by Kat T. Masen
My notebook, sitting on the table, now becomes my sole focus. I find myself doodling on the page knowing he’s watching me, then quickly write down some words to pretend that the way he’s staring at me isn’t affecting me whatsoever.
“I’m here… I’m here.” Emerson runs through the door, closing it behind her. She takes a moment to catch her breath, saying hello to everyone. As she sits, I examine her beautiful blouse. It’s an off-the-shoulder style and one she always pulls off very nicely. Emerson has gorgeous shoulders if that’s such a thing. They’re tanned, though she admits it’s spray, and she’s incredibly fit. The shade of light blue suits her light-colored hair that’s left loose today. Sometimes, the tone of her hair appears blonde, and other times, like now, it looks silver.
Nevertheless, Emerson’s very attractive, and her sitting beside me has me questioning my confidence, especially when she’s Wesley’s ex-fiancée. I mean, he wanted to marry her. That has to count for something, and they had this whole life planned out together.
“Okay, Charlie, give us the lowdown, please.”
“Right. So there’s a company in Greece, a rather large corporation, selling counterfeit designs of your latest line.”
“But how? We bought the patent rights to that dry-fit fabric?” Emerson questions, annoyed. “It’s illegal to reproduce, or for our manufacturer to be supplying this to anyone else—”
“We paid top dollar for these rights. Who are these people?” Wesley interrupts. “What kind of loss are we talking here?”
Charlie frowns, pushing a paper toward Wesley and Emerson. “I’m afraid we’re talking around two million.”
“Two. Million. Dollars!” Wesley yells, agitated. “How the fuck was this not picked up earlier?”
Emerson buries her head in her hands. “The finance department was reporting losses. We just narrowed it down to slow markets in Europe, and with the political changes being their focus.”
“You were reporting losses but didn’t bother to tell me?” Wesley fires back, clenching his fist that sits on the table, ready to pounce at any moment. The veins in his neck stand out—a trait I notice each time he reacts this way in my presence.
“Oh, please,” Emerson argues with a taunting laugh. “You don’t care what goes on. Why the sudden interest in holding onto this venture? When we were together, you didn’t give a goddamn shit what I did. If it made you look good, that’s all you damn well cared about.”
“And if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be this successful. This brand took off because our name was worth something. You were the one who decided to end that.”
“Because you were a cheating scumbag,” Emerson shouts back, much to my shock.
“Really?” Wesley deadpans. “So how is Carrington? I hear the Brazilian ladies are loving him being in Brazil without you.”
Emerson’s skin turns bright red, but her lips are stark white.
Charlie shrugs at me, half-heartedly, before putting a stop to this madness. “We’re not here to discuss your past or any personal matters. So please, for the sake of Milana and me, let’s not get into it. Now, here’s what we need to do next.”
It’s clear the magnitude of the problem has kept Charlie up all night. She hands Emerson and Wesley some legal documentation, explaining to them her discussions with a close lawyer acquaintance in Europe and some laws that could potentially protect the perpetrators.
The legal talk goes on for two hours. Refreshments are brought in—the coffee, my savior as always—and I try my best to note as much as I can with Emerson talking fast and arguing back and forth with Wesley.
It becomes difficult to focus on anything besides the animosity between these two ex-lovers.
And I wonder if I’m wearing the same rose-colored glasses that Emerson once wore? If things don’t work out between Wesley and me, will I resent and hate him as much as she does?
Doubt fill my overthinking mind. I try my best to concentrate on the real issue here, but every now and then, I find myself watching the two of them and questioning everything about why we’re together.
How could he possibly be with me when he’s had her?
“Milana, did you jot that down?”
Emerson breaks my dysfunctional trance, thankfully, and brings me back to the reason why we’re all here.
This lawsuit means I will be working nonstop, retrieving necessary documents for the court case, working with Emerson on fast-tracking the new line and making sure her schedule is freed up to focus only on this.
Charlie makes it clear that Wesley and Emerson need to unite to build the brand and make it stronger. Sonia, the wicked publicist from the west, is placed on a conference call and lists all the events she wants the two of them to attend.
“No,” Emerson states, quick to shut her down. “I don’t see why we need to attend anything together.”
“Emerson, sweetheart, this brand needs to show a united front. Now isn’t the time for Wesley to be a silent partner. Okay, look… maybe the red-carpet stuff can be just you. But if I can get a slot to the business convention we discussed a few weeks back, the both of you will need to present.”
Lifting my eyes, trying not to draw attention to my gaze, my regard wanders from Charlie to Wesley. In front of him sits an empty coffee cup and his cell. I only notice now that it begins to light up with text after text popping up on his screen. He glances down, scanning the messages before raising his eyes back to look at Emerson, not me.
My stare moves quickly back to my notepad, the same time my stomach begins to harden, followed by a wave of nausea.
How did I get myself here? So easily become intimate with a man—more than any man—and have no clue who he actually is?
Despite what I read online about him, those texts could easily be from women who he sees on the side. It’s not a far-fetched thought because let’s face it, women throw themselves at him. What about that Farrah Beaumont.
Am I that stupid to have jumped into a relationship with this man so quickly?
Questions, endless questions.
“Let’s reschedule New York for next week. Perfect, I guess, since Logan’s in town and can take care of Lola.”
“Next week?” I ask, forgetting for a moment Wesley’s sitting across from me.
“Yes, sorry, is that okay?” Emerson asks.
“Of course.” I smile, purposely meeting his gaze.
Wesley taps his fingertips on the table, leaning back in his chair with a slightly annoyed glare.
“Thank God.” Emerson smiles with relief. “Vancouver we can bring forward to the following Saturday. Actually, why don’t we go straight from New York? Let’s get it out of the way. I’ll have Logan meet us there.”
“Sounds like a plan—”
“Shoot!” she exclaims, worried. “There’s that meeting in Portland the following week.”
“Don’t worry, I can go. It might work out well. I plan to head back home for two days anyway, so I might swing it afterward if you don’t mind? I wouldn’t mind a change of scenery.”
“My God, no. You’re saving my life right now. Go see your family or boyfriend… what’s his name again?”
I cough, almost choking at her bringing Liam up. “Um… Liam.”
“That’s right.” Charlie smiles, rather cheekily. “How could we forget?”
Wesley slams his fist on the table, eyes blazing right at me. “Are we done discussing Milana’s personal life? I also have better things to do.”
“Like what?” I bite back, folding my arms.
My forwardness throws him a curveball, his expression turning from anger to annoyance in a matter of seconds.
This game we play—it’s deadly.
We’re both driven by jealousy and its ugly traits. It’s almost murderous.
“My personal life, Miss Milenov, remains no one’s business but my own.”
The room goes dead silent.
I want to tell Wesley we’re done, that I can’t continue second-gues
sing myself and this relationship, and that my heart continues to ache from missing Mama and home. The guilt of hurting Phoebe and Liam lays heavy on my shoulders.
And most importantly—I will never be Emerson.
“I have to go get Lola. We’re done.” Emerson stacks her papers, standing up and waiting for Wesley to respond.
“As done as we can be,” Wesley scoffs.
Charlie rolls her eyes at them both, following Emerson’s lead and saying goodbye, leaving me alone with Wesley.
The wrath of Wesley Rich will come undone. I can smell it in the air. Wesley’s stare is cold, his eyes wide without blinking.
“You’re quiet.”
“I have to go… I have a lot to do.” I stand, gathering my things when Wesley commands I sit.
“What’s wrong? You didn’t want Emerson and me to meet alone, so I thought you’d be happy. More time for you to talk with the girls about your boyfriend back home,” he snaps, insulting me.
This isn’t the time nor the place to have another argument. My head is pounding and on the verge of a migraine with the work that stems from the meeting. Not to mention the emotional game of tennis we watched being played between Wesley and Emerson.
I really want to be alone and call Mama. Speak to her, ease my stress, if only for a few minutes.
“I was put on the spot. I need to go, Wesley.”
“You think I’m stupid?”
“What? No…”
Wesley’s laughter is filled with sarcasm, and his rocking back-and-forth on the chair is starting to irritate me.
“So why don’t I believe your excuse? I don’t have time for games, Milana. Tell me what I did wrong, so I can fix it.”
It’s my turn to laugh, this time unable to hide my annoyance. “Tell you what you did wrong, so you can fix it? Maybe you didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe the problem is me. I said yes to being your girlfriend, and I basically have no damn clue who you are aside from what I’ve read online.” I take a breath, then unleash, “I mean… did you have anything to do with the drowning? What about the old man you hit? Where is he, and why didn’t you serve more time? And that Farrah woman… did you hit her? Who was that the other night who wanted you to fuck her up the ass? God, Wesley… so many questions, and it’s not me to be like this, but I can’t fucking concentrate when I’m around you. Then your cell goes off, and it’s probably women wanting a booty call.” I squeeze my eyebrows together. “God only knows what you do when I’m not around.” I take deep breaths while in mid-panic attack mode. My chest is incredibly tight and unforgiving.
“Shhh… calm down, okay?” He lowers his tone, peeping outside the glass to see if anyone’s walking by. “I can answer all your questions, just not here. If that’s your bottom line if you really want to know everything about who’s sleeping in your bed at night… I will answer your questions.”
“You will?” I ask, maybe too eagerly though relieved as well.
“Yes,” he responds. Though he’s quick to add, “Because then I can ask you questions.”
“Me?”
“I’m not the only mystery, Milana. The only difference is that when I Google Milana Milenov, I get a picture of a girl graduating from Anchorage Business School, and that’s it.”
I smile, finding him kinda cute knowing he Googled me. I finally manage to look him in the eye and allow my body to feel him over me. This force is powerful, everything I felt before this a distant memory.
“Dinner, my place at seven sharp,” he demands with a smirk.
“Deal… but I have a ton of work to do so I can’t stay.”
“No deal. You’re staying over. If you have to go to New York next week, I want you every moment I can have you.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Rich.”
He grins, sexily playing with his jaw. “About that, call me Mr. Rich one more time, and I’ll bend you over right here, right now, and fuck you till you have no choice but to scream Mr. Rich.”
He knows exactly how to get to me.
Wearing a devious grin on his handsome face, he exits the room leaving me alone to think about his powerful proposition.
He did it, again.
Made me go from hating him to wanting him in one single heartbeat.
Inside my office, I fire up my laptop and take a deep breath. My mind’s an unorganized mess, and with everything going on, I need to get into shape and start prioritizing.
So, I spend the next hour syncing my diary with Emerson’s, making calls and confirming all our travel arrangements. Charlie’s already emailed both of us a ton of legal documents that make sense given my limited experience, but nevertheless, this is going to be a long-winded battle.
By the time I peel myself away from my inbox, it’s just after five, and the office is surprisingly vacant. Today felt like the longest day of my life and with my laptop shut down and bag packed, I balance everything in my hands to only have my cell scare the shit out of me as it rings.
My heart races, and without thinking, I answer.
“Hey, it’s me.”
Liam.
The sound of his voice brings back a whole other world. I place my things down, worried I might carelessly fall apart from the tone of his voice.
“Hey.”
Silence falls between us, and not wanting to play on the obvious, I bring in the small-talk to try to repair what I so easily broke. “How have you been?”
“Good, I guess, considering. I’m dating someone.”
“That’s quick.”
Shit. I shouldn’t have said that, and trying to retrace my stupidity, I tell him, “I don’t mean it’s quick, I mean that you…” I roll my eyes at my mumbling and just say, “… never mind.”
It suddenly dawns on me that Phoebe told me Liam was seeing that Sienna girl only a day after he got back. I don’t have the right to question Liam’s fidelity, but his new relationship doesn’t add up either.
“I slept with her while I was still with you. I missed you… not that it matters now. I just needed to tell you that.” The pain in his voice subsides, almost to relief.
There’s a slight ping, a wave of hurt from hearing that. None of it matters now, though. The damage is done, and the universe plays its part. It’s not my place to reprimand him when I played the same card he did.
“Wesley’s not good for you.”
“Liam, please.”
“Listen to me. Do you remember the time we watched that program on serial manipulators? They had personality disorders, and that dad was jailed for murdering his wife?”
I remember the episode, yet don’t appreciate the link between a murderer and Wesley.
“C’mon, Liam. I know he’s done bad things, but people change.”
“Milly, listen to me. You’re in danger. Please, just walk away from him. It’s not about pride here, I’m genuinely worried.”
I smile into the receiver, ignoring his desperate pleas. Liam always protected me, and his worries are nothing but concern. It’s Liam being Liam.
“I can take care of myself. Listen, I should go. Keep in touch, okay?”
“Milly—”
“Liam, just don’t. Please don’t,” I beg, softly.
With a heavy sigh, he says goodbye, reluctantly, until the sound of my cell beeps informing me the call has ended. I stare at the screen for minutes, sad to say goodbye on such terms and wishing he could just let his anger toward Wesley go.
There isn’t much time to dwell on his words as I make a mad dash for my car, racing home so I can change and head over to Wesley’s.
I can’t wait to see him.
Finally, I will be getting those much-needed answers to the questions that will either make or break our relationship.
Chapter Nineteen
Wesley pulls out all the stops to woo me tonight.
Outside, on the patio, sits a small, round table with two wicker chairs. Two candles sit on the tabletop along with some fancy china, positioned perfectly next to the pool wit
h a view of the city lights. It’s beautiful, romantic, and another side to Wesley Rich that I haven’t seen.
I expect that a maid would serve us, so I’m surprised when I find Wesley in his kitchen, busily marinating the chicken with his bare hands and swaying his hips to a jazz tune that sounds slightly familiar.
“You can cook?”
“I’m not just a pretty face, baby. Pass me the paprika.”
“Is that the red stuff?”
His eyes light up with amusement, accompanied with a mischievous grin. “If you’re planning to be a housewife one day, you need to know your spices.”
“Right.” I throw a piece of cucumber at him, playfully. “That’s so sexist.”
“Why? You’ll look good in a kitchen, wearing an apron, and kids running around you.”
My gaze shifts toward the wine glass sitting in my hand. I swirl the wine, taking a large quantity in as I brush off the ‘kids’ comment. The uneasiness that momentarily graces the pit of my stomach disappears as the wine settles in nicely. With a forced smile, I continue to tease him. “Women around the world will crucify you if they hear that.”
“Well, lucky only the one I care about heard, huh?”
I’m unable to hide the girly giggle that escapes my mouth, enjoying this moment with him. How can a man, barefoot and wearing shorts, be so damn sexy with a raw carcass in his hand?
“Okay, smartass. Seriously, what can I do to help?”
“Get naked.”
“Wesley! I’m serious.”
Moving to the sink, he washes his hands thoroughly before responding. “I’m serious. I haven’t fucked you since this morning. We fight in the boardroom. You call me Mr. Rich twice, and you also mention some other boyfriend you had. Do I need to explain how hard I am right now?”
He moves to me, wrapping his arms around my neck. His hands touch my skin, the cool sensation from the cold water, causing me to shiver slightly. The dress I’m wearing exposes my shoulders, and the fabric is light and flowy. Feeling slightly exposed, my posture caves in to protect myself from the cold.