by Vivian Wood
“How nice for you both.”
“He wants you to succeed, Heath. Just as much as I do.”
“No.” I shake my head, swiping the tassels across my brow to the side, my grin a sad reply. “What Dean Whitmore wants is a whisky bottle without an end and a college-aged mouth around his shriveled cock. Let’s not pretend he cares what happens to me.”
“But do you care?” My father’s chest heaves hard. “Do you care at all that you’re throwing three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of education away? Do you care that you’re choosing to forego graduation from the most prestigious law school in the goddamned country?”
“Sure I do.” I smile weakly, the expression turning sardonic as I stare into eyes so much like mine. I nod slowly. “I care enough not to continue this sham.”
“Exactly what sham are you referring to…?” His teeth tighten as he grits the words. “Son?” He cocks an eyebrow up to the sky. “The sham of a spoiled heir, wasting his God-given talent? Giving it away to gambling and entrepreneurial fantasies and girls?”
“It’s women, Dad. Not girls. They’re all over the age of eighteen. Wish the same could be said for the ones I found with the Dean.”
He glares. “You’re ungrateful.”
“By ungrateful, you mean not blindly obedient.” I glare back.
“My father graduated from Harvard.”
“Good for Grandpa.”
“His father went to Harvard before him.”
“And I guess you’re scolding me for not sending gifts or…?”
He continues, ignoring me. “And yet here you are. Living each day like it’s your last. Spitting in the face of me, the firm, hell—the entire institution that is Law.”
“The dramatics are a nice touch, Dad. Really.” I remove the heavy cap from my head. “After you retire from the firm, I’m sure a nice television stint awaits.”
“You’re a grade-A fuck-up, you know that?”
I exhale as his teeth start to chatter. Here it comes. The Fitzgerald Sparrow I know best.
The beast behind the mask.
It was only a matter of time, really.
“You have respect for nothing but yourself,” he hisses.
“Oh, I do actually. I have respect for the last shred of decency left in me. The ones that won’t let me shake the hand of a philandering, predator of an academic dean with more skeletons in his closet than the Arlington National Cemetery. The ones that won’t let me support a system so slanted towards the rich that the Ivy League booster club shits gold. An institutional circle of back-scratchers so self-absorbed that decent fucking men like my goddamned roommate Jesse Somerset can barely scrape a job because Ivy Legacy free-loaders like me have gifted them all on a silver platter.”
I stare into the deepening depths of my father’s furious eyes.
He steps forward. His steps are slow and deliberate.
“You may have the money my father left you in his will when he passed. But you’ll never have any stake in the firm. You mark my words, Heath… You’ll be back, begging, before five years is out.”
I grin.
This is not my first rodeo, and I’m way better at gambling than my father’s ever been. This won’t be my first roll of the dice…nor my last. I raise my chin, uttering infamous last words.
“Wanna bet?”
I raised my hand for him to shake, my fingers lightly trembling as I waited. I held in a deep breath, counting to myself.
One. Two.
It’s been seven years since that day, and the lessons are still the same. Now sitting against leather seat of my rented Audi, among the Manhattan snow, I realize I’ve learned another lesson along the way…
The most important?
That love is imperfect. It’s messy. Full of fucking flaws.
And life is only two beats from changing.
Ever notice that? It never gets to three.
It surprises you before you get to the third number, dropping the bottom out. And nothing dropped the bottom out from me more than the note that was passed to me in that seedy little strip club.
I still remember reading its crooked text.
“Get rid of the redhead.”
That’s what the note said.
No “hi’s” or “hello’s.” No niceties to top off the lap-dance. No half-assed attempt at even pretending to be civil or even vague.
My mystery letter-writer was long past the point of being subtle. And when I’d found that Violet had snuck from my sheets, slipped out before the early morning sun, I nearly broke my neck to get to Brett and Elsie’s, checked the King & Sparrow office before coming up completely empty. My cell phone out of service due to the winter storm, I visited everywhere I thought my sexy vixen would be, wrangling Jesse in as my unwilling assistant.
I bark at him from a set of walkie-talkies I abruptly picked up from the only open store, my voice husky.
“Follow her.”
I can hear nothing but Jesse’s breath as he hesitates on the other end of the line.
“Follow her, you said?” he repeats, as if he hasn’t heard me first time.
“Yes,” I oblige him between gritted teeth. “Follow her.”
“As in…now?” I hear muttered over the scratchy speaker.
“No, tomorrow, Jess. Yes. Follow her right now.”
“But…” The sound of the street around him drones his husky voice out. “She just walked out of her apartment building. Not too long after she walked in. Maybe she’s going to get some breakfast…”
I stare at the walkie, listening to the voice coming out of it, wondering —just a little bit—why the hell my father hired him in the first place.
The best trial lawyer in the country was clueless in terms of espionage, and if he hadn’t been my college best friend, I’d have fired his ass on the spot for gross incompetence.
I put the walkie back to my mouth, unclenching my teeth one-by-one.
“Listen,” I hiss. “I’ll be about two seconds from offing your ass, if you don’t. We’re tailing Marilyn. And the biggest part of tailing is that you follow the subject. Wherever they go. Whatever they do. So… fucking follow her.”
Jesse exhales loudly. “Sure,” he declared. “But I don’t get it… Do we have to do this GI Joe-style?”
I shift in my car seat. “Yes.”
“Well, can we at least use some traditional walkie-talkie code?”
I inhale deeply, exhaling just as quick “No.”
“So, we want to keep an eye out for Violet and your sister, why?”
“Because we’re protecting them,” I added.
“More like stalking,” my college roommate concludes. “And don’t get me wrong,” he spouts quickly. “I’m all on board for a little light stalking work, but if that’s what we’re doing, ya gotta tell me. Might have to dial down my focus, especially since you’re not paying me.”
I tap the throttle in my car, resisting the urge to smash the black talking square against it. I hold it closer to my mouth instead.
“Jess. Listen. I need all of your focus. Turn your dial back the hell up.”
I sit back in the driver’s seat of the rented Audi, my nerves on high. Post-blizzard Manhattan traffic plays the score to my impatience, and I wait for Jesse’s voice to come over the line again, hoping he will have a clue as to where Marilyn’s heading, where she might lead us.
I hope to God it’s to Violet.
She’s the one under the threat. Not my sister.
But with cell phones out of commission and Violet’s love for “DND” mode, I can’t tell if she’s running from me again…or been taken. If she’s run, I know my sister won’t tell me the truth.
Either way, I need to get to her. Before whoever’s taking aim at King & Sparrow’s stock and business comes calling after her.
Marilyn had just gotten back to her apartment and yet here she was again, leaving it. My wily sister was making up for lost time since making it out of the hospital.
I’d considered Brett to help me tail her, but Jess had been my first call. With paparazzi tailing him and Elsie, it was the last thing my best friend needed, especially after we’d last ended on such fucked-up terms.
I still needed to mend that when I had a chance. But my own time was now running out.
I was worried about Violet.
I continue sitting there in the car, anxious for Jesse’s next update, and when it comes, I regret my decision to call him for the fortieth time.
“Holy shit,” he comments on the line. “When did Marilyn get so grown up?”
I sit up. “Sometime around the age we did.”
“Your sister is gorgeous.”
“Really great update, Jess. I’ll tell her you mentioned it.”
“I just noticed how…adult she is. She seemed like such a kid when we were at Harvard.”
“She sort of was.” I growl. “No more than seventeen. Now, could you keep your eyes off my sister’s ass and on where she’s going? I really don’t need a play-by-play of you noticing how hot she is.”
“Huh. Well, she is.”
“Congratulations on having eyes.”
“And my eyes weren’t on her ass, but if they were…” He trails off. “I mean, it is tight as hell. You could bounce a fucking quarter off it. Nice skirt-suit she’s wearing, by the way.”
I snap. “Stop talking about my sister’s ass.”
“We could talk about Violet’s ass, if it makes you feel better.”
“Look anywhere near Violet’s ass, and I’ll throw your fucking walkie talkie into the street.” I lower my voice. “With your ear still attached.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it, boss.” Jesse jokes. “I’ve got her covered.” I snort loudly and I can sense his smile over the line. “In the…non-sexual sense, of course, and well, would you look at the time…?”
“Quit fucking around, Jesse. And keep me updated.”
“Yes, that’s right. Okay, I’ve got Manhattan covered. You…have fun in Brooklyn, I guess. Nothing there anymore but bad art and hipster bars.” He pauses. “I wouldn’t trade places with you right now for the world.”
His statement sets something off in me. My gut clenches with a new thought. I turn the wheel. Kicking up grudge and dirty snow, I head in the direction towards the bridge—back to Manhattan. Thrusting my throttle, I throw the Audi car into overdrive, my fist tightening just the same as my tires which spin over ice and sleet, flying over the road.
I lower the walkie from my ear, whispering into the small speaker, my pulse bouncing all around my throat. I hiss to Jess.
“Turn around. I know where Violet is going to be.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
VIOLET
Christmas Eve
Le Petite Pony has a few people, but Heath isn’t one of them. After our taxi cab took us to his apartment, I found it empty. Scouring the city, looking for him, my phone deader than dead, I, at last, land on the local bar we can’t stop coming to.
The one we’d been in the night we first met.
On Christmas Eve, the streets are scarily quiet. The snow has shuttled everyone inside and as I stroll towards the back space of the bar, my eyes scanning for Heath, they land on something—someone—I never thought would be here.
His blue eyes and blond hair are a dead giveaway.
“Hi, beautiful.”
My heart drops at the sound of his voice. Fuck.
I wrap my hair in a quick twisted top bun, crossing the length of the bar. Running my fingers over my hips, I try to rub the nerves out, but they’re still singing by the time I make it to David’s stool, my skin still prickling as his blue eyes peruse my body, trailing all over my black shirt and skirt.
I cross my arms over my chest and wait. “What are you doing here?”
“Well,” he comments, spinning towards me. “There’s only one reason anyone comes to a bar.” He raises a glass I hadn’t seen until just now. He lowers it. “And it ain’t to look at the bowls of peanuts offered to the patrons.”
I nod, feeling nothing. “It’s a little early for the hard stuff, don’t you think, David?”
His eyes scan the bar. “Doesn’t look that way. Looks just early enough to me. It’s not like the bar’s completely emptied even on Christmas Eve. And speaking of ‘empty,’ if I’m not mistaken, you haven’t been around much lately.” He straightens his overpriced silk tie. “Would’ve been a shame not to see you before Christmas.”
“I’ve been around. Just got a lot of work to do.”
He sniffs. “Does that work include Heath Sparrow?”
I cut my eyes at him. “Why don’t you go home and rest? Looks like you’ve had your fun.” I sniff. “You reek of vodka and you need to clean up. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.” I mutter under my breath. “Unfortunately.”
He stands, shaking his head. “Ya see…that’s what you say.” He moves in closer, blowing his alcohol-soaked breath on me. “That’s what you always say.” My chest starts to heave. My breaths grow shallow as David closes in on me, his tall lean body brushing against mine as he barricades me against the isolated bar, his thin, lengthy arms locking down on the surface of the long counter behind me. He places his hands on either side of me, leaning in.
He’s drunk out of his mind, that much I can tell. But it’s not his glassy eyes or stilted stumble that makes my heart pound. It’s his steady, stoned glare. He’s looking at me as if he doesn’t even see me anymore… Just a body. Two pairs of tits wrapped in a tight ensemble, open for his touch.
His gaze scans slowly over my figure, but the first time since I met him, the wealthy, blue-blooded lawyer with the nice smile, I truly don’t want it. His leer isn’t just lewd… It’s enough to make my skin crawl. I try to back up and find my backside pressing flush against the lacquered bar, the smell of liquor wafting off of him in waves. And with Emily still in the cab and the bartender busy with other customers, the conversation between David and I goes unnoticed—our little face-off way too off to the side to be seen, our exchange blocked by David’s long body.
I can’t believe it. I’m fucking trapped.
I put a hand against his chest, pushing. “You’re drunk. Sleep it off.”
The corners of his mouth tug upward as he blinks slowly. “Why don’t you sleep it off with me?”
“I can’t. I’ve got to go.”
“Come on,” he urges, pressing his pelvis into mine. I can feel the beginnings of a hard-on beneath his wool pants, and the drunken lawyer grabs my wrists nearly bringing them to his grinding crotch. I snatch them back.
“No,” I snap. “Move, David. Get out of my way.”
“Stop playing so hard to get, and I will,” he starts to growl.
I twist between his arms as he grabs at me. “No, I said fucking stop it…”
“You stop teasing me first.”
“David… David. David, I said fucking no!” I push again at his chest, backing him up. It gives me the space I need to move, and I bring my knee between his legs, jerking it upwards to slam into his half-chubbed cock. He yelps and backs away, hissing out a few expletives before looking up at me. His normally handsome face is twisted…and furious.
“You uptight bitch,” he spits. “Do you know how many women would kill to be with me?”
I huff the words, breathing heavily as I glare at him. “My bet? Only the criminally insane, you piece of shit.”
He cups his hands at his crotch, wincing. “I was the insane one, making a deal that lost me the fucking firm. All for the wet spot between the thighs of some damaged, frigid divorcee,” he throws my way.
And then I watch him get hit, his head hurtling backwards as a fist lands over my shoulder, squarely in his face. My vision goes black.
HEATH
Don’t you do it, asshole. Don’t you fucking do it.
I’m walking right up, clenching my fists against my hips as I watch the scene before me.
Funny thing is… I can’t tell if I’m talking to
him… or myself.
I’m a barely contained maelstrom, ready to strike with bolts of fury.
Inexplicable hot anger burns into my chest, and I am squeezing my fists so hard that my fingertips start to tingle. I am not prepared for what happens next. I see red.
Somewhere in the blurry haze of my consciousness, I realize that I’ve actually made in time, punched David in the face. Past the other drinking patrons, over Violet’s silky strawberry red hair, I plant a fist.
Right into the fucker’s nose.
I don’t realize what’s happening until I’m standing directly in front of David, my hands wrapped around his collar, hoisting him eye-level with my six-three frame. His face turns as red as his collared shirt, his nose emitting a deep burgundy ooze. He tries to slink from my grasp.
“Give me another fucking reason to knock your head clean off your fucking shoulders, King? Please. Give me another goddamned reason.”
He spits in my face, a bloody spew that makes contact with my nose.
I hit him again. My fist makes contact with mouth and teeth, scrapping my knuckles as they slam. He doubles over, going down, and I release the suit-covered jackass with as much force as I’ve grabbed him with, watching him stumble backward, as he barely catches his balance.
He blinks rapidly as his kneecaps scrape the floor. He stumbles to his feet.
“You stupid bastard,” he mumbles through a mouthful of blood. “She isn’t even worth it. When I made the bet for her, I thought there was no way I could lose. But then your fucking father wakes up…and the stock bounces back. Fuck you goddamned Sparrows.”
My adrenaline is pumping. I’m almost sure I’ve misheard the bumbling prick until a set of fourth footsteps joins in. David glances over my shoulder, tucking his tail between his legs as he scampers out the back door.
Violet’s own eyes swing towards the front. I plant a foot to turn.
“What the hell is going on in here?!” a voice booms from behind me, the thunderous tone undeniable. It hits me with a brutal force that shocks me into immediate attention.
And within three-point-three milliseconds, I have to come to grips with the fact that my father is here. Alive and well.