“Fuck the world!” He swipes a furious forearm and clears his desk of everything on it in one crashing swoop. “Without her there’s nothing! Nothing.”
And then the paragon of strength and brilliance I’d looked up to for years dissolved into a puddle right in front of me, sobbing into his own armpit.
I want to turn away. Daphne deserves better than him. She always has. For him to just give up like this, in a room that smells sour with sweat and booze, while she’s out there busting her tail, I know in part to prove herself to this man…
But I start to approach him anyway. He’s an old, sad man, and he at least deserves some compassion.
“What have you done to the poor man?” Adam’s voice grates, always when it’s least possibly needed.
But Dr. Laurel looks towards the door like his salvation’s come.
Because suddenly somehow I’ve become the bad guy in this scenario? For telling the truth? For trying to ostensibly get the company back on track to what Dr. Laurel always said he wanted for it?
But watching as Adam enters the room and takes Dr. Laurel under his broad, football arm and guides him out of the room, no doubt to his own car to drive him home and tuck him into bed—I can see the entire façade of charity driven by a cold-blooded desire to play to win.
The two of them fucking deserve each other.
But they think they can get rid of me that easy? They’re dead fucking wrong. I’m not going to lie down and play dead. I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow morning, a pin in their sides, a splinter underneath their finger…
But tonight?
I look down at my phone. No missed calls or new messages.
As much as I want to pretend all this doesn’t affect me, it’s a lie. I know myself. The pressure is building.
I need a release valve and I need it bad.
I haven’t visited the dungeon in months. Long, long months.
But if I don’t unwind some of this tension, it really will be ugly when I lash out. I stretch my neck this way and that, the first wave of calm settling over me as I begin to adopt the persona of him.
The Master.
But then all I can see is her face. Daphne.
What if I go by her place instead?
And do what? She might be 19, but she’s still just a child. She’s not ready for all I want to unleash. And with everything happening with her dad’s company, is it really fair to put her in the middle of it?
Still, before I’ve even completely thought it through, I’m dialing her number and holding the phone to my ear. Lately it feels like she’s the only person I can really talk to.
She doesn’t pick up, though, and I hang up before I can hear her silken voice on the message again.
I lean back against the wall and drop the phone to my side. Probably for the best. I look around the darkened offices and a chill goes up my spine. I can’t leave well enough alone. I need to have some sort of contact with her. She’s my touchstone right now, though it might freak her out to know that.
But if Adam and her father have anything to do with it, she and I will never have the future I dream about together. If Dr. Laurel fires me and I don’t get a chance to say goodbye to her, if Adam tries to poison them against me with his lies—
My fingers are on the phone, tapping out a text on the glowing screen in the otherwise darkened hallway. If anything ever happens, please know you’re my best friend. Give me a chance to explain. Meet me at Thornhill, beside your mom’s grave. Don’t mean to freak you out. Just in case anything ever happens.
It’s an ominous message and part of me feels regret at ever hitting send. But then again, it’s been six months since her mother died. I’ll give her all the time she needs and maybe she’s not ready for everything I’m into, but…
I can’t deny it anymore. My thoughts are full of her, night and day. Whenever she’s ready, I want to try. I can go slow. As slow as she needs.
And in spite of everything, the terrible day, finding out what a snake in the grass Adam is and Dr. Laurel turning out to be such a disappointment—I smile.
Because for the first time, I let myself dream of a future with her.
I fall asleep happy and I wake up happy.
In fact, I’m still smiling when I head into work and pull on my lab goggles the next morning.
I’m smiling until my skin starts burning.
Until I’m screaming and clawing at my face and begging for them to tear it off me. And what I mean by it is my own skin.
Twenty-Five
Present Day
Daphne
My courage lasts for exactly six strides into the lushly appointed ballroom. There’s so many people. All of New Olympus’s high society, all in one room. Maybe if I just back out quietly, no one would even notice that I’ve—
But some wanker with a mic catches sight of me before I can make up my mind about retreating and announces, “Here she is! Adam Archer’s fiancée and belle of the ball, Daphne Laurel!”
“Doctor Daphne Laurel,” Rachel growls under her breath. “Just because a woman gets engaged doesn’t mean she’s stripped of all her titles.”
I squeeze her hand, partly in gratitude, partly for support, and partly so she doesn’t head off to strangle the stupid MC. The band strikes up a jazzed up version of Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus” that devolves after several bars into some sort of disco riff.
Hordes of glittering guests turn to greet me. Like a tennis match, all heads swing in my direction. There must be over a hundred people in the ballroom. I’ve never felt so exposed. I swallow my grimace at the music choices. At my side Rachel mutters, “Oh gods, disco? Why?” and pretends to gag.
“Rachel,” I murmur through a gritted smile. “Will you be a dear and find my godsdamned fiancé?”
“Gladly, Doctor Laurel,” she murmurs back and glides away. Once she’s gone, I relax. I thought I’d want to put off meeting with Adam, but the sooner I drag him to a private meeting, the sooner I can end this farce. And then Rachel and I can take turns whipping him across the face with our opera gloves.
I fantasize about this for about three seconds before the first guest steps into my personal space. Fortunately, it’s one of my favorite people. Cora Ubeli.
“Dr. Laurel,” she hugs me like I’m a long lost friend from summer camp. When she steps back, huge diamonds at her ears and around her neck blind me. Her beauty is more striking than any bling she could wear, though.
She’s the epitome of beauty, strength, and power. Dangerous power at that, if all the stories about her are to be believed, even though she’s been nothing but kindness itself to me. But, for some reason I notice the wedding band on her ring finger has a dark red rock. The color of passion and blood, and anything but traditional, just like Cora and her intimidating husband themselves.
“Congratulations on everything,” Cora gushes. She’s stunning in a silvery blue sheath that complements her eyes. Her beauty is goddess-like, bright and stunning.
“Congratulations,” her husband, Marcus Ubeli, echoes. He’s the yin to Cora’s yang, dark and handsome. A touch of grey at his temples only adds to his aura of prestige and power. Most of the people hovering around us probably want to talk to him instead of me.
“And where’s your charming fiancé?” Cora asks, pretending to look behind me as if Adam is hiding there.
I wince. By not facing up to Adam sooner, I’m lying to these people. I hide my dismay but the way Cora’s blue eyes rove over my face, I’m fooling no one. “Uh, we arrived separately. I’ve been holed up for a while, working on...a project.” Because that’s what I’m calling sex games with Logan. A project.
“Of course,” Cora’s gaze softens. She’s going to let me off the hook. “You look so young, I forget you’re a brilliant researcher.” She catches my hand and squeezes it. I want to curl up in the warmth of her smile and purr like a cat. “The world needs you. But I hope you’ll take some time off for yourself.”
“Yes,” Marcus hand
s his wife a flute of champagne. “Time off is important.” He and Cora share a private look. “This building, for example. Did you know there’s a floor dedicated to an art gallery?”
“Um, no. Adam chose it. I didn’t get to explore it that much,” I say.
“You should.” His dark eyes twinkle. “There’s a staircase and a fountain that’s...quite fascinating.”
Cora chokes on her champagne. Marcus puts a hand on her back and excuses them both. There’s a lull while guests wait for the power couple to leave before rushing to greet me.
I staple a smile to my face and murmur thanks over and over. The guests fall into a few categories. There are older men with thinning hair and bespoke suits cut to hide their paunch who represent ninety-nine percent of New Olympus’ net worth. A bevy of plastic looking celebrities whose smiles don’t crease their Botoxed foreheads. Reporters in off-the-rack dress clothes who circle me slowly. I keep my comments vague about where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing. Any dropped hint would be blood in the water.
My throat is dry from fake-laughing and my face is sore from fake-smiling. Why did I ever dream about fitting in with these people? But I did. I saw this script for my life and I wanted to play the part written for me. Not that of the socialite. I was never going to be that.
But a respected CEO and researcher who hobnobs with the rich and influential? It was what my dad did and I assumed it was my path too. A respectable husband along the way was a given, just part of the picture that needed filling out so that my life was screen-ready.
But the truth is, all that takes is a robot. I could’ve stayed asleep my whole life and done exactly what they told me.
Without Logan, I might have let this all happen to me and only twenty years or more down the road had regrets about my hollow life and empty marriage.
A commotion behind me makes me turn.
It’s Adam. My fiancé is surrounded by admirers. His hair is frosted like a singer in a boy band, and his smile is toothpaste-model white.
Did I ever think he was handsome? Or even cute? He’s a plastic Ken doll compared to Logan’s rugged good looks.
“There she is,” Adam bursts out. As if he’s surprised to see me at my own engagement ball. “My beautiful Daphne.”
Inwardly I bristle. Not yours. But I take his hand and let the photographers swarm us. Behind them, I spot a fourth type of guest—flocks of stunning women, camera-ready with poreless skin and skin hugging dresses that leave them more naked than if they were actually naked. They alternate between gazing adoringly at Adam and shooting death glares at me. I barely stop myself from laughing.
Ladies, you can have him.
Adam pulls me too close—I’ve been careful of my nipple piercings so far, but the slightest brush against them is murder—and I suck in a breath and jerk back. “Careful.”
“She’s mad that I’ve been across the ballroom all night,” Adam announces. His voice is louder than the MCs, and he doesn’t even have a mic. Obnoxious much? “It’s all right, sweetheart, I wasn’t ignoring you. Give us a kiss.”
Shit. Slapping him in the face would probably be a little too Real New Olympus Housewives and I didn’t come here to make a scene. I don’t want drama, I just want to end this and part ways cleanly. So I go up on tiptoe and peck him on his spray-tanned cheek. He’s wearing too much cologne and I want to swipe at my face as soon as I pull away to get rid of the overwhelming scent.
“Oooh, playing hard to get,” Adam makes the crowd chuckle. If I barf on him, I could claim food poisoning, right?
Adam has an arm around me, turning me this way and that. Smile for the camera, Daphne. Show us your trophy.
Only this time, I am the trophy.
“I need to talk to you. In private,” I hiss to Adam, keeping a grin plastered to my face as the cameras blaze.
“Of course, darling.” Adam coos, and adds for the crowd’s benefit. “She wants to speak to me...alone.” His voice drips with innuendo. Guests guffaw.
Fuck this. Fuck everyone. I grab Adams sleeve and march ahead of him, through the foyer into a private room. The scent of store-bought roses is cloying.
“Daphne,” Adam murmurs, shutting the door and swaying towards me.
I hold up a hand. “Adam, don’t.”
He chuckles. “It’s all right. It’s only me.” He goes to the sideboard and pours champagne.
I tug off my glove and wriggle my bare fingers. Deep breath. I can do this.
“Let’s toast,” Adam says. “To us.”
“In a minute. I have to speak to you.”
Adam moves closer. When he looks down at my hand, his face goes blank. “Daphne, where’s the ring?”
“I have it.” I start to fumble in my purse like a child called on the carpet. Then I stop. What the hell am I doing, letting him put me on the defensive like this? “Adam, there’s something I have to say first. Then, I’ll give you back the ring.”
His nostrils flare but I forge on. “I’m flattered that you proposed. I’m grateful that you tried to help me save face in front of the press. But I don’t want this.”
A rush of relief and empowerment sweeps through me as I finally say it.
My fingers find the ring and I hand it back to him. “You’ve been an ally of my father’s company and a wonderful support to me and him. A friend. But I don’t want to marry you.”
There. I did it. I square my shoulders.
“Daphne,” Adam murmurs, his voice dripping honey. His hand closes around mine, keeping the ring clenched in my fist. “You can’t be serious.”
My mouth drops open. I just stood tall and told him my truth and he’s—
“I am serious,” I protest. “Very serious. And look, I wanted to do this in private, to help you save face, but if you push it, I’ll march out there and tell everyone.”
And I will. He’s not taking this away from me. No one is.
But while Adam can be obnoxious, he’s not a bad guy. So I soften my voice, but only the slightest bit. He needs to know exactly how serious I am. “It might be better to wait a few months and work with a PR company to announce it quietly, but if you try to steamroll me, I’ll just do it now with a mic.” I tug my hand away and hold up the huge diamond. Then I say it again, and say it firmly. “I don’t want to get married.”
“All right,” he says carefully, and steps back. He gets it. I can see he doesn’t like it, but he gets it. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.” There’s a moment I almost fumble the ring, but it lands safely in Adam’s palm and he tucks it away. The knuckles of his fist are white and his jaw is a tightly clenched, but he doesn’t argue.
I blow out a huge breath. I did it and I feel like I’ve lost twenty thousand pounds of extra weight.
I want to kick off my heels and head home, but the party isn’t over. Even though all I want to do is call a car service, drive back to the castle, and throw myself in Logan’s arms in victory.
But being strong isn’t just a one-time occurrence. Now comes the real test, going out and being strong in front of all those strangers out there.
Really, it doesn’t sound so scary anymore. Apart from a few people like the Ubelis, I couldn’t care less about the people out there. Who cares what they think of me? This is my life and it’s time to live the fuck out of it.
“Shall we go out and mingle with the guests?” I ask Adam. “If anyone asks the wedding date, we just tell them we’re going to wait awhile. We have a lot going on with our companies.” I offer Adam a smile. It costs me nothing to be nice.
For a second he says nothing. His head is bowed and face is in shadow, his hand still in his pocket. Playing with the ring?
Then he grabs a glass of champagne from the sidebar and steps close, flashing the charming smile paparazzi know and love.
“Of course,” he replies smoothly. “Champagne? I ordered the best. Might as well enjoy it.” Up close, his face is stunning, but his eyes are flat. His smile has no soul.
&n
bsp; I sip the drink not because I want it, but because I want to make him feel better. He is a friend, especially to my father. Maybe I should’ve let him down more gently. “Adam, I—”
“We should get back,” he cuts me off, heading to the door. Fair enough. Before he gets there, it opens and a man in a suit walks in. He’s burly and has one of those clear earpieces, so he’s probably security.
“Sir, we have a visitor. An uninvited guest. He’s pushed his way inside and is demanding to speak with you.”
“I’m coming,” Adam promises. “Daphne?” He holds out his hand to me.
I ignore it and glide past him. The security guard and Adam both flank me as I stride through the foyer.
One more hour of glad-handing, and I’ll make my excuses and go. Considering travel time…that means probably one hour and twenty-five minutes until I can be back in Logan’s bed. I grin. I’ll count down the minutes. He’ll be so proud of me for tonight.
I grin, feeling lit up from the inside out. I’ll have to come up with some very creative ways to reward him for finally trusting me and—
“There he is, sir,” the security guard mutters to Adam as we enter the ballroom.
Ahead there’s a mountain of a man standing at the bar. He turns his dark head and light catches on his white mask.
No.
I stop dead on the marble floor and Adam bumps into me, making me stagger. But I don’t take my eyes off Logan.
Logan.
It’s definitely him, in a black tuxedo and a white mask.
The bartender and guests huddle away from him. Other than sidelong glances, they give him a wide berth. He stands with a glass swallowed in his fist, tension and menace emanating from his huge form, a second away from ripping off his tuxedo and attacking the room with a roar. As if he’s truly the Beast he calls himself.
The high I was riding crashes hard.
He promised. He said I could do this. I thought he’d let me handle this alone, make my own choices.
My hand flies to my chest because it hurts. It hurts. Like I fell out of a tree and all the air’s been knocked out of me.
Billionaire’s Captive: A Beauty and the Rose Box Set Page 29
