“You are crossing a dangerous line, Nicholas, I would advise you to mind only what involves you, and to stay out of other men’s affairs.”
“Ironic choice of words,” Nicholas acknowledged. “Affairs? Affairs are what you seem to be having and while that is none of my business− you’ve seemed to have planted yourself into my life.”
Fissicle’s expression hardened. “I can’t say that I understand what you’re talking about,” he groaned, feeling distressed.
“Oh, sure you do,” Nicholas declared, sounding amused. “My company. My magazine. The one you stole from me with my father’s money.”
Fissicle’s eyes widened as shock over Nicholas’ words razed at him. “Did Spencer tell you that?” he asked, completely beside himself. “If he told you that he’s−”
Raising a hand to quiet the other man, Nicholas shook his head disdainfully. “A man of your caliber having a scandal this many years into his marriage . . . how many years have you been married now?” he asked, speaking more to himself than the grey- haired man standing an arm’s reach away from him. “Must be over twenty years, if my memory serves me right you were married to Catherine well before I left for prep school.”
“What do you want from me, Nicholas?”
“An affair this many years in . . . I can only imagine what a judge would issue in spousal support, and with your business doing so well, man. Divorce would cost you a pretty penny. I wonder, is Catherine’s number still the same? It’s been decades since I’ve last seen her,” he lied. “But your address is the same, is it not?” Nicholas asked, straight-faced. Bringing Catherine’s name into such an ugly situation made him sick to his stomach, though on the outside he was the epitome of unperturbed strength and self- assurance, on the inside he was screaming, hating himself for who he had become.
“So, you’re here to blackmail me?” Fissicle sighed, “You’re so much like your father.” Walking behind his desk, he sat down into the plush leather chair. “What is it that you want, Nicholas? Your magazine back? If that’s what you want, I can’t help you. Spencer would have me killed.”
Nicholas narrowed his gaze. “Oh please,” he said, clearly amused. “I have no time for the dramatics.”
“You have no idea what that man is capable of. He has done unforgivable things to those who have crossed him in the past. I am of no value to him unless he is capitalizing off of me, if I allow you to purchase your company back Spencer will see to it that I am ruined. He will destroy everything that I’ve worked for, my life’s work will be at his mercy. I cannot allow that to happen,” Fissicle explained, his voice weary.
“How does he have that much power over you? Over your business?” Nicholas asked, not buying Fissicle’s woe-is-me story.
“Our story hasn’t been one of friendship and brotherhood, not for a long time,” Fissicle revealed. “For more years than I can count now, I have been at his disposal, awaiting his next command. Nicholas, I did not want to take Leisure Me Ready away from you. Personally, I thought you were doing a swell job with a magazine on the brink of extinction. You worked hard to keep it afloat for as long as you could, and with the right resources it wouldn’t have crashed. When your father called me into his office to discuss your failing magazine, I offered to help you. However, Spencer made it very clear that he didn’t want you to keep the magazine . . . he wanted me to buy you out.”
“And so, you did.”
“Without fulfillment. I had no desire or need to take your company. Gizzelle Bridal has awarded me many years of success. I did not need to add another division to my magazine to make a profit. My net profit margin has been in the ninetieth percentile for well over a decade. My business is booming, has always boomed. I gained nothing from taking your company.”
Nicholas pressed his lips together into a thin line. “Then why did you?”
“Your father left me no choice.”
“Every man has a choice.”
“He took mine away from me many years ago, just as you are trying to do now.”
“How so?” Nicholas asked, suddenly curious. He came with the intent to scare Fissicle into giving Dean his Editor-in- Chief position, but if he could leave with more than what he came for, he would.
“Nicholas− let’s not drudge up past things,” Fissicle said, anxiously.
“How so?” Nicholas demanded. “I want answers. How far does this all go back?”
Fissicle’s head began to pound at the realization of the truth coming out, his truth. A truth that only God and one other knew, Spencer Elliot. “Twenty- five years,” he murmured after some time. “Your mother and I . . . your mother and I . . . we−” Fissicle stumbled over the words that were being forced out of him. “We had an affair and from our time together I fathered a child− with her.”
Nicholas’ heart leaped. “A child?” he choked; his gaze locked to Fissicle’s. “What child?” Nicholas’ mind raced as it sought to work out what his ears had just heard. Twenty- five years ago . . . fathered a child . . . twenty- five years . . . oh God, Rebecca.
Fissicle saw the instant reality made its presence known to Nicholas. “No one knows. Aside from your father and myself, not even your mother. He made me promise not to tell a soul.”
“My mother? How could my mother not know that you fathered her daughter?” Nicholas snorted. “Muffy is a good actor, the best at times.”
“She has no idea. You see− Spencer received a vasectomy after you were born. With you and Caleb he already had sons, his two heirs, and so he was content. He never told Muffy that he’d had one. When she had gotten pregnant, he realized that she was having an affair and hired a private investigator to find out who the other man was . . . not long after Rebecca was born Spencer approached me about the affair. I denied it, but he had proof. He threatened to take my business and to destroy my reputation. I was afraid that I would lose Catherine, afraid that I would lose everything. And so, I gave him what he wanted.”
“And what was that?”
“To keep Muffy blind to the fact that I fathered Rebecca, and to be of use to him whenever there was a need. For twenty- five years I have kept my mouth shut, and he has left me in peace.”
Nicholas was disconcerted. “Kept your mouth shut? You don’t think my mother deserves to know whose daughter she was carrying? And what about Rebecca? It’s only right that she knows who her real father is . . . her entire life has been a lie.”
“Nicholas. I am begging you,” Fissicle cried, his voice strangled with emotion.
Nicholas flashed him a resentful look. “Don’t ask me to lie to my sister. This travesty isn’t my burden to bear.” God knows I have enough secrets threatening to destroy me without the addition of one more, he thought.
“I understand. And you’re right it isn’t. But you came here in need of something, perhaps we can help each other. Now, I cannot give you your magazine back, and I am truly sorry for that . . . but maybe there is something else I can help you with.”
Fissicle’s words brought Nicholas back to the purpose of his being there. He had all but forgotten why he had come after learning how twisted and malicious his father truly was. “I want to step down,” Nicholas said suddenly. “Effective immediately.”
Fissicle’s eyebrows lifted, confusion paramount on his wrinkled face. “Step down? From Editor-in- Chief?”
“Yes,” he answered, offering no explanation. “And I want you to appoint my former employee Dean Proctor as my replacement.”
“The man you fired for insubordination back in December?”
“Yes.”
Frowning, Fissicle asked, “But why?”
“Does it matter? You were going to get rid of me in a few months anyway,” Nicholas accused.
“Fine. I’ll have his contract faxed over to Gizzelle within the hour. Is that all?”
Nicholas contemplated his next move. How far was he willing to go when it came to retaliation against his father? After a long pause, he asked, “Your shares with Plotus
Cosmetics, how invested are you at this juncture?”
“Twelve percent.”
“I want to buy you out,” Nicholas said without pause. “Have your lawyer draw up the papers, but do not release them until I tell you to. Have this taken care of before the close of business today.”
“What are you planning to do?” Fissicle questioned him, worried that the young man was about to get too far in over his head. Knowing that his plan couldn’t be anything good he said, “Take a few days to gather your thoughts before acting on emotions, Nicholas. Emotions have destroyed even the best of men.”
“And you’re walking proof to just that,” Nicholas acknowledged, uninterested in the sprouts of wisdom the older man had to offer. “At noon I want you to call my father and tell him I stepped down from the magazine and when he asks why, tell him I have decided to return to the family business. Do not mention anything about the release of your shares . . . he will find out soon enough.”
“For all of this that I am giving you can you at the very least not mention my connection to Rebecca? All these years later, there is really no point to destroy lives. No reason to burden others with dead secrets . . . forgotten mistakes.”
Dead secrets. Forgotten mistakes. Nicholas knitted his brows at Fissicle’s words. “My word to keep your betrayal against your wife quiet is all that I am willing to offer you. My sister will not be auctioned as a bargaining tool.”
“Your father−”
“Stop thinking about Spencer and just make sure you do what I asked you to do in the time that I asked you to do it,” Nicholas sighed, growing frustrated with the man’s persistent fear of his father. “My father will have enough to consume himself with over the coming months, trust me, you won’t even be a thought.”
“And your magazine? Will you let that go?”
“For right now. But− soon I will come back to you for my company and at that time you will give me what is rightfully mine.”
Chapter Three
Nicholas slowed down when he reached Thompson Square Park, yielding to the hundreds of pedestrians as they briskly made their way across the wide street. His mind was in total chaos over Fissicle’s confession. How could his father have been so unforthcoming, so reticent about something so significant? How could the man not tell his wife that he did not father her child? What was the purpose of hiding the truth, if he had no intention of leaving? Is it possible his mother knew the truth, but for pretense decided to keep it to herself? Putting on an air for the world to see− on the outside his parents were so well put together, but in reality, behind closed doors they were both so broken, so tainted . . . tainted and broken.
It was a game of cloak-and- dagger with his parents, it always had been. Shaking his head, Nicholas sighed. No wonder I turned out to be such a fuck up . . . look who my parents are. No! don’t be that dude− that blames everyone else for his problems, he silently chastised himself. “The fault is your own,” he mumbled, making a left on Avenue B when he was free to do so. The sudden ringing of his cell phone caught his attention, instinctively Nicholas unclipped the device from his waist holster and brought it to his face, answering the call as he did so.
“Nicholas Elliot,” he said into the transmitter. When no one responded he withdrew the phone from his ear to look at the screen. Unknown number. Nicholas was quiet for a moment. “Dean?” he said finally, his tone frustrated.
“I gather you’ve held up your end of things?” the man said on the other end of the line.
“I’ve been released from my position at the magazine. Come into the office within the hour to sign your contract.”
“Beautifully done, Mr. Elliot. I didn’t doubt your ability to get the job done for one second,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “And the money?”
“I’m working on it.”
Dean Proctor laughed; the sound was ominous in Nicholas’ ear. “Working on it?” he repeated Nicholas’ words. “Do not play with me,” he warned. “Time is running out. I want the money in that account before I walk into that building.”
“I don’t just have millions of dollars in my bank account. I’d have to withdraw the money from my trust fund . . . that takes time.”
“Unfortunately, time is something you do not have, Mr. Elliot. I want the money in my account within the hour, or the deal is off.” Click.
“Hello. Hello,” Nicholas called into the phone. “Damn-it,” he shouted throwing the device onto the passenger seat. “Damn-it!” Alright, calm down and get a hold of yourself. Think. Think. Pulling into the parking garage of Gizzelle Bridal, Nicholas reached for his Blackberry once more.
Nicholas: I hate asking you for this,
but I need help.
Catherine: What happened?
Catherine: What’s wrong?
Nicholas: I need 5 million transferred into my account.
Nicholas: I know it’s a lot to ask, but I didn’t know who else to turn to . . . give me a few days and I’ll return the money to you. You have my word.
Catherine: Send me the account and routing numbers.
Nicholas: Thank you, Catherine.
Catherine: Is there anything else you need?
Nicholas: The man you hired to investigate Dean Proctor, send me his information.
Catherine: I am sending his contact
information to you now.
Nicholas: Thanks
Catherine: Nicholas, please be careful.
Chapter Four
Nicholas glanced at the large Aqua Pear Modern wall clock as his subordinates made their way into the conference room. Pressing his closed fists on the mahogany table, he fought to hold back his emotions. Emotions that were threatening to destroy him. For five years he had worked with these people, developed relationships with them, led them, protected them when their jobs were at risk and now, now he was abandoning them into the hands of a psychopath. His inability to tell Charlotte the truth had costed him, was costing him everything he had worked so hard for. Years of hard work gone because he was a coward. What did it matter, though, in a few short months Fissicle had intended to get rid of him, to take what was left of his freedom from the Elliot name.
Shaking his head at the thought, he cleared his throat. “I apologize for this unscheduled interruption. I’m sure you are all hard at work with your daily targets, and so, I won’t keep you long. I’ve asked you all here to share some news about changes that will be happening on the executive level.” Staring out at the familiar faces seated at the large table Nicholas exhaled. “Regretfully, I will be stepping down from my position as Editor-in- Chief,” he said, tasting the bitterness of the words as soon as he had said them. Loud sounds of gasping and frantic mumbling flooded the room as his words resonated with his employees. “It has been a pleasure working with each of you over−”
Dean Proctor cleared his throat from the doorway, making his presence known to the room. A boasting smile plastered across his thin, pale face. “Am I early?” he asked, looking down at his sterling silver watch that was noticeably too large for his tiny wrist.
“Dean,” Nicholas announced, meeting the other man’s gaze from across the conference room. “Right on time.” Using every ounce of strength, he had within him, Nicholas forced a friendly smile. “As I was saying− it has been a pleasure working with each of you over the past several years . . . I’ve learned a lot from our journey together.”
“Who will be taking over your position?” Lucian St. Lucas, the magazine’s Digital Operations Specialist asked.
“That would be me,” Dean declared haughtily, his tone too loud for the intimate space. “I am your Chief, effective immediately.”
“Nicholas−” Lucian began.
“Mr. Elliot, I can take it from here,” Dean grinned, his face light with satisfaction. “You do have an office to clear,” he said provokingly.
Nicholas glanced around the room of forlorn faces one last time, then nodding his head in acceptance of his fate, he said, “Thank you all
for all of your hard work. Take care.” The feel of heavy eyes followed him to the large wooden door, but for the life in him, he couldn’t look back. Reaching Dean, Nicholas fought for control as he patiently waited for the other man to move aside.
“I’ll be in touch,” Dean hissed as he walked past him.
“I’m sure,” Nicholas returned. “I’m sure.”
***
After two hours of aimlessly driving around Manhattan, Nicholas finally decided to make his way home. Clearing out his office had been an easy enough feat; with only a few keepsakes he’d decided to take from his desk there was nothing else worth holding on to. His last order to his former secretary, Rachel had been to donate everything he had left behind to a local business, preferably one that was up- and- coming. The day had proven to be exhausting and he wanted nothing more than to take Charlotte into his arms and hold her close to him. To lay with her on the couch and watch Netflix while playing with her hair, inhaling her scent with every move she made. God, I love her scent, he thought. Wild jasmine and vanilla emanated from her pores, an aphrodisiac by all meanings of the word and he was addicted. With his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel and his eyes glued to the road ahead, Nicholas allowed his mind to drift back to the first time Charlotte had walked into his office, the day his life was forever changed.
DECEMBER 2006
“Excuse me, Mr. Elliot,” Rachel Clemons said, tapping lightly on his office door. “You’re 9 o’clock interviewee has arrived.”
“Send him in,” Nicholas answered, his attention on the documents spread across his desk.
“Her,” Rachel corrected before quietly closing the door and returning to the floor’s waiting area. “Ms. Toutant, Mr. Elliot is ready for you. This way please.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte said, sweetly.
Nicholas looked up from the work in front of him at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. His senses alerting him of her loveliness before she even stepped foot into his office. Knocking once more, Rachel waited for the verbal cue to open the door. “Please come in,” he said, sitting straight up in his black leather chair.
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