by Emery Rose
“I can’t fucking lose you.”
“You already did,” I said quietly, my voice resolute. “I love you, Dylan. I do. But we’re over. So you need to leave.”
“We’ll find a way. I’ll make it right. I’ll do whatever the fuck it takes. I told you I would always fight for you. Always.”
All I’d ever wanted was him. Be careful what you wish for. Pushing him away was killing me. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done but I knew it was what I had to do. It was the right thing to do.
He reached for me, but I pulled away. If he touched me, if he held me or kissed me, all my defenses would crumble and fall. I couldn’t allow that to happen. “Please, Dylan. Just go. I can’t… please just go.”
He carved his hand through his hair then he nodded and stood up. “We’re not over, Starlet.”
I turned my back to him and curled onto my side.
It was only after I heard the door close behind him that I let my tears fall.
Dylan didn’t give up. Not that I’d expected him to. He was stubborn. It had been two weeks since the night everything fell apart. Two weeks of planning a future that didn’t include him. Two weeks of crying myself to sleep every night. I missed him so much. And it only made matters worse that he showed up every single day. With Starbucks or ice cream or chocolate chip pancakes, depending on the day and the time.
This morning it was an iced caramel macchiato. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders as if I was going into battle as I walked toward him. He handed me the Starbucks he’d brought, his fingertips brushing mine in the hand-off, and I felt those old familiar shivers run up and down my spine. The plastic cup was wet with condensation and the label on top read: Starlet.
“You need to stop showing up. You’re making this so much harder.”
“Good,” he said, showing no signs of remorse for causing me mental anguish. Most days I just kept right on walking and didn’t even talk to him. Undeterred, he just kept coming back day after day after agonizing day.
“Why are you all dressed up?” I couldn’t help asking. He was wearing ripped jeans, a faded black T-shirt and his ancient combat boots with the laces undone. My fingers itched to run through his messy, disheveled hair. I fisted my hand, my nails digging into the palm. “Important meeting?”
He smiled, and it was beautiful, like a song or a poem that made your heart ache. “Just remember.” Catching me off guard, he leaned in close and kissed the tip of my nose. My eyes closed for an instant and I inhaled his scent. Pure sex and pheromones and masculinity. “I love you.”
I had no idea what that was all about but didn’t even bother questioning it. He climbed into his G-Wagen and drove away, and I carried my iced coffee and my broken heart down the street, the sky overhead blue and cloudless, the sun on my face, and it seemed all wrong that the day was so beautiful. It should be gray and rainy to match my mood. On my walk to work, I called Sienna. I’d been calling her every day for the past two weeks and she never answered.
When I heard her voice on the end of the line, I stopped in my tracks. It took me a few seconds to recover and find the words.
“Hi. Sienna. Hi,” I said again. “I was hoping we could talk—”
“I got all your voicemails,” she said, her voice so flat and cold I barely recognized it. “You can stop calling now. You can stop apologizing. There’s nothing you can say or do to make this better. It’s done.”
“I could come to LA,” I said, stupidly trying to make this right even though she’d just said there was no way I could. “If we could just sit down and talk face to face—”
“I don’t even want to see your face. The funny part is that you had everyone fooled.” She laughed harshly. “Everyone thinks you’re the honest one. The brave one. The least likely to stab someone in the back. But from where I’m sitting, you’re a liar, a cheat, and a coward. What you did is unforgivable.”
I sucked in a breath. I deserved this and more for what I’d done. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.
“Stop calling me, Scar. There’s nothing left to say.” She cut the call and I squeezed my eyes shut.
Shane had been wrong. This was hopeless.
I tossed the iced coffee in the trash can and walked to work on leaden legs, my heart heavy, an ache in my chest that made it hard to breathe.
Remy looked over at the doorway as I entered the shop and clearly, my face told her everything she needed to know. She was across the shop, pulling me into a hug before I’d even made it three steps inside. And like a fool, I was crying again.
She didn’t have to ask what was wrong. She already knew that I fell in love with Dylan and that I was leaving next month. I’d miss her and Shane, I’d miss my job, and Nic and SoCal and a million other little things about my life here. But the thing I’d miss most was her brother.
Boys like that will only break your heart.
34
Dylan
I couldn’t fix all the shit that was broken or mend all the relationships that had been destroyed. But what kind of man would I be if I didn’t at least try?
After delivering the iced coffee to Scarlett, I drove to LA to visit Daddy Dearest in his steel and glass office building in the Financial District. Pompous ass that he was, he thought I came to grovel. His daughter might be Mother Teresa, but I sure as hell wasn’t. I came to finish the war he’d started. Armed with enough information to do serious damage to his reputation and his bank account, I knew that this time I would walk away the victor.
Whoever said that revenge wasn’t sweet had never tasted it.
The beauty of my plan? He’d never tell anyone it was me who brought him down. His pride wouldn’t allow him to admit that he’d been bested by a “worthless little shit.”
“Those are my conditions,” I concluded after I’d laid it all out for him. I slid the document across his polished mahogany desk, so it was right under his nose.
Read it and weep, motherfucker. I’d wait. I especially appreciated the way his face turned an alarming shade of beet red when he read the fine print.
“You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m going to sign this over to you.”
I kicked back in my chair, used his desk as a footstool for my boot-clad feet, and laced my fingers behind my head. If not for the hermetically sealed windows, and the fire alarm on his ceiling, I’d smoke a celebratory blunt.
“Not to me. To Scarlett,” I clarified, in case he’d missed her name written in bolded letters. “The way I look at it, you have two choices. I turn over all the information I have on you. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a reduced sentence in a white-collar prison. I hear it’s a lot like that country club of yours.” I laughed, knowing that was bullshit. There was no such thing as a country club prison. “Or you sign this over to your daughter.” I tossed a pen at him that I’d stolen from the receptionist before I’d barged into his office.
“You little shit.” Yeah, that was getting old. He needed a new line. “I guess you think you’ll get my daughter to marry you, so you can get your hands on it.”
“This is probably a concept you’d never understand. But your daughter… neither of your daughters are merger and acquisition deals. They’re fucking people. You don’t own them. You don’t get to barter their love for money. You’re the piece of shit for treating them the way you do. And I wouldn’t take a single penny of your money if I was homeless and dumpster diving for my next meal. Been there. Done that. And guess what? I survived. That’s the difference between you and me, Simon. You wouldn’t have lasted a day in my world whereas I could survive a fucking Armageddon.”
“Get out of my office, you little cockroach.” Points for originality. “You’ve wasted enough of my time. You don’t have anything on me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I dug deep and unearthed a few skeletons. Or should I say shell corporations.” I sat back and let him chew on that for a minute. His face paled and beads of sweat gathered on his forehead, that’s how
fucking scared he was. I lapped this shit up. Sat back and fucking reveled in it.
“I’m sure your investors would love to hear about all the money you skimmed off the top. You got greedy. Dipped your fingers into too many pies.” I tsked and shook my head like I was disappointed in him.
Ironically, Simon ran a dirty business while mine was squeaky clean. I played by the rules, made sure not to piss off the IRS, and every single penny was accounted for. I didn’t rob my clients blind, didn’t so much as write off a coffee on my expense account. The skeletons rattling around in my closet were personal, not business-related, and the only thing he could hit me with that would hurt had already been done to me.
As I suspected, Simon Woods signed on the dotted line. “If you mess with me or my business or the people I care about again… if you so much as breathe one bad word about me, I’ll turn over every single piece of evidence I have against you and you will lose everything. That’s a promise.”
“This is blackmail.”
“This is me giving you a chance to do the right fucking thing.” That was a lie. If he did the right thing, he’d own up to his investors. But they were multi-million- dollar corporations, not personal investors, and eventually he’d get caught with his hand in the cookie jar. That was his problem, not mine.
I slapped a Post-It note on top of the page. “Write Scarlett a nice note. Tell her you love her and that you’re fucking proud of her for being who she is.”
He clenched his jaw and wrote a note that was a bit frostier than what I’d had in mind, but she probably wouldn’t have believed it if he’d sprinkled it with unicorn dust and rainbows. Good enough.
“I hear Nicaragua is the place to be,” I said, giving him a helpful tip before I strode out of his office, leaving the door wide open.
On the way out, I stopped in Cecily’s office. Nice set-up for a PA. She was blonde and blue-eyed and bore an uncanny resemblance to his eldest daughter. No wonder Sienna had daddy issues. “How’s it going?”
“Um… fine?” Her hand wrapped around the phone on her desk. She was two seconds away from calling security and having my ass hauled out of here. “Can I help you with something?”
“I need an envelope.” I held up the papers in my hand as proof that I came in peace. Sort of.
“Okay.” Good old Cecily was efficient. She produced said envelope and slid it across her desk, withdrawing her hand quickly as if she was afraid I’d bite it off. “Thanks. And top tip. Fucking your married boss is not a good career move. You can do better.”
Her jaw dropped. I was laughing as I swaggered out of her office.
On the drive back from LA, I sucked it up and called Shaggy Doo. I’d gotten the number off Scarlett’s phone and since I was going down this road, might as well go all the way. No sense in half-assing this shit.
“This is Dylan St. Clair.”
He huffed out a laugh that did not sound merry. “What do you want?”
His surly tone nearly had me ending the call but if I were in his shoes, I would have acted a hell of a lot worse, so I forged on. “I want you to call Scarlett. She could use a friend.”
“You broke her heart, didn’t you?” he accused.
“If it makes you feel any better, she broke mine.” And when the words were out, I realized just how true that was. It hurt like a motherfucker. I needed to get her back. My life was emptier without her. Not even scoring a victory over Simon Woods could fill the heart-shaped hole she had left. I missed her. Had been missing her for a long time. Maybe for longer than I realized. Because even when she was a teen and far too young for me and off-limits, I had felt something for her that I never should have.
A part of me had always been missing Scarlett. Maybe that’s why I’d gotten her a job working for Shane. And it was why I’d pursued her, knowing it was wrong, yet it had felt so right.
“She didn’t mean to, but it happened anyway,” I said, giving him more information than he deserved.
He was silent for a moment. “Well, damn. Didn’t see that coming.”
That’s life. You don’t always see it coming. And then it hits you like a fucking freight train. “If you ever cared about her at all, give her a call and be a fucking friend.”
I stopped short of adding, Just a friend. Pretty sure that went without saying.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, suspicious.
I thought about Scarlett’s wall of photos, all her happy memories. Ollie was in most of them. The other guys from the band were in a lot of them too. And Nic. At one time, they’d all been close. They’d had the kind of friendship I’d never had when I was growing up and in high school. I’d never let anyone get that close. Cruz was my only real friend and we hadn’t met until college. Scarlett’s friends were important to her, and she was important to me. I’d stop at nothing to get her everything her heart desired, even if it meant apologizing to Shaggy Doo who didn’t entirely deserve it, if you asked me.
“She misses you and I fucked up that friendship for her.” Suck it up, Dylan. I cleared my throat, the words getting stuck. “Sorry about that,” I said grudgingly.
Not exactly a grovel but it was pretty damn close.
“You really do love her,” he said, sounding amazed.
“Looks that way. Call her. Be a friend.” I cut the call. No need for small talk or a friendly chat with Shaggy Doo. That would be pushing it. I’d extended the olive branch and it was up to him what he decided to do about it. Guess we’d see whether or not he was a true friend.
My final stop was the Woods’ residence. This should be fun. I had never once walked through the front door of their Tudor McMansion. It had approximately one hundred rooms and looked like it belonged in the Black Forest, not in the heart of SoCal. But it was fake. A new-build mock Tudor meant to look like something it wasn’t. Since Margot Woods had never worked a day in her life, I knew she’d either be home or at the nail salon or at the club, drinking Chardonnay and gossiping with her so-called friends.
I pressed the doorbell and heard the chimes playing inside. It sounded like a funeral dirge. The door opened and the smile on Margot’s face slid off when she saw who was standing on her doorstep.
“What do you want?” she hissed, her eyes narrowed on me. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”
I wasn’t done yet, so no, apparently not. I brushed past her and her jaw dropped. It took her a moment to recover. By the time she did, I was already prowling through the house, checking out the hideous décor. Being rich didn’t equate to having good taste, that was for damn sure.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, bustling after me. “I’m going to call the police and report you for breaking and entering.”
Not the brightest spark, was she? “I didn’t break in. You answered the door,” I pointed out as I stalked through the living room and stopped in the dining room. An ornately carved table sat in the middle, big enough to seat eighteen, by the looks of it. Just for fun, I pulled out the chair at the head of the table. It weighed at least twenty pounds, also ornately carved with a red velvet upholstered seat that I parked my ass in.
“Is this where you have your family dinners?” I asked conversationally.
She was so bewildered that she nodded. “Yes. Why?”
I surveyed the room. The glass-fronted dark wood cabinet that held shelves of what I was sure was fine bone china, crystal glasses, tureens and shit I didn’t even have a name for. My eyes raised to the crystal chandelier hanging from the forest green ceiling and finally to the coat of arms and gilt-framed paintings of horses and landscapes on the green and gold papered walls. Sitting in this room that smelled like furniture polish and the souls of dead ancestors, I was beginning to understand why Sienna had never invited me for a family dinner. Not only would I have embarrassed her by not knowing which fork to use, I would have felt like I was suffocating. Wasn’t hard to see why Scarlett had wanted to break away and distance herself from all this pretentious bullshit.
&
nbsp; I rose from the table and continued my house tour with Margot trotting after me, wringing her bejeweled hands.
“What is the meaning of this?” she asked as I poked my head into what I assumed was the library, judging by the bookcases filled with leather-bound books that nobody in this house had probably ever read. I ran my hand over the mahogany bar and scanned the bottles of top shelf liquor. Then I stalked down the labyrinth of hallways until I came to the enormous kitchen with its oak cupboards and marble countertops. I ended my tour outside on the limestone patio overlooking the Woods’ swimming pool. The pool I used to clean the summer I was seventeen when I thought this house was grand and beautiful and beyond anything I’d ever imagined in my wildest dreams.
Funny how time changes your perception of everything. The pool looked smaller to me now, the water not as crystal blue, the grass not as green. If I wanted to, I could buy this house or one just like it. I didn’t want to. But I could. As I stood under the blazing sun, the air scented with orange blossoms from the potted trees on the patio, a scent I remembered so well, I realized that I’d come a long way. Once upon a time, I didn’t think I was good enough for Sienna. I thought that because these people had money, they were better than me and that I really was the worthless piece of shit Simon had always accused me of being.
Choosing Sienna had been my way of giving him the middle finger. We’d been with each other for all the wrong reasons. Whereas with Scarlett, I’d chosen her because I actually liked her. She was the best thing that had ever happened to me. And I loved her for who she was as a person, not for what she represented. Scarlett had opened my eyes, had made me see my life so much more clearly. Where I’d come from had nothing to do with who I was today.
