Happily Ever After: A Romance Collection

by Amelia Wilde

  He scrubbed at his face with a towel. He’d taken on people who had thought he would only be a failure. His wife had betrayed him with his best friend. He’d had investors that were shady, he’d fired employees who’d tried to screw him over. He’d created his empire brick by brick with his own two hands, not caring who he stepped on as he made his way to the top.

  One tiny woman wasn’t going to lead to his downfall.

  Now that Thea had to stay at the cabin for the foreseeable future, she found herself rather wishing she had left when she could. The thought of Anthony throwing her out had made her stubborn, and now she was paying for it.

  She was stuck in this place with this asshole for who knew how long. When would anyone get up here to fix that bridge? It could be weeks.

  Just the thought of being in the vicinity of Anthony Bertram for weeks gave her hives.

  After they’d returned to the cabin, she’d looked him square in the face and said, “I can’t go anywhere now.”

  And to her surprise, he’d said, “No, you can’t.” Then he’d ignored her for the rest of the day.

  That evening, she came downstairs to smell bacon sizzling. Her stomach turned. She’d been vegan for only a few years now, but she’d quickly found that the smell of meat cooking made her sick to her stomach. It didn’t help that she knew firsthand where that meat had come from. She’d seen the animals suffering before being led to the slaughter.

  But her own stomach was rumbling with hunger, and, defiant, she went into the kitchen to begin making her own dinner. Anthony didn’t even glance up at her. It was like she didn’t even exist.

  Thea got some veggies from the fridge and began chopping. After putting some quinoa on to boil, she ignored Anthony as much as he ignored her. It was ridiculous, how they were acting, but she didn’t care. She hoped he choked on his bacon.

  Anthony soon began making a sandwich across from her, some version of a BLT, she thought. She wrinkled her nose as he piled the sandwich with bacon.

  “You’re going to have a heart attack eating that stuff,” she said.

  Anthony picked up the sandwich and took a big bite, chewing loudly in front of her. “Why, are you worried about me?” he asked sardonically after he’d swallowed.

  “Not in the least. You should eat some French fries, maybe dip that sandwich in mayo. Because then if you die, I get the cabin to myself like I should have.”

  He snorted. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I’m in better shape than you probably are.”

  “It must help that you don’t have a heart in the first place,” she said sweetly.

  He came closer to her and took another large bite of his sandwich. The smell of the bacon combined with the sound of his chewing made Thea pale.

  “You’re looking a little green,” he said, smiling. “Something the matter?”

  Anger flaring, she grabbed his sandwich. She then went to the nearby windows overlooking the backyard. Opening one, she tossed the sandwich outside. It landed right in the middle of a puddle, giving a satisfying plunk sound before it began to sink into the mud.

  “Did you just throw my sandwich out a window?” demanded Anthony. “Are you fucking crazy?”

  “Yes, I am. I’d lock my door at night if I were you.” She pushed past him, laughter welling up inside her at the expression on his face.

  Two can play at this game, asshole.

  “You,” he said, his voice low and angry. “You’ll pay for that.”

  “You don’t scare me,” she taunted.

  “Then that’s your mistake,” were his cryptic words before he pushed past her and out of the kitchen. Before he left, though, he grabbed a bag of beef jerky from the counter and took a bite of one with a flash of teeth.

  As she ate her dinner in the living room, Thea wondered how she could weasel useful information out of Anthony to use against him. Obviously he hated her now, so there was no way in hell he’d tell her a damn thing.

  Was she ballsy enough to go through his stuff? She considered. At the moment, she was so angry with him that she could dig through his stuff without an ounce of guilt. The only issue was doing it with him in the cabin.

  Thea was in her bedroom later that evening when she heard the shower turn on. Anthony tended to take a shower for at least ten minutes, sometimes longer if he shaved afterward. The only reason she’d paid attention was because she’d wanted to shower last night and he’d taken forever to finish.

  Thea glanced at the clock. Then, shutting her notebook, she tiptoed into Anthony’s bedroom. The second he shut off the water, she’d hightail it out of there.

  His bedroom looked like it had barely been used. A suitcase sat on a table next to the wall, and to her immense amusement, he’d hung up all of his clothes and placed socks, belts, and boxer briefs in the drawers. Everything was arranged according to color.

  Jesus, who is this guy? When she saw that one of his polo shirts was Armani, she was half-tempted to spill something on the front in revenge.

  But this wasn’t about his clothes or how ridiculously anal he was. She found his briefcase and began to rifle through it.

  His laptop was locked with a passcode—unsurprising. Same with his phone. Finding his wallet, she discovered the usual things—driver’s license, Social Security card, health insurance, bank cards, credit cards. Some cash, but she was disappointed to see that he didn’t carry a pile of hundred-dollar bills in his wallet. Not that she was going to steal from him, but didn’t rich guys love to carry around lots of money?

  She felt around in the pocket in the back of the wallet, pulling out a business card for some auto shop and then what looked like a folded-up piece of paper. But when she unfolded it, she realized it was a photo of Anthony and some beautiful woman with honey-blond hair. What was even more shocking was that Anthony looked…happy. Anthony, happy? She’d almost say that he looked carefree in the photo. Her eyes narrowed when she saw that something was scrawled on the back corner of the photo: Anthony and Elise, honeymoon.

  Honeymoon. So he was married, or he had been. She hadn’t seen a ring on his finger—had she? Gazing at that photo, seeing his wide smile on his face as he gazed down at the woman, something pinched at Thea’s heart. If she were crazy enough, she’d almost think it was jealousy.

  Stupid. What did she have to be jealous of?

  The water shut off. Heart pounding, Thea shoved his wallet back into the briefcase and returned the case next to the nightstand.

  She raced back to her room only a second before Anthony emerged from the bathroom.

  Letting out a long breath, she couldn’t help but wonder why somebody as heartless as Anthony Bertram kept a photo like that in his wallet.

  5

  Anthony sat down at his laptop the next morning, coffee in hand, and opened his email to find that the Society article had been published online. After reading it, however, he was close to tossing his coffee against the wall.

  The moment Anthony Bertram sits down across from me at the upscale French café he chose for this interview, he’s all business. He drinks the most expensive espresso drink on the menu, and yes, his suits look like they cost more than my annual salary. I’m pretty sure his cufflinks have diamonds in them, in case you’re wondering (I am).

  “I built this company from the ground up,” he says when I ask him about how he’s dealt with this flood of bad press. “I won’t let anyone stop me.”

  When he says that, I know he means it. I’m glad I’m not the one he’s set his sights on, because I have a feeling this CEO is not just driven but utterly ruthless to boot.

  The article continued, characterizing Anthony as a brutal control freak who refused to listen to any kind of criticism. Despite Anthony stating over and over that Bertram, Sons, and Co. had made great strides in providing natural and safe products, despite his explaining that they were phasing out animal testing, despite everything positive he’d told that damn reporter, she’d chosen to focus on his fucking cufflinks. And how he�
�d get revenge on anyone who crossed him.

  Anthony swore and stood from his chair in a burst of rage. People would see another out-of-touch CEO, too rich to care as he supposedly ignored the downtrodden and the poor, helpless animals. As little bunnies were supposedly tortured, the CEO could only take the time to count his money.

  Right on time, his phone rang. “This is Anthony,” he said.

  “Have you read this article? What did I tell you?” Bruce barked into the phone. “I told you not to do it, and look what happened! This is only adding fuel to the fire.”

  Anthony’s jaw was clenched so hard that he was pretty sure his teeth might crack from the pressure. “The journalist assured me it would be a positive spin. The article I read and approved was not this one. Someone fucked me over.”

  “You’re damn right you were fucked over, along with this company. Again. This is only going to make everything worse.” Bruce blew out a frustrated breath. “And now you’re in the mountains somewhere when shit is hitting the fan.”

  “I booked this places ages ago, and I can work here as easily as I can anywhere.”

  “And yet this article seems to say otherwise.”

  Anthony stared out the window at the rain, continuing to fall. The backyard was a huge mud puddle. He wondered if his sandwich that Thea had thrown out the window had already disintegrated, or if some clever raccoon had managed to scavenge some of it for its own dinner. It was such a ridiculous thought that it only made him angrier.

  “Look, Bertram,” said Bruce, “I’ve been patient with you, and I’ve warned you. Another stupid move like this, and I’m going to the board. We can’t afford another fuckup.”

  Although Anthony knew that Bruce would have an uphill climb to get enough of the board to oust him, he also wasn’t stupid enough to keep pushing. Bruce had an axe to grind, and he was going to grind it until Anthony was nothing but sawdust.

  “I’ll fix it,” said Anthony before he hung up.

  After calling Cara and having her contact every damn newspaper and magazine in the country, Anthony rubbed his temples, a headache creating a ringing in his skull. When the ringing continued, he realized it wasn’t in his head. It was coming from down the hall.

  He followed the sound to Thea’s room. The door was open, but she wasn’t inside. He listened; she wasn’t in the bathroom, as far as he could tell. The ringing sound continued. Anthony found Thea’s phone beneath the mess of covers and turned off the obnoxious alarm. Why set an alarm if you weren’t going to be around to hear it?

  He couldn’t help but notice that Thea’s room was a mess: clothes strewn everywhere, makeup scattered across a table in the corner. Hair products were on the nightstand, while notebooks covered another table.

  His eye was drawn to a colorful drawing. As he approached the table, he saw that the notebook was full of drawings. Not just drawings—some kind of graphic novel?

  He began to flip through the notebook. He was hardly some graphic novel enthusiast—he hadn’t read a comic since he’d been a kid—but he could see talent in the drawings. The strokes of the pencil, the light and shadow, it all seemed to reflect Thea as a person. When he came to one passage, he even chuckled at the dialogue.

  Who would have thought his obnoxious unwanted roommate was a talented artist? He kept reading, immersed in the story completely. The PR nightmare hovering around him disappeared right then as he read Thea’s work.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Thea entered her bedroom, only to find Anthony standing at her desk and flipping through her notebook of drawings. A haze of rage and humiliation covered her vision.

  No one, not even her family, had seen those drawings. And there he was, looking through them like he owned them.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded again as she stalked toward him. She tore the notebook from his grasp before he’d even replied. “And what the hell are you doing in my room?”

  “Your phone kept going off,” he explained, like he was speaking to a child. “And it was annoying.”

  “And so you took a detour to look through my things? Do you have any sense of decency?”

  He shrugged. Clearly the answer was no. “The notebook was open. I saw it, I looked at it. If you didn’t want people to see your stuff, maybe don’t leave it in plain sight. In case you’re wondering, it’s good work. And I’m not the type of person who reads that stuff, either.”

  Thea gawked at him, torn between amazement at his ego and his attempt at a compliment. His arrogance was absolutely astonishing. She’d never met a man so completely unapologetic, so uninterested in giving a shit about other people. When she’d told him that he was lucky not to have a heart, she’d been joking. Now she wondered if she was right after all: the man was heartless—and utterly confusing.

  “This is my room. My stuff is private.” At that, she winced inwardly. She was the biggest hypocrite. She’d just gone through his stuff yesterday. Swallowing the swell of guilt, she pointed to the door. “Please leave.”

  Anthony crossed his arms. “Your work is good. You know, most people like when I think they’re talented. Most people say thank you.”

  “I’m not interested in your opinion.”

  Frowning, he studied her. “You’re acting like I was going through your underwear drawer.”

  Thea blushed. “You’re shameless!”

  “No, I just hate mysteries. Has anyone seen this novel?” At her silence, he said, “Ah, I’ve got it. You’re—what? Embarrassed?”

  “Can you not psychoanalyze me?”

  He waved a hand, dismissing her comment. “You have talent that can be monetized. You said before that you didn’t have money, so I’m going to guess that you aren’t selling your art. Why?”

  Thea gaped at him. He’d turned this conversation back on her, and he was too perceptive by half. She wanted to hide under the bed—or stomp on his foot. Both sounded like equally good options.

  “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘it’s none of your business’? Spoiler alert: it’s none of your business!” she said.

  “But why hide it? What’s the point of drawing and creating something if you never share it with anyone else? Isn’t that why people do art?”

  She hated that he echoed her own thoughts and insecurities, and it only made her angrier. “Like I already said, it’s none of your business. None. If I want to draw for nobody but myself, that’s my prerogative.”

  “True. But it’s a waste.” He plucked another notebook from her desk and flipped through the pages. “I know a number of publishers who would fight tooth and nail to get a hold of this kind of stuff.”

  The fear that inevitably bloomed inside her anytime she thought of someone looking at her stuff made her blood freeze. Even if some publisher liked her novels, that didn’t mean anyone else would.

  She heard Henry Thatcher’s disdainful voice in her head. Drab and lifeless. That was what he’d thought of her supposed talent. And if a hugely influential art critic like Henry Thatcher thought that of her work, who was she to disagree?

  She took the second notebook from Anthony’s grasp. “What makes you think I care what you have to say about my work? Newsflash: I don’t.”

  “Are you going to toss me out the window like you did my sandwich?” His voice was edged with sarcasm.

  “Jesus, you’re obnoxious. Are all rich billionaires like you?”

  His lips quirked. “Rich billionaire is a bit redundant.”

  Thea wanted to strangle him, but she forced herself to take a deep breath. “I don’t have to explain myself to you or anyone else. I draw for myself. That’s it. I don’t need to show people my work. I don’t need to sell it. I don’t need to have it on display for everyone to gawk at and decide if it’s worthwhile or not. I don’t need everyone to kiss my ass to bring me some kind of happiness. I’m not like some people.”

  “You don’t know a damn thing about me. But if we lined up our accomplishments next to each other, we know wh
o the clear winner would be.”

  “You’ve just proven my point. You are heartless.”

  Anthony face creased. She saw something in his eyes that she could almost read as—hurt? That she couldn’t believe. She was fairly certain nothing could hurt somebody like him.

  He scowled and pushed past her, but not before saying over his shoulder, “If I hear your phone alarm again, I’m tossing the thing out the window.”

  Thea stuck out her tongue at him like a child before she slammed her bedroom door shut. Burying her face in a pillow, she let out a scream of frustration, imagining all kinds of terrible things happening to Anthony.

  After Thea had calmed down, she started looking through her graphic novel. She touched each panel with light fingertips, smiling as she read what she’d already completed. Oftentimes when she finished a draft, she would be convinced it was horrible and unworthy of seeing the light of day. That just meant she needed to let it simmer. She would then come back to it later with a clear head.

  Thea knew as she read each panel, looked at each drawing, that her work was good. Great, even. She’d worked her ass off on this graphic novel. When she reached where she’d left off, she sat down at her desk and got to work again.

  Maybe no one but herself would ever read this. Maybe she’d never get the courage to query agents or have it published. Maybe she’d have a box of graphic novels, never published, hiding under her bed when she died.

  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be proud of herself for her hard work. Because if no one cared whether or not she drew, wasn’t it almost a greater accomplishment to create something for absolutely no gain?

  Anthony could crow all he wanted. Thea knew that at the end of the day, she was still the better person, no matter how much money he had.

  6

  It wasn’t until Saturday, an entire week after Thea and Anthony had arrived, that the rain finally stopped. By that point, the entire cabin was surrounded by mud and puddles that resembled small lakes. Despite the mud, when the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, Thea put on her hiking boots and jacket and headed outside.