it was me all along?”
He laughs, stepping back to put a little breathing room between us. “I was there the moment you were born, Elijah. Did you think I would forget which one of my sons was which?”
I am overwhelmed with confusion. “But why did you—”
“Let this little game of yours go on so long?” He shakes his head. “I never expected it to last a decade, for one. There were many times I thought I might—I thought I might say something, give myself away, but every time, I held back.”
“Why?”
He puts a hand to his mouth and thinks for a moment before he answers. “Losing a child was the worst thing that ever happened to me,” he says, his voice low and soft. “I can’t imagine what it was like to lose an identical twin. Your grief must have been—it must have been overpowering.
“At first I thought it was something you’d snap out of, but as the months went by and became years, it just seemed like something you needed to do.”
My mouth drops open. The lengths my father has gone to to indulge me in this are beyond what anyone could expect from any father.
“But…you had him buried under my name.”
“I did,” he says, and I realize this might very well be the first time he’s ever admitted it out loud to anyone. “I did do that. Seems pretty fucked up, doesn’t it?” My father grins despite the tears in his eyes. “I guess I’m…what, an accomplice?”
“You didn’t have to do that.” The lump in my throat threatens to turn to tears.
“I did. Because one of my sons was still alive, and for whatever reason, he needed to be his brother.”
I turn away, covering my eyes with my hands. “You always…you always liked him better.”
“What can I say? I was an asshole when you were growing up. But I didn’t like him better. I just wanted you to enjoy the things we enjoyed. It was a bad way to go about it.”
“Yeah, it was,” I agree heartily, and we both laugh. “Jesus Christ. I am in such deep shit.”
“No doubt about that, son,” my dad says, and despite everything, I feel relieved.
“I can’t believe you let me get away with that for a decade.”
My father
is silent for a moment, and then he looks me straight in the eye. “As ridiculous as it sounds…it was a way for me to have both of my sons. At least for a while.”
I look toward the ceiling and consider the pair of us, each devastated by the loss of my brother, each reacting in what might have been the most idiotic way possible. “Damn, do we need therapy.”
We laugh at that for a long time.
My gut is aching with laughter, but when it finally subsides, I have one more thing to say to my father.
“Dad, remember when we had that conversation about finding a good woman?”
“Yes?” His brow wrinkles.
“Well, she didn’t exactly keep me out of the gossip sites. I fucked that one up.”
“I’d say. That press conference is going to be pretty hard to spin.”
I wave that comment away. We can talk about all that later, but even so, I’m not worried about Pierce Industries. If anything, the extra coverage will boost its stock price.
“The important thing is…” My voice trails off. I’m relishing this moment so much that I’m already nostalgic for it.
“Spit it out, Eli.”
I’ve never smiled so brightly as in that moment.
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Epilogue
Quinn, three months later
The podium is already in place outside of the Pierce Industries building, and Eli—it’s still hard for me to think of him as Eli and not Christian, even now—can hardly stand still. He’s about to announce that he’s been cleared of any wrongdoing by the federal government, which—wouldn’t you know it—takes identity theft pretty seriously, and that all the charges against him have been dropped.
“It feels good to be a free man,” he says, watching the press gather outside.
I roll my eyes. “You’ve always been a free man. It’s not like they made you wait in prison.”
“They could have made me wait in prison.”
“There’s no amount of bail that Pierce Industries wouldn’t have paid, and we both know it.”
Eli shrugs, still grinning at me.
An elevator dings its arrival across the lobby, and I turn to see his father, Harlan Pierce, step out.
That whole story—what a doozy.
The moment they stepped out of his office together three months ago, it was clear that any past misunderstandings had been cleared up—or at least forgiven for the time being.
“Quinn Campbell!” said Harlan Pierce jovially, and I shook his hand with an air of joyful confusion.
“You don’t seem very surprised by this news, sir,” I couldn’t help saying.
He winked at me. “It’s hard to surprise a man who’s known you your entire life.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
From then on, Christian and his father were genuinely close. Once a month, they’ve been attending therapy sessions together. I can’t imagine having to do that with my own father, who has thoroughly enjoyed his life in a small town in Northern Michigan. The last time we argued was when I was in high school and going through a rebellious phase.
“Hello, lovebirds,” he calls now, striding across the lobby. He can’t wait to stand next to his son while he makes this announcement. It’s not likely to be the last of the press coverage about the strange story of Elijah and Christian Pierce, but at least it’s a relatively happy ending.
“Mr. Pierce,” I say, greeting him with a smile.
“Is this one all ready to go?” he asks me, putting an arm around Eli’s shoulders.
Eli shrugs him off good-naturedly. “I’m standing right here,” he jokes.
“He’s as ready as he’ll ever be,” I say, then take Eli’s arm and turn him toward me. I give him a once-over, making sure his outfit is in pristine condition, then straighten his tie.
I glance out the door. The press looks to be fully assembled, and it’s supposed to rain later this afternoon—they won’t stay long if we don’t give them something to pay attention to. “Let’s go entertain our guests.”
“As you wish,” Eli says, raising my hand to his lips and kissing it theatrically.
“My goodness,” I say, teasing. “Keep yourself under control. We are at work.”
Not long after that insanely hot kiss on camera brought down the wrath of HRM’s management upon my head, I got to build a press release announcing my new position at Pierce Industries as Vice President of Reputation Management. I forced Harlan to put me through the full interview process, even though he created the position for me.
I don’t feel guilty about any of it. I’m damn good at my job. I can’t help that I’m in love with the boss’s son, and that Pierce Industries can use a top-of-the-line public relations professional on their staff.
I lead the way out onto the sidewalk. The fall air is pleasant—not too hot, not too cold—and the cloud cover is easy on the eyes.
I step up to the podium with confidence and wait for the chatter among the reporters to stop.
“Thanks for being here, everybody,” I say, scanning the crowd. “Harlan and Elijah Pierce of Pierce Industries.”
Then I step back, ceding the podium.
The two men step up in front of it together, Harlan slightly to one side, and Eli takes a folded piece of paper from his pocket and smooths it against the polished mahogany surface of the podium. “Hello, everyone,” he says with a half smile that has me wet in an instant.
A shiver of pleasure goes through me when I think of what we’re going to do in bed later…
Snap out of it, Quinn. You’re on camera!
Eli is halfway through his statement. “—pleased to announce that I have been cleared of all wrongdoing. I thank you all for your support during this difficult time, and I look forward to sharing the future success of Pierce Industries with you.”
Unsurprisingly, there are no questions. Almost to a one, everyone gathered in front of the podium waits to see if Eli is going to announce anything groundbreaking. This is not nearly as exciting as his last press conference.
Harlan and Eli exchange a look, and then Harlan steps off to the side.
I’m instantly on edge. This isn’t the plan. Harlan was supposed to make a short statement in support of his son, and then take a few questions. What is he doing?
Eli pulls another piece of paper from his breast pocket, unfolds it, scans it for a moment, and tucks it into the podium. Then he turns and gestures for me to come forward.
I arrive at the podium just as he steps to the opposed side, in plain view of the reporters.
“Eli—what—”
“Quinn Campbell,” he says, his voice clear as a bell. The three anchors who have assembled each thrust their microphones another inch closer to us, desperate to pick up every word. “There’s so much I want to say to you that I can’t possibly fit it all in during this press conference.”
What is he doing?
“I loved you almost from the moment I saw you,” he continues, and it dawns on me.
This is a proposal.
Oh, my god.
My heart soars.
“I never want to spend another day without you by my side.” Eli gets down on one knee and pulls a small velvet box from his pocket and opening it to reveal a diamond set in a ring of sapphires. It’s the most beautiful piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen, and perfectly unconventional. “Will you give me the chance to spend the rest of my life telling you, every day, how much I love you?”
A happy tear spills out of the corner of my eye, and with a trembling hand I wipe it away.
“There’s nothing else I’d rather do,” I choke out.
“Is that a yes?” says Eli, a cheeky smile on his face.
“Yes!” I cry, and then throw myself into his arms. Laughing, he stands up, lifting us both, and kisses me long and hard, right on the mouth, for all the world to see.
Dirty Ransom
A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance
Chapter One
&
nbsp; Angelica
Rush hour. That’s when Adam calls me to come bail him out of God knows what. The middle of rush hour. On Thursday.
Taking a cab might not have been the smartest decision I’ve ever made, but when I heard the sheer panic coming through loud and clear in my younger brother’s voice over the phone, I didn’t take time to weigh all my options. I just went.
Jesus, I just left.
My boss isn’t going to be thrilled. The name Hadley Martin may make you think she’s the kind of happy-go-lucky woman she pretends to be on camera and that’s depicted in the light-drenched photo where she’s dressed in creamy pastels that’s posted on her website—the website she owns and that I work for—but don’t be fooled. I’ve never met a more ruthless and demanding person. It’s not that she doesn’t have a heart—it’s just that the one she does have makes Antarctica seem like a tropical rain forest. Hadley eats, sleeps and breathes profit, profit, profit. The concept of having a “personal life” doesn’t exist in her world.
I was lucky, in one way, though. She was out of the office attending some late meeting when I got the frantic call from my brother. Still, I have no delusions. She’ll inevitably discover that I ducked out before five and....
I can’t think about that right now. Adam is in trouble.
What kind of trouble, I have no fucking clue. He didn’t—wouldn’t—say. My chest tightens as do the muscles of my jaw. It’s not the first time he’s called me like this since we both moved to the city. I’m going to be royally pissed off if this is because he can’t pay his rent again. Or for his groceries. Or because he’s blown his paycheck by going out with his friends, again.
At twenty-four, he should be able to clean up his own messes.
My mouth goes dry when I remember the way he stumbled over his words.
From the front of the cab, the driver sighs. “Fucking traffic,” he mutters under his breath, then slams his hand down against the horn, just for good measure. I crane my neck and see nothing but cars all around us, backed up bumper to bumper, all of us trying to get to Brooklyn.
