Hudson

by Laurelin Paige

  Anyway, it’s not for today. What I need from him now is much more tangible. “While I’d love to consider the pros and cons of being a Pierce further, I called for another reason.” I hesitate. It’s harder for me to ask than I would like. It’s the only choice I have, so I plow on. “I need a favor.”

  “Ooh, that’s intriguing.” There’s a creak in the background. I can picture him in my head, sitting back in his chair, his feet crossed on his desk in front of him. “Do tell me more.”

  Where in the world do I begin? There’s no good place, so I just start talking. “It may not come as any surprise to you, but it has become necessary to remove Celia Werner from my life.”

  “No, really!” he gasps in mock astonishment. “Glad you’ve finally come around to see the light. That girl is fucked up.”

  It’s strange that there is still a part of me that wants to defend Celia. Except for her most recent actions, she’d done nothing worse than I’d ever done. And, as always, I can blame the way she behaves on me.

  Stranger is that my father, who I would never describe as intuitive, seems to guess at my feelings. “She’s not like you, Hudson,” he says. “I know that you think she is, but she’s different. She wants to hurt people. You just want to understand them.”

  I’m stunned at his insight, but I try to hide the shock from my voice. “You’re right. She’s not like me.” It’s a big admission, and I could spend more time trying to evaluate how I feel about this. But it doesn’t really matter. “Celia’s been stalking Alayna.”

  “Fuck. Are you kidding me? Jesus.” He curses some more, things I can’t make out, then asks, “Is Laynie okay?”

  I grit my teeth. “She is. A bit shaken, but I have a bodyguard on her. She’s safe.”

  “Thank God.” My father’s always been fond of Alayna. It’s bothersome. Is his attraction to her fatherly or something else? Even if he came right out and told me, I’d likely have a hard time believing it.

  But it’s because of his fondness for her, and because of his loathing for Celia, that I know he’ll help with my plan. “Celia hasn’t broken the law yet and talking to her has done no good. I need another way to convince her to stop her game.”

  “And I’m sure you have an idea already in the works. Hit me with it.”

  As succinctly as possible, I tell him how I’ve already convinced GlamPlay to buy into Werner Media, and how, if combined with the shares I already hold, it would be possible to own the majority stock in Warren’s company. “If I purchase GlamPlay—”

  “Then you’ll be able to boot Warren out,” my father finishes.

  “Right. I don’t want to actually take control of Werner Media, I just want to have the power to do so. And since I need it to be covert, I need to buy GlamPlay under a different entity.”

  “You want to use Walden Inc.” My father catches on quickly. I shouldn’t be surprised. He was the one who taught me. “Of course. Tell me what to do, and it’s done.”

  I spend the better part of the next hour working out the plan with Jack. He’s smarter than I remember, quick to solve problems that come up during the conversation. It’s…nice, actually. A bit like coming home.

  Before we finish, another idea strikes me. “Anyone using the cabin this weekend?”

  “In the Poconos? Not me. Mira’s the only one who goes up there really, and she’s so busy with her opening, she’s not going to want to leave town. Are you thinking about going up?”

  “Yeah. I think I’ll take Alayna.” The stress of the past few weeks is taking its toll on me. On her too. We need some time alone.

  “Good idea. Do you need a key? I can have mine couriered over.”

  I have one somewhere, but rather than try to search for it, I take him up on the offer. “Thanks. I’d appreciate it. And Dad,” I pause, not sure how to say what else it is I want to say. Finally I settle on, “Thanks for everything else too.”

  After I hang up, I stare at the phone for several long minutes. After the years of tension and resentment between us, I wonder, did we just reconcile? God, is there nothing that Alayna won’t have a finger on in my life? I’m not complaining.

  With Celia shit handled for the moment, thoughts return to the other major weight on my mind—Stacy. I’d had Jordan find her contact information first thing on the day after I learned about the video. Then I emailed her. And called. When she didn’t respond, I emailed and called again. Every day. My messages were, well, threatening. Finally, yesterday, she sent me the video.

  Today, I’m still processing what to do with it.

  I turn to my computer and open the file. I’ve watched it several times now, but I’m compelled to watch it again. It’s both worse and better than I thought it might be. It’s not exact footage of my conversations with Celia regarding Alayna, for instance. But what it does show is also damning if a person put together the pieces.

  I try to see it the way Alayna would. First, she’d be hurt. It’s me kissing Celia. I wouldn’t want to watch her kiss another man, and if it were someone I knew she had a history with—David, for example—it would be so much worse. So there’s one reason why she should never see the video.

  After that, she’d want to know why I was kissing Celia. I’d always said I was never in a romantic relationship with her. I wasn’t. I could say that I lied before, that Celia and I actually did have a fling. But I’ve never been a fan of lies, and that’s what it would be. If I told her the truth, that I was helping Celia with a scam, then Alayna will think I was still playing then. Even if she understands that I truly wasn’t, she won’t miss that the video takes place outside the symposium where I first saw her. She’ll know Celia was with me that night.

  How far of a leap would it be for her to go from Celia and me at the symposium to Celia and me playing a game with her?

  Again, it’s paranoid. But I would leap to that conclusion. I’m more analytical, sure. Still, Alayna’s smart. I wouldn’t put it past her. And that’s just a risk I can’t take.

  Alayna can never see this video. Whatever I have to do, I’ll have to convince Stacy to get rid of it. It has to be destroyed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The bar at Lester’s is much different than the type I usually frequent. There’s a pool table and darts in the back corner. The patrons wear jeans. I’m the only one in a suit, let alone a suit that probably costs the entire amount that the register will take in tonight. The music blares from an old jukebox—hits from the nineties that seem familiar. I’d prefer a live band. Jazz or a piano player would be nice. But I’m not here for the ambiance. Lester’s fulfills the two requirements I have at the moment—they have a good bottle of Scotch, and it’s only half a block away from the loft. I’ll be drunk when I leave here. Hopefully, the short distance will ensure that I pass out on my own property.

  I shake my head at myself. Me, turning to liquor for comfort. It’s quite comical. To think that only yesterday I was curled up with Alayna in the mountains, making love under the stars, flirting with the topic of marriage. Tonight, I’m here. What a difference a day makes.

  I’d known something was wrong the moment I’d walked into the penthouse. I found her outside on the balcony. Drunk. Ha. She’d chosen the bottle as her friend as well. I hadn’t realized the irony until right this moment, when I’ve just ordered my third this hour. We’re so alike, she and I. And so different. She’s made mistakes with us, but I fully believe hers have been with the best of intentions. I can defend my own evil ways—and I will if it comes to it—yet my excuses really hold no weight. How could I ever explain such a level of deceit?

  I don’t have the answer. That’s why I’m sitting here, alone, in this fucking bar. I don’t have the answers.

  She saw the video.

  I have to say it over and over to remind myself that it’s not just a nightmare of what might happen, but is the actual fact of the matter now. She’s seen it. And worse, she knows the lengths I went to in order for her not to see it. I’d practically bri
bed Stacy to get rid of it. I’d lied to Alayna. Outright lied. I thought I’d covered my ass, that she’d never find out. I was wrong.

  God, was I wrong…

  So I was unprepared.

  I’m usually good on my feet. Preparation isn’t mandatory. But I had no words for Alayna. Snippets of our conversation replays over and over in my mind. Looks can be deceiving, I told her. I’m not admitting anything. You haven’t figured out anything.

  Fuck, I’m such an asshole. What else could I have said? Nothing. I have no answers, I said. The subject is closed.

  And then…Jesus, I cringe at the memory of this…I blamed her for the lack of trust. Did I mention I’m an asshole? Worse than that. I’m a horrible person. Willing to throw her under the bus to hide what I’ve done to us. What I’m still doing to us.

  The bartender checks on me. I gulp the last of my glass. “Another,” I say.

  I stare dazedly into the mirror behind the bottles. The reflection that meets me looks like fucking death. What does Alayna even see in me? How does she not see me for the vile creature that I am? I don’t blame her for pushing me further tonight. I would have pushed her if the roles were reversed. Because it’s evident that I’m hiding something. I’m hiding everything. I can’t even tell her how I feel about her because it’s all tangled up in this lie. I’m drowning in this charade, and I don’t know how to get a breath.

  I did the only thing I could do. I called a timeout.

  A fucking timeout.

  What am I supposed to do with that? Do I believe that hours away from her will help me come up with a bigger and better lie? Do I think it will give me the balls to come clean about everything? Or am I hoping that the break will make her forget all her questions? I laugh out loud at the absurdity.

  “Something funny?”

  The question comes from the woman on the stool to my right. I hadn’t noticed her come in. I barely notice her now. “An inside joke,” I say, dismissively. Which is stupid. I know that engaging at all, even at a minimum, only encourages more conversation.

  I’m correct in my assumption.

  “Tell me about it, sugar. Lola’s got a good ear.”

  She refers to herself in third person. I roll my eyes.

  “Come on, honey. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to talk to someone.”

  I snort—the alcohol is definitely taking effect. “I’m here because I want to get loaded.”

  “But that’s not all. Otherwise, you’d be drinking alone somewhere.”

  I look her over now. She’s older than me, forties, I’d guess. Not bad looking. Her hair, nails and boobs are fake. Her skirt is too short, but she has nice legs.

  The bartender returns with my drink, and Lola places her own order. I can tell she’s hoping I’ll offer to buy it for her. I consider it. Not because I’m thinking of hooking up with her—even if she were the hottest supermodel, I wouldn’t bang her. I’m with Alayna. Even with a timeout, I’d never be unfaithful. Besides, no one else does it for me anymore. The only woman I’ll get hard for I left in tears in my penthouse apartment. I broke her fucking heart. When I promised myself I never would. When I told her that I’d never leave. I left.

  I feel like shit. And that’s why I consider buying Lola a drink. She’s open, trusting—she’d be easily played. The things I could make her believe, the things I could make her do…a million different scenarios start forming in my mind.

  Then they stop.

  The game won’t solve anything. It will be a quick high and then what? Then I’ll be even less worthy of Alayna than I am now. I can’t fight my demons with my demons. It’s not the solution I’m looking for.

  So I swallow down my drink and close out my tab.

  I stagger back to the loft and spread out on the couch. I don’t let myself sleep in my bed. I don’t deserve to be comfortable. I don’t deserve to be where she’s been. I don’t deserve her.

  I wake the next day with a dry mouth and a fucking headache. It’s an instant reminder of the miserable situation I’ve put myself in. After texting my secretary to reschedule all my appointments for the day, I allow myself a glass of water, but I don’t take any pain relievers. I earned this discomfort, and I won’t back away from it.

  When my phone buzzes, I check it immediately, hoping it’s Alayna. It’s not, and I pretend I’m not disappointed. It’s important though—a text from Norma asking me to call her. She knows not to text me anything incriminating. She also knows to be careful about her phone calls. If she’s texting, she needs me.

  She doesn’t even say hello when I ring her. “You aren’t in your office.”

  “No. I’m working from my loft today.” I look and feel like shit. I shouldn’t see people. “What do you need?”

  “Stuart Reed’s having doubts.”

  Stuart’s our man at GlamPlay. I don’t need this. Not today. “Did you explain to him that Walden Inc. is still me?”

  “He’s not having doubts about that. They’re ready to sell to you no matter which company you’re purchasing with. He’s having doubts about buying into Werner Media. Their latest stock prices weren’t as high as predicted.”

  “With the change in the economy, those prices were incredible. What does Reed fucking expect?” I run a hand through my hair. “You know what? I don’t give a fuck about his doubts. We’ll finish the purchase of GlamPlay first, and then he won’t have a choice in the matter.”

  “Pissing off Stuart Reed is not a good idea.” Norma’s calm, reasonable. “Of course, you will have full power to do what you want when you own the company, but it will be much easier if Stuart is on your side.”

  I lean against the full-length windows that look out over the city and remind myself why it’s not a good idea to punch my fist through them. “What do you suggest I do then, Norma?”

  “You need to alleviate some of his concerns. I don’t think it will take much. A friendly conversation off the record.” There’s a voice in the background. Male. I’m pissed that she’s talking about this in front of anyone, but I trust Norma.

  It’s because I trust her that I give her the benefit of the doubt. “Do you have a plan to arrange this friendly conversation?” We’re running out of time on this deal.

  “I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t.” Her gloating grin can be heard through the phone. “Stuart will be at the Breezeway Charity Ball tonight. We’ll go together.”

  “To the Breezeway Ball? Do tell me how you plan to get me in there.” The Breezeway board of directors, Alan Fleming, is not a fan of Hudson Pierce. I’d played his sister early in my history of the game, before I’d learned that the experiment was best performed away from my work and home. Not for the first time, I wonder if my past will ever let me go.

  “Alan will not be there himself. And the name on the guest list is mine. So we’ll have to go together. We’ll go late, and we won’t stay long. Pick me up at eight.”

  The plan sounds dreadful, but only because the last thing I want to do tonight is get dressed up in a tux and schmooze. But it’s necessary. And what else am I planning on doing with the evening? Another night of drinking doesn’t seem very productive. I manage to say thank you before hanging up.

  Another text comes through before I put my phone down. This time it is from Alayna. Two words, a simple request—Come home.

  I make my way to an armchair where I slump and stare at the screen, reading the message over and over. She still wants me. My throat tightens at that knowledge, and it takes everything in me not to jump to obey. But where would we be then? Nothing’s changed. We’re still at an impasse. And I’m not ready to do what I think will eventually be my only course of action.

  I’m still sitting there when her next text comes in. Are you avoiding me now?

  I type and delete my answer several times. I have no response. She sends more texts:

  The least you can do is talk to me.

  You said I was everything to you.

  Talk to me.

&nbs
p; I won’t ask about it if you don’t want to.

  This isn’t fair. Shouldn’t I be the one who’s mad?

  Each new message stabs me in the chest, wrenches my gut. I’ve caused her so much pain, yet I know this is nothing compared to the pain of the truth. What do I do? Let her suffer like this or confess what will likely destroy her? Perhaps I should just walk away. Break things off and break her heart. It will kill me, I know. I’m beginning to see there’s no saving us. Soon, I’ll have to choose what’s best for her and forget about me.

  But not today. I can’t yet. I’m not ready.

  I send her a text of my own because I love her, and I can’t bear to leave her hanging any longer. I’m not mad. I’m not avoiding you. I don’t know what to say.

  I don’t know what to say. How true is that? So goddamned true.

  Don’t say anything. Just come home.

  I choke on a caustic laugh. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I’ve engaged when I shouldn’t have. Now I have to draw this out, repeating words she can’t understand. I can’t. Not yet. We need time.

  I don’t need time. I need you.

  Fuck, how I need her. She has no idea. We’ll talk later.

  You don’t understand. I have to talk now. I’ll keep texting you. I can’t help myself.

  And I’ll read every one. But she doesn’t send anything after that, and I’m disappointed. More than disappointed. I’m shattered. Her brief words were keeping me afloat. Her absence from my phone makes me worry. Did something happen? And I think the worst—that her life can go on without me. My life, on the other hand, is at a fucking standstill.

  I check in with Jordan and learn she’s convinced him to join her for a run. I’d forbidden her from running outdoors, concerned about Celia and her stalking. She’s defying my wishes—can I blame her?—but at least she’s taken her bodyguard. At least she still cares enough about me to compromise. If only there was a way I could compromise with her. I’d give her anything she wanted, tell her every secret from my past, break down every last standing wall, as long as she could tell me she’d never leave me. That she wouldn’t give up on us.