Wicked Knight

by Sawyer Bennett

  “And I think it’s wonderful he’s let someone else in,” she goes on, still whispering. This tells me she very much doesn’t want her brother hearing this.

  Five seconds ago, I was all lie and deny, but now I do sort of a double take on the situation. She’s piqued my interest.

  “Let someone else in?” I ask for clarification.

  My body takes an unconscious step toward her, clearly showing my curiosity. I should just go back to work and ignore her, but really… am I going to pass up a chance to get some insight into Asher? Not if she’s willing to offer it up without demanding something in return, and she seems like she’s willing to dish with me.

  “He’s just been so closed off from everyone since Michelle died.” Her voice is mournful, but I’m not sure if it’s from losing Michelle or her brother in the process.

  “He told me she killed herself,” I murmur, feeling a heaviness in my heart for Asher.

  Christina nods. “He found her. In their bed. While he won’t talk about it, I think he blames himself.”

  “Why would he do that?” I ask, horrified.

  “Asher can do anything. Fix anything. But I think he feels like a failure for not recognizing she was in crisis.”

  “It’s not always visible,” I say. I know this because I had a friend—not close, but a friend just the same—who killed herself in high school. I’d been stunned. The day she did it, she hadn’t seemed sad or depressed at all. Our school counselors talked to us candidly about suicide and depression, telling us it just isn’t as transparent as people would like to think.

  “I know that,” she says. “And he probably does deep down, but still… I think he wanted to remove himself from any attachments going forward. He moved out of their house and into this apartment. Since then, he’s not taken a single interest in developing friends or a romantic relationship.”

  “We don’t have a romantic relationship,” I feel compelled to admit.

  She smiles slyly as she pushes off the couch. Stepping into me, Christina says, “You have something, and that’s good enough for me right now.”

  Right now?

  What does that mean?

  I have no clue because she turns and heads to the kitchen, snagging up her purse and keys. I get a beautiful smile from her when she turns back to me. “Maybe you and I could have lunch sometime. Talk some more.”

  “Um… yeah,” I mumble, but that thought terrifies me. I don’t want to do anything to overstep my bounds. The last thing I want is Asher pissed at me.

  With a wave, Christina breezes right out the door. I stand there for almost a full minute before I jolt with the realization I’m at work and have shit to do.

  I return to the windows and finish the living room.

  After, I head to Asher’s bedroom, completely satisfied when I see him conked out. After I quietly gather the tray from the table, I leave the room. I just manage to pull the door shut with one hand while balancing the tray on the other, when my phone loudly rings from my back pocket.

  I snatch it out, quickly answering the call without even seeing who it’s from.

  “Hello,” I say quietly as I head toward the kitchen.

  “Hi, Miss Madigan?” a female voice says.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Anne Marie calling from Dr. Yonkowski’s office. It’s time to schedule your bi-annual follow up with him.”

  There’s no stopping the chill in my veins at the reminder, despite the fact I probably have nothing to worry about. “Has it been six months already?”

  “Sure has,” she chirps. “You been doing all right, honey?”

  “Um… yeah. Had a few colds this year—one just last week. Otherwise, I feel great.”

  “Your immune system is going to struggle a bit,” she says, telling me something I’m already aware of. “I recommend zinc.”

  “Zinc. Got it.”

  “Okay, let me pull up the doc’s schedule,” she says, and I can hear her fingers tapping on a keyboard.

  She offers me up some dates, the soonest of which is three weeks away. That’s fine, though, as this is just a regular follow-up and there’s no urgency.

  She promises to send me a printed reminder letter before we hang up, but I still put it in the calendar on my phone.

  Monday, November 19, 2:00 PM

  Las Vegas Hematology and Oncology.

  I make a mental note to myself to let Asher know I’ll need off early that day, assuming he still wants me then. I fully expect there to come a day when he gets tired of this relationship, and all I can hope is that he’ll keep me on cleaning his apartment until I can find something to compensate.

  My thoughts then turn back to Dr. Yonkowski, the oncologist who treated me after I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma three years ago. It was caught so early that I was one of those lucky, lucky people who fall into the ninety-percent survival rate. So far, I’ve been doing great. I have to see Dr. Yonkowski twice a year now and I tend to get sicker a little easier with colds and such, but mostly, I couldn’t ask for anything more.

  Well, hitting the five-year mark will be a total high-five moment with myself. Maybe I’ll buy myself a cupcake on that day.

  There would be no one else to celebrate it with me. Hope was only two when I was diagnosed, and she never knew or understood what happened. I drove myself to all my appointments, often with Hope in tow. Nelson couldn’t be bothered to attend with me because, as he’d said on so many occasions, “It’s just stage 1 cancer. It’s totally curable.”

  That wasn’t exactly true but still, it was the best prognosis I could have hoped for. I downplayed everything with my mom and brothers, assuring them Nelson was being supportive. Otherwise, they would have stormed Vegas. Frankly, they just couldn’t afford to.

  So, I was on my own and I went through it alone. I came out on the tail end knowing I could handle anything. Being diagnosed with cancer and fighting it alone with no support taught me more about myself than I could have ever hoped for. It gave me the courage to finally walk away from Nelson, knowing I had nothing to be scared of. I’d already conquered the ultimate fear.

  I’m a better person today because of it.

  CHAPTER 19

  Asher

  I can’t figure out the exact moment when I apparently decided Hannah was not just an employee to me, but I’m embracing it right this moment as I hunt her ex-husband down.

  I need to have a come-to-Jesus meeting with him.

  My week was shot to shit by getting sick. It took me a few days to get over it completely. After that first day when Hannah insisted I hydrate and sleep, I started feeling much better. I spent the rest of the week catching up on rescheduled meetings, reviewing reports and legal documents, and meeting with my attorneys on some potential bids we are considering making at a property auction.

  By the time I was able to see Hannah last night at the club, between her illness and mine, as well as my business trip last week, it had been six days since I’d had her.

  The sex was better than ever. I want her more today than I did last night. My interest in her isn’t waning at all.

  All things that concern me because it’s in direct opposition to how I’ve decided to lead my life.

  Without connections or responsibilities to another human. A plan to keep my distance and keep my heart safe.

  Which makes it insane I’m here at a construction site that Nelson Madigan is supposed to be on, intending to fix some shit for Hannah.

  Last night as I was taking her home, I’d asked her casually if she’d heard anything from her ex since the motion was filed. I’d asked my attorney about it. While he must observe the rules of confidentiality and can’t tell me details, he told me he hadn’t heard anything from Nelson’s attorney.

  But Hannah wasn’t so lucky.

  Apparently, she’s been hearing quite an earful this entire week from her ex, but it isn’t what I expected. I figured the guy would be pissed, maybe try to threaten and bully her into backin
g off. For that, I’d gladly whip his ass, but that’s not what he did at all.

  Instead, he systematically flooded Hannah with calls and texts that were taunting and degrading. He laughed at her notion that she’d ever be able to stand opposed to him. He pointed out her lack of funds, education, and a solid work history. The douche mocked her, daring her to go forward. He said she’d be wasting all her money and he’d win once again. Hannah didn’t seem all that perturbed about his behavior, which told me he must have been quite the bully throughout their relationship. She was apparently used to it and blew it off.

  I couldn’t let it go though.

  I’d gotten home yesterday and shot a text to my attorney, knowing it would wake him up and not caring. My request was simple.

  Tell me where Nelson Madigan will be tomorrow.

  I have no clue how he came by the information, but I had it by nine AM along with a warning. “Don’t do something that will get you arrested. I have to be in court this afternoon, so I won’t be able to bail you out until after that.”

  I assured him I had no intention of starting anything, but that would only hold true as long as Nelson Madigan spoke about his ex-wife with respect during our conversation.

  If not, then… well, no telling what would happen.

  As I exit my car and start heading across the site to the main office building—one of those temporary-type trailers—I take in the activity around me. I find it interesting—almost serendipitous—that Nelson Madigan works in the same industry as me.

  I stake financing into large real estate ventures, while Nelson’s company takes the money and builds. While I’ve never met him before, I do recognize his company’s name. It’s a pretty prominent and well-respected commercial building company, which has done work with Knight Investment Group in the past.

  I’ve decided to use this “past history” to get all up in Hannah’s business and set her ex-husband straight.

  After reaching the trailer, I bound up the four wooden steps and rap sharply on the door before I open it.

  Three men are standing around a drafting table, studying blueprints. Their heads pop up when I enter and close the door behind me.

  Their facial expressions transform, each recognizing me and seeming shocked to find Asher Knight, the man supplying the money for some of their projects in the past and potentially in the future, standing in their tin trailer office.

  “I’m looking for Nelson Madigan,” I say to the group, my gaze moving back and forth among the men.

  A man with slicked-back dark hair and a poor attempt at a goatee steps forward with a broad smile on his face, sticking his hand out. “That’s me, Mr. Knight. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” I say easily as we shake. Releasing him, I turn to the other two men. “Do you mind excusing us for a moment? I need to discuss something personal with Nelson.”

  The men nod, giving me smiles as they make their way out. Once we’re alone, Nelson offers me coffee or water, but I decline.

  “What can I do for you?” he asks with a level of excitement in his voice he just can’t contain. My presence here could mean important things for him.

  I go ahead and dangle the carrot right off the bat. “I’m sure you’ve heard, but we’ll be closing on the Tyndall property in a few weeks.”

  He nods, his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth. “It’s been the talk of Vegas. Everyone’s wondering what you’re going to do with it.”

  “High-end retirement community,” I say blandly. “Residential and commercial opportunities.”

  “Well, you know my company will be bidding,” he replies. “I’d love the opportunity to work with Knight Investment Group again.”

  “The bid is yours if you don’t oppose your ex-wife’s request to obtain custody of your daughter. And I’m talking full custody, not partial. You can still have visitation, of course,” I add magnanimously.

  Nelson’s face goes blank for a moment, his jaw dropping slightly. Then it flushes red as a small vein starts to pulse in his forehead. “What has that bitch done now? Has she gone to you with some fucking sob story to get you to lobby on her behalf? Because I can tell you, you can’t believe a word out of her mouth. She’s batshit crazy.”

  “Careful now,” I warn, voice low and sounding dangerous even to my own cars. I take a step closer to him. “Your ex-wife is a very valued employee of mine and I like to help my employees, especially when they’re being bullied by dickless bastards like you who enjoy belittling women.”

  “What—that—if she—” he stammers, clearly confused over this turn of events.

  “Let’s face it,” I say calmly. “The only reason you wanted custody of your daughter was because it would hurt your ex-wife, who hurt you by leaving after you cheated on her. It’s all about your ego. I’m here to offer you a way out. I’ll give your company the bid—if it’s within reasonable standards—and you let Hannah have her daughter full time. You will also pay proper child support, and you’ll stop being an ass to her. Move on, Nelson. It’s pathetic you can’t let that shit go.”

  Apparently, he’s not offended by my words, because he hasn’t heard one single bad thing I’ve said about him. Rather, he’s stuck on me guaranteeing him the bid on the Tyndall project. It’s worth millions, of course.

  “You guarantee the bid to my company?” he asks suspiciously.

  “As long as it’s within reasonable standards,” I reiterate.

  The fuck spends no consideration whatsoever on whether he’d even like to keep his daughter. All he does is flash a cheesy smile and say, “Deal.”

  A goddamn prick is what he is.

  He holds his hand out to me to shake, but I ignore it, further instructing him. “You will not tell Hannah about this. And if you ever tell your daughter you sold her out for a construction deal, I’ll kill you.”

  Nelson’s face goes beet red again, but he holds his tongue. The pull of millions of dollars just made his ego, along with his daughter, expendable.

  “You call your attorney and tell him to make it happen. Being respectful to Hannah is a requirement, too. If she gets upset about anything, not only is the deal dead, but I’ll also drive your company into the ground.”

  “Understood,” he says through gritted teeth, and there’s no doubt now that he’s pissed.

  I extend him a curt nod of farewell, turning for the door.

  His next words stop me cold in my tracks. “You fucking Hannah?”

  Pivoting around, I level him with a glare that makes him shrink backward.

  But I don’t lie to him. “That’s none of your business.”

  He merely nods, not actually caring if I am or not. He’s already spending the money he’s going to make.

  “Call your attorney ASAP, Nelson,” I remind him again. “I want Hannah to have the good news before the end of the day.”

  He doesn’t reply, but I don’t wait for it either. I trot out of the temporary office trailer, pulling my sunglasses out of the interior breast pocket of my suit.

  I just set the wheels in motion that will ensure Hannah is no longer available to me on weeknights. I have to figure out what to do with my life now. Do I accept the limited contact or cut her loose completely?

  I will never be her priority, and that is truly the way it should be. Hope is what should be important, and there’s a part of me that’s proud of what I’ve done.

  I put Hannah and Hope’s needs above my own, and I feel good about it. I want Hannah to be happy, and let’s face it… eventually, I’ll probably hurt her anyway.

  Yeah… this was a good thing.

  I start whistling a jaunty tune as I stroll across the packed dirt site to my McLaren.

  CHAPTER 20

  Hannah

  I pull the chicken parm out of the oven, setting it on top of the gas-range burners to cool. Normally when I make dinner for Asher, I prepare a single dinner portion for him and package the rest to freeze, but I don’t have time to wait for it t
o cool down. I got behind on my day today with a late start out of my neighborhood due to a flat tire.

  I tried to change it myself by watching a few YouTube videos, but luckily a passerby took pity on me as I was struggling get the jack lined up properly. Even as I gratefully accepted his help, I’d vowed I’d learn how to do it myself so I wouldn’t have to be dependent on a stranger if it happened again.

  Moving around the kitchen, I flip off the kitchen lights, check to make sure nothing is out of place, and then nab my purse and keys from the counter. I make it no more than halfway across the living room before Asher comes in his front door.

  “What are you doing home so early?” I ask, glancing down at my watch to see it’s barely six. That’s early for Asher, who is a bit of a workaholic. On some nights, he never even makes it home for dinner, but rather leaves straight from work to collect me for our Wicked Horse adventures. That even includes Friday nights. I’ve never seen him start his weekend this early.

  “Late meeting I had got cancelled so I decided to call it a day,” he drawls as he casually saunters in.

  He always does it, and I’m never prepared for it.

  Let’s his eyes roam all over me when he first sees me on any particular day, I mean. Sometimes, it’s in the morning if he’s still here when I arrive. Other times, he doesn’t see me until he picks me up for an evening at the club.

  But right now, he takes me in slowly in a way that makes my skin tingle from his attention. He never kisses me hello, but I’m not sure that would matter. Everything in the way he regards me right now is more than any girl could ever want when a man acknowledges our beauty and desirability.

  His perusal stops at my face, his eyes lighting up with a low smolder. I brace myself for him to haul me off to the bedroom. Instead, he sniffs the air. “What smells so good?”

  “Chicken parm,” I reply, backing away from potential sexual fantasies and entering the reality of his dinner on the stove. Before I start to leave, I say, “I just pulled it out, so you should tuck in sooner rather than later. I didn’t get a chance to freeze the rest. Sorry, but I was running late today.”