Spare me the pragmatism of lawyers. “Our stock is going to fucking plummet,” said Nicholas. “They're going to eviscerate me and the company on social media.”
He'd seen it happen before, from the other side of the aisle. This was exactly what had happened to his father. Only, for him, it would be worse—his father's trial had happened before there was a hashtag for everything that people could skim instead of reading the news. Courting international clients would become exponentially difficult if he was in the middle of a messy lawsuit. People would take one look at his name and immediately jump to conclusions.
“I recommend going dark,” Renata was saying. “And of course, not talking about the pending case here or on your phone.”
“That goes without saying,” Nicholas said coldly. “Is there something else?”
Renata leaned back in her seat. A classic power move Nicholas was well familiar with and didn't appreciate seeing at his own expense.
“I understand your stepsister works here. I have a note here from Meghana—Justine Varens, correct? I'm not sure how close you are, but I'd avoid discussing the case with her, either. There is a slim possibility that she could be called to testify against you.”
There was a ringing in his ears. It took him a moment to realize it wasn't real.
“I'm representing the company's interests,” said Renata, over the latent sound of his shock, “but you might want to consider hiding your own lawyer if you think you need to.”
“Yeah,” Nicholas said distantly. “I'll do that.”
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
The drive home was awkward. Jay was not sure what to say to Nicholas, who seemed tense. He had switched on his stereo to play music off his iPhone with questionable lyrics that Jay could only think of as “fuck boy rock.” She didn't like it, but his eyebrows were drawn and his jaw was tight. It didn't really seem prudent to pick a fight with him over the music when he was in this mood.
Jay sat in silence, picking at the stitching in her sleeves as he drove in silence. Was he mad at her? Sorry I'm not your assistant anymore would have sounded petty and sarcastic in her own current mood and Jay wasn't even about to touch his mystifying admission about being jealous of her very platonic conversation with Obi. She refused to cave to his pathological jealousy.
What right did he have to be jealous when it came down to it? It wasn't as if they were dating and he had never explicitly told her that she wasn't allowed to see anyone else.
But she knew she was kidding herself if she thought he wouldn't lose his shit over some unwanted competition for his little bird when he was paying insane amounts of money just to kiss her on the mouth. She knew he thought of her as his and she knew what he was like.
If I find out you've been seeing other men, you're going to be very, very sorry.
When they pulled up in the driveway, Nicholas turned off the stereo. “I need to make a phone call,” he said, twisting a key off his key ring and dropping it into her hand. “Go ahead and let yourself into the house. I'll be in eventually.”
Who are you calling? She wanted to ask. Why do you look so tired?
But they weren't close enough for such questions and just now, Jay wasn't sure she even wanted to know the answers to them, so she just folded her fingers over the house key and said, “Okay,” and left him sitting in the Tesla in the dark.
Eventually turned out to be a long enough time for her to make herself a quick meal and eat it before going to bed. She heard him come in while he was brushing her teeth—she had left the key on his nightstand where she knew he kept his wallet and his phone while he slept.
Jay spat, and heard the door of his room close. Was he waiting for her to go to him?
Maybe he'd gotten bored, Jay thought, changing into pajamas—normal ones, not the skimpy, lacy ones he'd gotten for her. Could he really be bored with her already? After the way he had kissed her in the kitchen, she wasn't sure how he could be. The idea that he could kiss anyone like that and not feel a thing made Jay feel slightly sick.
She stabbed her toothbrush into its little cup, nearly cracking the glass, and wondered if she was really daring enough to go into his room of her own volition.
What if she did and he laughed at her? Or hurt her? Or both?
And if he was willing to pay $40,000 to kiss her willingly, what would he shell out to fuck her if she could convince him that she wanted it?
It annoyed her to be thinking in this cold and mercenary way, and that was something else to blame him for, but she couldn't seem to make herself stop. Under these new, bizarre terms of his, she could be free. She could leave in days instead of years. She could go back to San Francisco.
Where she belonged.
Jay pressed her door closed, listening to the buzzing silence outside the door, before making her way to her bed. When she woke up, she was tired and irritable without really being sure why. She tugged on her pants and boots and added a tunic top that wouldn't clash with her purse, checking her phone as she clomped down the stairs because a calendar invite had popped up.
Lunch with Justine.
“Oh,” she said surprised. For a moment, she thought—
“What?”
Nicholas appeared beside her with messy, unbrushed hair that tumbled in a fall into his eyes. His shirt was only half-buttoned, the tie hanging around his collar like a limp snake, and he had his coat slung over his arm. She stared at him and his lip curled sardonically. “I overslept.”
“I can see that.” She put the oat milk back in the fridge. “It's almost seven. Rough night?”
“Something like that.” He leaned against the door jamb, drawing in a breath that made her eyes drift to the open throat of his shirt. “Make me some of the swill coffee, will you?”
Jay put her mug down, bristling a little as she grabbed the bag. “Why do you even own swill coffee if you think it's swill?” she demanded crabbily, pouring the grounds into the filter.
“For when I'm desperate.” He watched the dark liquid drip into the cup as he did up his shirt buttons, his eyes gleaming with a haggard rapacity. “Why did you say 'oh'?”
“Oh. Uh. Arthur Hartwell invited me to lunch.”
“Yeah, he does that.” Nicholas dumped his things on the bar counter as he struggled with his tie. “He thinks slumming it buys loyalty. It probably does. People like his open door, open office policy. They think he's a saint for not strictly adhering to the chain of command.”
Jay watched him continue to bungle the knot. “Why don't you?”
“It wouldn't work.” Nicholas glanced briefly over at her, before turning his head back down with a grimace. “He can get away with it. He's older—a kindly old grandfather.”
“He looks like he's in his early forties,” Jay pointed out. “Hardly a grandfather.”
“He's also married,” Nicholas said deliberately, swearing under his breath at his tie.
“I don't care if he's married or not.” Jay pushed his hands out of the way and fastened his tie. “Idiot,” she said, catching sight of his expression. “I'm not going to strangle you.”
“What kind of knot is that?”
“I don't know,” she said crossly. “It's a knot. I used to do it for my—”
“Who, Jay?” His eyes gleamed dangerously. “Your ex?”
“Yes. He was a waiter. He couldn't tie his own ties. I helped him.”
Nicholas laughed, but it wasn't a very nice laugh. “You tied my tie like some waiter?” he asked, sounding just like he had when he was a bratty fourteen-year-old.
“If you don't like it, I'll undo it,” she snapped, grabbing at his shirt collar. “I was just trying to—” She broke off when his hands came around her waist, pulling her into an incredibly intimate embrace that had her pressing flush against him. “What are you doing?”
“Leave it,” he said roughly, his eyes drifting to her mouth.
And then, inexplicably—he recoiled.
Just as suddenly as she'd been embraced, Jay foun
d herself released. The coffee was done and Nicholas stalked over and drained it with such violent thirst that she winced, half-expecting him to spill it all down the front of his white shirt. “Swill,” he said, slamming the empty cup down. “Are you ready to go? I don't want to be late for my shift at the Olive Garden.”
“God, you're such a dick.” She snatched her purse, wondering at his weird mood. Her breasts were still prickling where they had brushed up against his chest and the tips of her fingers felt like they'd been shocked. What was that reaction? “Is this because of that phone call?”
He ignored her question. “Are you going out to lunch with Arthur?”
“Yes,” she said. “And then obviously, I'm going to try to fuck him.”
Nicholas glanced at her: it was a cold, unamused glance. “Take pictures,” he said, to her fury, and then switched on the stereo. Tantric—one of his old post-grunge bands that he'd liked as a preteen. She'd heard this and others blasting through his door whenever he was in a mood.
“You are such a child. I hope you're taking Annica somewhere that has a decent kids' menu.”
“I'm not taking Annica anywhere,” he said ominously. “But if you don't cut it out, I'm pulling this car over and everyone in the parking lot at Sizzler's is going to know my name.”
That ended the conversation pretty abruptly and Jay felt a little stung when he dumped her at the Starbucks. She straightened her pants and walked to the office, her shoulders stiffening when she heard some creep call out from his Ferrari, “Hey, long legs—how tall are you?”
About as tall as your dick is short, I bet.
Her mood had thoroughly soured when she made it to the office. She could see Nicholas sitting at his desk, intently focused on whatever was on his screen. Annica didn't look at her at all, but this time it felt deliberate. Jay wondered if she was mad about the switch.
Jay logged into ShiftWare and looked at all of Arthur's pending appointments, which had replaced Nicholas's in the system, trying to get a feel of what his schedule was like before she began setting up the appointments. He certainly didn't seem to be as busy but if what Nicholas had told her was true, his schedule might just be way less structured.
Which could be problematic for scheduling. She looked over at Annica, buried in her work, and wished the other woman was more of a conversationalist. She had so many questions.
A meeting popped up with her own name. Meeting with Justine Varens.
Jay walked up the stairs to one of the conference rooms, which took her past Nicholas's desk. He gave her a brief flicker of a look that made her feel strange.
What is his problem? she wondered again, closing the conference room door behind her.
Arthur Hartwell was in his early forties with brown hair that was just beginning to go gray at the temples. He was the nice-looking man she sometimes saw Nicholas walking in with.
She couldn't believe Nicholas thought he was old.
“Hello, Justine.”
“It's Jay,” she said. “Nobody calls me Justine.” Except my mother.
“Jay it is,” he said equably, sitting down in one of the chairs. “I understand that you were reporting to Nicholas before. He runs a pretty tight ship. Mine is more of a leisurely cruise.” He laughed self-deprecatingly, but it seemed charming rather than affected. “As long as you keep all of my appointments and validate my spreadsheets every day before 2pm, I really don't need much.”
No wonder Annica hates me, Jay thought ruefully. I stole her cushy job.
“I'm happy to take on additional work, Mr. Hartwell. Really.”
“Arthur, please.” He leaned forward. “Where would you like to go to lunch, Jay?”
“I'm vegan,” she said, a little shyly. “But not super strict. Anything vegetarian is fine.”
“Vegan, hmm? That's interesting. You'll be happy to know we just recently started carrying oat milk in our kitchens. Before that, we only had soy.”
“Yes, I know,” said Jay. “I put it in my coffee.”
“It was Nicholas's idea, surprisingly. I didn't think he touched the stuff.”
Oh. Her nape prickled. “You said recently?”
“Just before you came,” Arthur confirmed with a grin. “Lucky you.”
Yes, thought Jay, wondering why she felt so terribly sad. Lucky me.
For lunch he drove her all the way to Ridgeview. They went to a place called Just Avocados, a vegetarian specialty restaurant that used avocados in all their food. Jay was inspecting some of the cupcakes, smiling a little at one dusted in rainbow sprinkles, when she heard a man say, “Jay?”
She turned in surprise to see an Asian man her own age wearing a suit and tie. “Quentin?”
“What a trip. Justine Varens, in the flesh. I thought you skipped town,” he said, pulling her into an embrace that felt stiff. “I'm so sorry about what happened with your stepfather. That was messed up.”
“Yeah.” Jay folded her arms and stepped back. “Messed up doesn't even begin to cover it. Are you here on business?” she asked, looking at the paper in his hand.
“I am.” He seemed almost pathetically grateful for the change in subject. “I run the Bayview now. We're hosting a conference and I'm supposed to meet with the caterer. She's late.”
“That's a shame,” Jay said awkwardly. “Well. Anyway. I should go—”
“How long are you going to be in town?”
“Um.” She frowned. Did he want to meet up or something? “I'm undecided.”
“Amanda Strife said she saw you and Nicholas together at the grocery store.”
She turned back around to look at him. “And?”
“It made me wonder—about what you told me that afternoon in Accia. That you thought he had feelings for you.” His dark eyes regarded her intently. “Are you staying with him now?”
“That is none of your business, Quentin,” Jay said, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Arthur wasn't close enough to overhear. He wasn't. What is Amanda telling people?
“I'm sorry, Jay,” said Quentin. “I didn't mean to offend.”
“You essentially just asked me if I was screwing my stepbrother,” Jay hissed. “You don't see how that's offensive? Since when do you talk to Amanda, anyway? I didn't think you were friends.”
“Since she got into PR.” He held up his hands in a please don't shoot pose. “She oversees some of our ad programs and handles our reputation management company.”
“Well,” Jay said unsteadily. “How very nice for you both.”
Quentin paused. “Nicholas is one of our investors.”
“Oh, are you afraid I'll narc on you to my secret lover?” she asked bitterly. “Don't worry. I won't.”
To her disgust, he actually looked relieved, although he tried to hide it. “I didn't mean to offend you, or imply . . . anything,” he said nervously. “Nicholas was loyal to you after you left. It made people curious because everyone thought he'd hate you—but he just doubled down.”
“Really?” She glanced over at Arthur again. “How so?”
“During his father's trial, when he provided testimony for that woman, he also mentioned some of the things that, uh, his father had tried to do to you. He spent a night in jail for punching Jake Van Hoff in the throat after he called you a slut. Put him in the hospital with a bruised trachea. After he took over his father's firm, anyone who spoke out about either you or your reputation got dropped, so nobody did, because they were all terrified of Nicholas.”
He laughed a little.
“They still are.”
“I had no idea.” Jay stared at that stupid cake. “No one told me. I didn't have any ties here. To be honest,” she went on flatly, “I didn't really want any.”
Quentin looked at her. “I didn't want to stop being friends. You just stopped talking to me. You stopped talking to everyone.”
“That's not true. I came to you when I needed help. You forfeited our friendship when you chose to bow to my stepfather.” It felt like her heart was be
ing squeezed out of her chest like toothpaste. “You didn't help me. Nobody did.”
You left me all alone.
“I'm sorry, Jay,” said Quentin. “Really, I am. You didn't deserve what happened to you.”
“Deserve,” Jay repeated. “You realize that saying that implies that some people do.”
“Look,” said Quentin, sounding impatient now. “I said I was sorry, and I truly am. But that was all eight years ago—and it isn't like you told anyone what was going on. You didn't let anyone in. Maybe if you had, things would have been different. You really can't understand the pressure of what it was like dealing with Nicholas's father. He owned this town. He could have ruined us on a dime. I had no choice.”
“I understand plenty,” Jay said coldly. “Believe me.” It looked like Arthur had finished ordering and Jay's weight shifted in that direction. “But I'm also here on business and I need to get back to my boss.”
Jay saw his eyes flare in recognition at the sight of Arthur Hartwell. “You work for—”
“Goodbye, Quentin,” she said, with an air of finality to the words.
With that, she made herself walk away.
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
Nicholas met with the lawyer on his lunch break while Jay was out with Arthur. He'd found a decent one with good reviews a few blocks away from the office.
Jon Wick was a man in his early thirties who worked in a small and cramped office. More storage shed than office, if Nicholas was being honest, crammed with books and binders. If he wins as much as he allegedly does, he should have a bigger office, he thought, looking around.
“Hello,” said the lawyer. “Nicholas Beaucroft, correct?”
“Yeah,” said Nicholas, shrugging off his jacket and slinging it over the back of the chair. “Is Jon Wick your real name? Or did you change it because you murder the opposition?”
“I've never heard that one before,” Mr. Wick said dryly. “And yes, it's my real name.”
Nicholas sat down. “I'd like to keep this brief, if possible. I have someone threatening to sue me and my company for quid pro quo harassment and I need someone to represent me.”
Quid Pro Quo: A dark stepbrother romance Page 42
