Billion Dollar Enemy

by Olivia Hayle

  “If you’re joking about this,” she warns, “Cole, I swear I’ll—”

  “I’m not.”

  Maybe she sees it in my eyes, or maybe she’s shocked that I walk straight past her into her apartment, but for some reason Skye doesn’t protest. She just locks the door behind me instead. “But the numbers didn’t add up,” she says. “We were told the store wasn’t profitable. How…?”

  “Your accountant lied.” I open my laptop and pull up Between the Pages’ documents, sitting down at her kitchen table. She takes a seat next to me. The scent of her shampoo, as floral as ever, washes over me.

  “How?”

  “Look.” I point at my screen, at the error, at the numbers that don’t add up. “She didn’t try to hide it particularly well.” My voice grows hard. “I’m guessing she gambled that neither you or Karli would figure it out, and what’s more, that Porter Development would let it slide.”

  Skye’s voice is shaky. “Could it be a mistake? It’s not… it can’t be deliberate.”

  “It’s a hundred percent deliberate.” I’m harsh, but this is too important, and I’m too angry on Skye’s behalf. “She must have funneled your profit into her own accounts.”

  “But… I’ve known her since college!”

  “Yes, but that means nothing, really,” I say, thinking of Ben. “I’m sorry.”

  Her hazel eyes are blazing. “So we’re profitable?”

  “The numbers sure seem so, yes. But I’ll make sure my accountants run a thorough check on it.” And give me the correct information this time, I think.

  Skye gets out of her chair, energy running through her body, and starts to pace in front of me. In her pajama shorts and slippers, she’s a glorious sight.

  “I can’t believe this. I was the one who recommended her!”

  “You had no way of knowing.”

  “But I should’ve. We should’ve double-checked the numbers.” She wraps her arms around herself. “Damn it, if only I knew how bookkeeping works.”

  I close my laptop. “You know now.”

  “If we’re profitable…” she says, eyes boring into mine. There’s hope there, and confusion, and anger. All rolled into one.

  “I’ve called off the demolition.”

  Her eyes widen. “You have?”

  “Of course. You made a deal with me, Skye, and I’m going to honor it.”

  “We did it,” she whispers faintly. Her voice is dreamy. “We actually turned it around. The store is saved.”

  “You did it.”

  “I knew it! We had so many more customers. Our sale was working. Damn Chloe.” She sits down next to me again, her hand landing atop mine gently. “Karli and I need to take legal action against her, don’t we?”

  I nod, wondering if I could grasp her hand in mine, or if that would be pushing it. “Yes. What she did was illegal.”

  Skye gazes off into the distance, her face set in a mask of determination I recognize well. “I’m going to make sure the store gets every cent back.”

  “I have no doubt about that.”

  “Thank you, Cole,” she says, her hand tightening around mine. “You didn’t have to bring this to me. I appreciate that, you know.”

  “I was already considering halting the demolition.” The admission spills out of me of its own accord, her nearness and warmth like a blanket of comfort.

  Skye’s mouth drops open in surprise. “Why?”

  “Because I couldn’t stand the idea of you hating me,” I say. My gaze travels across her face, noting the surprise in her eyes, the tendrils of hair escaping her loose braid. “But that’s a discussion for a different day. What are you going to do now?”

  “I need to call Karli,” she says. “And I have to see Chloe. Our accountant,” she adds, seeing the confusion on my face.

  “You want to confront her?”

  “Yes. I have to know, to hear her say it.”

  “It might make things harder for you, and not easier,” I caution. Confronting Ben hadn’t helped me in the least, especially not hearing him admit to what he’d done.

  Her eyes soften. “You’re right. But I have to. I’ll… I’ll invite myself over tomorrow evening.”

  “Anything you need, Skye.” I reluctantly pull my hand out from underneath hers. It’s late, and she has much to think about. She needs to call Karli. To process this. As much as I want to stay, it would be pushing things.

  Skye reaches out to put a hand on my sleeve. “Wait. What happens next?”

  And damn it, but I can’t help myself. I reach out and push a lock of her hair back behind her ears. Skye doesn’t seem to be breathing, looking up at me. “Invite Karli to my offices the day after tomorrow,” I say. “We’ll meet with my accountants and lawyers. Go over the bookkeeping in detail and work out a strategy for the bookstore going forward.”

  Skye’s breath is shaky, and then she’s hugging me, her head against my neck. Slowly, I wrap my arms around her. She’s so warm. The scent of her hair is in my nostrils, the curve of her waist beneath my hands.

  I don’t want to let her go.

  “Thank you,” she murmurs. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  I touch my lips to her ear, unable to resist. “There’s no need to thank me, Skye. You did all of this yourself.”

  My tone is warm. I wonder if she hears the truth, all the things I find myself wanting to say, and unable to bring myself to. Not yet.

  “Not the plants,” she says, a smile in her voice.

  She’s still in my arms. “Okay, so maybe I helped a little. But I’m the one who should apologize.”

  She pulls away and I let her go reluctantly. There’s a smile on her lips. “I think we both should, but…”

  “That’s for another day. I understand.” I take a step back, releasing her hand. “Call Karli. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” She wraps her arms around herself again, the long sleeves covering her hands, and watches me as I open her front door. Despite the subject matter, despite the confusion between us, the look in her eyes makes my chest tighten with emotion. “Thanks, Porter.”

  There’s a smile in my voice. “You’re welcome, Holland.”

  24

  Skye

  I square my shoulders. Despite my calm assurance to Karli that yes, I can do this, don’t worry, anxiety runs through my veins. And right behind it, guilt. I had recommended Chloe. She’d been hired on my suggestion, and then she’d screwed us over.

  I press the intercom to Chloe’s apartment. “I’m downstairs.”

  “Come on up!” Her cheery voice makes my stomach drop even lower. If Cole is right—if her mistake isn’t a mistake at all but deliberate embezzlement—she’s still willing to have dinner with me. Just imagining it makes me feel nauseous.

  My phone feels like a box of dynamite in my pocket. It’s recording all sound, anything we say saved for posterity. That’s the second reason I’m here tonight. To get an admission on tape.

  Chloe opens the door to her apartment with a smile, her hair in a high ponytail. “I’m so glad you took me up on the offer of dinner.”

  Does she mean that? Twenty-four hours ago I wouldn’t have doubted her for a second. Now, I can’t not.

  “Thanks for having me. Wow, whatever you’re cooking smells good.”

  “Pasta carbonara. It’s a simple enough recipe.”

  I follow her through the living room—a plush couch, a large TV—into a big kitchen. “Well,” I say, “that’s still a huge step up. Do you remember in college? We’d make Pop-Tarts in the toaster in our room.”

  Chloe laughs, stirring a pot of boiling pasta. “Yes. Vanilla for me, chocolate fudge for you.”

  “Those were the times.” I lean against the counter, wondering where we went wrong for this to have happened. Sure, we’d drifted apart, but there was a time when we’d shared both our days and nights together.

  She offers me a glass of wine, her smile still in place. My palms feel sweaty around
the glass. Dinner had been a pretext to get invited, to ensure I got answers face-to-face, to avoid being a dodged phone call. But how do you bring it up? This wine is divine. Also, did you steal money from our business?

  “So,” Chloe says, “how has the job hunting been going? After the bookstore closed?”

  I clear my throat. “So far so good. I have a few applications going out this week.”

  “That’s great, that you’re staying on top of it. And please, let me know if I can do anything to help.” There’s a beautiful display of compassion in her eyes. “I’m truly sorry about the way it ended.”

  My wine tastes sour. “Thank you.”

  She turns back to the pasta. “I tried everything I could.”

  “Did you?” I say. “How nice.” I put my glass down and wipe my hands on my dress. If I’d ever harbored a long-lost dream of becoming a spy, this little attempt would put an end to it. I’m awful at it. Nerves are making my throat feel tight. “Where’s your bathroom?”

  “Down the hall and to the right.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

  I shake my head at myself as I walk swiftly from the kitchen. Just confront her, Skye. How hard can it be? Cole’s words come back to me, the ones regarding my sister. You never seem to have a problem standing up to me. Do the same to her.

  The fire is there, inside me, burning at a comfortable distance. All I need to know is if it was deliberate. And if it was…

  Absent-minded as I am, I open the wrong door to the bathroom. It’s her walk-in closet. And it’s filled top to bottom with handbags, with shoes, with belts. Beautifully displayed bags in a myriad of colors, both brands I recognize and ones I’ve never seen before. Designer handbags has never been my thing, but even I know that the collection in her closet is worth thousands of dollars.

  My mind makes the assumptions lightning fast. The fire in me erupts and burns, righteous and fierce. I shut the closet with a bang and stride back into the kitchen.

  “Chloe.”

  “Yes?”

  “We found an accounting error in your bookkeeping.” Maybe I should have phrased it differently, maybe I should have been smoother, but suspicion and anger are like a cloud around my mind.

  Chloe gives a wan smile. “Is there? I triple-checked, Skye, but if you want to point it out to me I’d be happy to look it over. Just send it to me tomorrow, okay?”

  “No, it’s not that kind of error.” My hand isn’t sweaty now; it’s clenched into a fist at my side. “I’ve been informed that it’s a big one. The kind you’d know about while you’re making it.”

  Chloe puts down her phone. “Skye, what are you saying?”

  “Have you been embezzling from the bookstore?”

  “What?” She blinks at me, once, twice, but the outrage looks superficial. Her eyes are too impassive.

  “Why would you do that?” I demand. “Why would you need to? Chloe!”

  Her affronted mask crumbles, her mouth turning down in a frown. “Damn it. You were never supposed to figure it out. You weren’t supposed to be told!”

  “To be told?” I’m shaking, I’m so angry. “How could you? That’s Karli’s livelihood. It’s my job. And for what? So you could buy more designer bags?”

  She shakes her head angrily, but it’s not in denial. “You have your books, you always did. I like something different. God, you were always so judgmental!”

  “For judging you about committing a crime?”

  “The business was over, Skye. Neither you nor Karli was willing to see the writing on the wall. The store was going to close. All I did was give it a little nudge.”

  “Are you serious? We had a deal; we could stay if we were profitable. And we were, until you tried to hide it. How the hell could you?”

  Her smile becomes an ugly thing. “If you thought Porter Development was ever going to honor that little deal, then you’re a fool.”

  I want to shake her, I want to slap her. I take a deep breath. “Give back the money. Every single cent, Chloe.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “You spent it all?”

  “So what if I did?” Her eyes narrow, a nasty expression in them. It’s a side of her I haven’t seen for years, and never this pronounced. “Demolition began today. I know the timeline, Skye. Where would you get the support? Who would help you? I’m pretty sure Porter Development saw my error, but why would they care? They’re getting exactly what they wanted.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I take a step back, wanting out of her presence. “If you think you’ve won here, you’ve got another thing coming.”

  “Do I? I’m sorry, Skye. It wasn’t personal. It was just business.”

  “You bitch.” Chloe blinks at me, like she can’t believe I went there. Frankly, I can’t either, a part of me observing myself as from a distance. The other part—the part in control—has no time for niceties. “You destroy someone’s business and you say it’s not personal? Absolutely unbelievable. And you’re the fool if you think either Karli or I are going to take this lying down.”

  I walk through her living room, grabbing my jacket off the chair where I’d thrown it.

  “Good luck!” she calls. “Porter Development is knocking!”

  My skin feels hot, my blood boiling close to the surface. What I do next surprises even myself. On a peg next to her front door is a crossbody purse. The designer label on it is one of the few I recognize. So I reach out and snatch it, holding it close to my chest as I race out of her front door and out onto the sidewalk.

  The large Jeep is waiting for me, and so is the driver. I jump into the passenger seat. “Oh my God.”

  “Did it go well?”

  I glance at the front door. There’s no sight of her, not yet at least. “Yes. Go, go, drive!”

  Cole turns the key to the ignition. “I’ve never been a getaway driver before.”

  “It’s never too late to learn.” I slump against the seat, my breath coming fast. “She did it. She admitted to it. I can’t… I’m so angry.”

  His hand twitches on the steering wheel. “You have every right to be. Did you record her saying it?”

  I double-check my phone and turn off the recording function. “Yes. Yes, and she admitted it outright.”

  “Excellent.”

  “She said she didn’t have a cent of it left. And that Porter Development was going to bury us.”

  Cole’s mouth tightens. “Well, I have it on good authority that Porter Development will do no such thing.”

  I close my eyes, breathing through my nose. “I’m on such a high right now. Wow. Do you know what she said? It wasn’t personal!”

  Cole shakes his head, and this time, he reaches over to put a hand on my knee. “She’s unbelievable. I’m so sorry, Skye.”

  “I’m not. I’m determined. I’m going to get the money back, somehow, someway.”

  “I have no doubt about that.”

  “Oh, and look!”

  He glances over at the handbag in my hands. “What’s that?”

  “I took it. She had a whole closet full of them. She must have used the money she stole from us. And… oh my God,” I say, the reality of our encounter hitting us. “I stole her handbag.”

  Cole’s laughter is freeing—large and deep and strong. He turns the car around with his left hand, his right grasping mine in his. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “I committed a crime, too.” I look down at the design, tightening my fingers around his. “These probably go for quite a lot of money. I’m going to hold it ransom until she pays us back what we’re owed.”

  His voice is warm. “Sounds perfectly reasonable.”

  “You’re laughing at me,” I say, and then my own anger drains out, bubbling into shocked laughter. “I can’t believe I did that.”

  “I can,” Cole says, his voice warm and strong. “You’re a formidable opponent.”

  His profile is strong, illuminated by the late evening light streaming in throu
gh the car window. Tonight’s the first time I’ve seen him drive himself, without Charles. “Thank you for being my getaway driver.”

  His gaze softens, flickering over to me. “I couldn’t let you be reckless without me.”

  “There’s something you should know about tomorrow, by the way.”

  He squeezes my hand once before withdrawing, placing both hands on the wheel. From this angle, the backs of his hands are wide, the fingers long, his tan forearms on display. Funny how such a mundane task as driving can make a man look irresistible.

  “About the meeting?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well?” he prompts. “If you’re trying to build suspense here, consider me on the edge of my seat.”

  “Karli knows about you and me.”

  His gaze on me is concerned. “She does? How?”

  “Timmy. He was bragging about his idol and she overheard.”

  Cole’s lips curve into a fond smile. “How did she take it? Will I face an execution squad tomorrow?”

  “She didn’t take it well at first. I had a bit of explaining to do.”

  He nods, turning onto the highway to avoid the evening traffic in the city. My gaze drinks him up greedily, relishing in watching him when he can’t watch me. Two weeks without any interaction had been two weeks too many. I’d missed the width of his shoulders and the depth of his mind.

  “I imagine the explaining was difficult,” he says dryly.

  I chuckle. “Yes. I think that’s what convinced her, though. That I couldn’t explain it myself. I’ve never been able to, you know.”

  He gives a deep humming sound, and once again, things are unsaid between us. About what we are. Where we’re going. If our relationship is best kept as a fond memory.

  I know what I want. It’s there, hiding in the back of my mind, a fragile hope. Screaming at Chloe has made it clearer than ever, paradoxically, that I liked who I was around him—who he’d helped me become. The bravery he’d helped me find.