“Why they hell would she do that?”
“According to the poor shmuck that got your old job, Richard gave it to Senator Ellis as some sort of a gesture of goodwill. Angelica didn’t appreciate that her father was using the existence of that tape to corral her and tell her what to do. He kept threatening to release it if she misbehaved. Angelica would rather be free to be a crazy ho and have everyone think she’s a major Kardashian wannabe than have to exhibit gratitude or obedience to her dad, I guess.”
“Oh man. That is not a healthy family dynamic.”
“Which part? The part about Angelica using her sex tape to embarrass her father and stick it to him, or the part where a US Senator would try to emotionally blackmail his own daughter?”
“I’m gonna’ go with the Ellis part.”
Dylan laughed. He was always laughing nowadays. We both were. The exit from the nightmare that was being an associate attorney at Clark and Ellis had lifted and revealed that we were not nearly as beaten down and joyless as we’d feared. There was still plenty of spark left.
“Well, wow, thanks for calling but I’m afraid I have to go now,” I told him, catching sight of Eva.
“Ok. I’ve got a date with Sheila tonight anyway. Later.”
Eva had just emerged from the shower and was now wrapped in a big, fluffy white towel. She needed to be unwrapped immediately, but before I could pounce she grinned and dropped it to the floor.
“Do you like my new earrings?” She purred. That fucking voice.
Epilogue - Eva
When I got back to Philadelphia, I never expected to cross paths with the denizens of Waterloo ever again. That world wasn’t something I enjoyed or understood. It seemed like massive wealth just made most people more miserable and gave them new, more expensive opportunities to do dumb stuff.
I was temping at the local emergency room one evening when Madison Clark hobbled in, and I was surprised by her banal explanation for her injury. I figured she’d been playing polo on horseback or crashing a Maserati or something similarly glamorous.
“No, I was just playing video games and tripped when I was getting up,” she admitted, looking down at her purple ankle mournfully. “It’s not going to make a good story at all. I wasn’t even drunk.”
“Just tell everyone you got in a bar fight and won,” I suggested as I tested the flexion on the joint. “Don’t forget to tell people that the other girl lost three teeth and a fingernail.”
Madison grinned at me. “I might!” She winced when I tried to move her ankle forward—not a good sign. She covered her squeal by making conversation, “So you quit working for the Durant family, huh?”
“Yeah, I decided it wasn’t for me. I’m temping at the emergency room until Charlie and I decide where we want to live.”
“It’s so sweet that you and Charlie ended up together. My dad was mad he quit though.”
To be honest, I couldn’t care less if Charlie’s law firm missed him. Both Dylan and Charlie were better off not being worked to death. I finished with my manipulation of Madison’s ankle and handed her an ice pack.
“The doctor is going to want a set of x-rays to confirm it, but it looks like you have a nasty sprain. You’re going to be wearing an orthopedic boot for about six weeks.”
I pulled one out of the box and showed it to her. They were black and grey monstrosities with a rounded bottom, so the wearer wouldn’t have to limp or use a crutch. Although a huge improvement over a plaster cast, they were one-size-fits-none and tremendously ugly.
Her face turned ashen as she stared at it. “I definitely can’t wear that thing for more than four weeks.”
I turned on my ‘scary nurse voice’. “You will need to wear it for six weeks in order for the tendons to heal. Sprains are actually worse than fractures in terms of healing time.”
Madison seemed unaffected. “I can only wear it for four weeks.” Her pretty features were drawn into a firm pout.
“What happens in five weeks?” I probed. There had to be a reason she would be so specifically going against medical advice.
“Nothing,” she replied sheepishly.
“Nothing wouldn’t make you blush like that.”
She looked up at me and chewed on her bottom lip. Madison really was a pretty girl. Her father must be exhausted keeping the boys away from her. I wondered if keeping her out of trouble really had been in Charlie’s employment agreement. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was.
“There’s a party in a few weeks. A beginning of summer party at my friend Clara’s house. Everyone will be there.”
“Is impressing Mr. Everyone worth having lasting damage to your ankle? You’re much more likely to re-injure the area if you don’t let it heal properly.”
Madison looked like she thought he possibly might be. I decided to let the doctor lecture her until she obeyed and told her I’d be back to discharge her after her x-rays. I had nineteen other patients to triage.
Thoughts of Waterloo and Madison Clark had almost faded from my brain once I had worked through sixteen of my nineteen patient backlog and allowed myself a five-minute break. I grabbed myself a protein bar and looked at my phone to see a request from Charlie to call him.
“Hey babe,” I told him between bites, “I’ve only got a few seconds. What’s up?”
“Hi Eva, sorry to bug you while you’re working. I just got a call from Alexander III, you know your old patient’s grandson?”
“Sure, I remember him. Tall, dark, and grumpy.”
“That’s the one. I owe him a small favor and he called it in. He heard that my ex-boss’ daughter, Madison Clark had been taken to the emergency room. He wanted to find out if she’s ok.”
I paused. On the one hand, HIPAA confidentiality required me to protect patient privacy. On the other, I think I had just found out the true identity of Mr. Everyone. There was a bit of an age difference there, but not too bad.
“You know I can’t tell you anything about my patients,” I told Charlie, smiling and shaking my head. “If Alexander has a question about the status of any patient, he needs to call the hospital and speak to a nurse.”
“Fair enough. But if Madison Clark was in serious danger, she would be admitted to the hospital, is that correct?”
I hoped Charlie wasn’t trying any tricky lawyer tricks on me.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And if Madison were admitted, she wouldn’t be your patient in the ER, correct?”
“Yes, that’s also right.”
“So, the fact that you saw her in the ER and didn’t admit her means that she isn’t in serious danger.”
“I never said that!”
“You actually kind-of did, but I won’t tell. Well, I’ll let you get back to work. Love you. Thanks! Bye!” He hung up to leave me shaking my head and giggling.
By the time I got back to Madison’s room to let her know Mr. Durant called to inquire about her wellbeing, she’d already been discharged.
They’d find each other soon enough.
What will the future hold for the four eligible heirs of the Durant fortune?
Will Alexander Durant and Madison Clark find their own happily ever after?
What will become of Clara Ellis and her nasty sister Angelica?
Find out in ‘Bleeding Heart’. Click here to read now or keep reading for an exclusive teaser.
Exclusive Teaser: ‘Bleeding Heart’
Read on for an exclusive excerpt of ‘Bleeding Heart’!
‘Bleeding Heart’ is the first book in Scions of Sin series and can also be read as a standalone story.
Enjoy!
Bleeding Heart Chapter 1
Alexander
“Is there anything I can get for you, Mr. Durant?” The smiling brunette asked me, returning from the plane’s galley.
She handed me the leather-bound menu, but her pale blue eyes offered up an entirely different kind of delicacy. Her small, warm hand lingered on mine, making her implication crystal clear
. The little nametag on her chest said ‘Vicki’.
"Gin and tonic would be great," I said pointing to the wet bar at the other end of the cabin.
She eagerly sashayed away to fulfill my request and I sunk back into my seat and reassured myself that it was alright to leave the Middle East during this critical phase of my most ambitious project to date.
I was headed home. Back to Pennsylvania, the home of the Liberty Bell, a shit-ton of backward Amish people, and my dysfunctional extended family. On the upside, at least it wouldn’t be a hundred and six degrees in Pennsylvania like it was in Dubai.
I hated that I was going to miss the symbolic ground-breaking ceremony for my company's new condo tower. I secretly loved those. I would have denied it to anyone who dared to ask, but I had a closet entirely full of those goofy, gold-painted shovels and hardhats they always give you. They’re my trophies. Still, this trip had potential beyond adding another shovel to my collection. After all, Madison was in Philadelphia.
“Would you care for some company?” Vicki asked a moment later, perching on the seat across from me. “It’s a long flight to spend all alone.”
I didn’t mind being alone. In fact, I usually preferred it.
Vicki was maybe twenty-four or twenty-five—a good eight years younger than me, but old enough to know she definitely shouldn’t have hit on me. But she was doing it anyway, placing that same soft hand on my knee as she started to talk about something inconsequential.
“Do you play chess?” I asked, gesturing to the set that sat to our right.
“I haven’t played since I was a kid,” Vicki answered with a shy smile. “But if you teach me to play, I’m game.”
“Chess is a game of strategy. It’s a constant cost-benefit analysis. The first thing you need to know is that not all of the pieces have the same value,” I told her, dragging the set between us and pulling out the pieces. “Each type of piece has a distinct purpose and ability.”
Vicki listened attentively as I explained the rules.
“The queen is the most important piece on the board,” I continued. “She can move in any direction, but trapping the queen is the object of the game. You need to always stay aware of where your queen is and whether she’s safe. You always need to be thinking four to five moves ahead.”
If I slept with Vicki, I’d be a story she could tell her impressed friends later over cocktails. She had sex with Alexander Durant on an international flight. No, not the ninety-year-old French guy, she’d have to explain to them, his grandson with the same name. The real estate developer who was always in the tabloids. Photographed with his arm around the waist of some model or starlet.
“The rook, the bishop, the knight, and the king are like your special forces,” I explained, demonstrating each of the abilities in turn. “You will use them to manipulate the position of my queen.”
Fucking me would prove to Vicki that she’s the alpha bitch today. I was just a piece in her game for self-validation. Fuck the alpha male and you become the alpha bitch, right? People are just wolves with manners and thumbs.
“What about the pawns?” Vicki asked, turning one over in her manicured hands.
“The pawns are your foot soldiers,” I said. “You have to be willing to sacrifice a few if you want to win. But don’t underestimate the power of the pawns. They aren’t powerless. Even though they just plod straight ahead and move diagonally only to attack, sometimes even a pawn can make all the difference. Are you ready to play?”
Vicki nodded cautiously.
“Go easy on me,” she pleaded with a dramatic pout.
“I’ll try,” I replied with a smirk. That wasn’t something I knew how to do. I couldn’t have done so if I’d wanted to.
I used a sequence called the ‘Scholar’s Mate’ to quickly gain control of the board. It was one of my favorite moves. You put everything on the line for a quick and decisive victory. It reminded me of the deal I was flying in to execute.
At first glance, Madison's deal seems like a simple quid pro quo. Everyone gives up something to get something but look closer and you will see that behind the tax breaks, campaign donations, reduced regulation, and free rides on company jets, the real winners were the people of Columbia.
Vicki had a number of opportunities to counter me, but she was quickly caught. By the time she realized my bishops had her queen, it was too late. We played three times with similar results.
“Checkmate,” I told her after another five-move game. Vicki frowned but laughed lightly, unconcerned by her quick loss.
“Do you want to play again?” I asked her, and she shook her head and looked at me with bedroom eyes. Her hand was back on my knee. I sighed.
"That's probably for the best, I've got some important documents to review. Could you grab me an espresso?"
She frowned and sulked away. I’m a lot of things, but I’m nobody’s pawn.
I pulled the laptop out of my bag and decided to re-review the particulars of the deal I would be working on. I needed to be four or five moves ahead if I was going to get everything I wanted out of this trip back home.
While Madison was responsible for greasing the wheels, my job was to develop the hideous eyesore that was one of Columbia’s former industrial hubs into a world-class resort. The Soulless, scumbag politicians were already taking credit for something they had nothing to do with. I mean, I may be scum too, but at least I build things. All politicians do is talk. Talk and lie. They’re necessary parasites, however, and our family has always kept them well-fed. They played their part in the game, just like rooks, knights, and bishops.
This was a game of strategy. And I had my eyes on the queen.
Bleeding Heart Chapter 2
Madison
Selena Gomez’s breathy, ethereal soprano cut off mid-high-note as I smacked the radio off. The way her airy voice lapsed into silence made it sound like she was climaxing. I smirked, thinking that it was probably engineered to sound that way by some pervy record executive, but my smile faded as I turned out of my parent’s neighborhood.
The manicured lawns of Waterloo, Pennsylvania lured my gaze to the half-hidden McMansions beyond. Peeking out from behind leafy green trees and tall, wrought iron gates, each stately, brick edifice was as elegant as the last—and just as bland.
Selena’s girlish voice wasn’t the right soundtrack for this place at all. Waterloo, an affluent suburb on the edge Philadelphia, should be accompanied by something properly stuffy. Something classical and self-important. What composer was appropriately pompous and full of himself… Handel maybe? Or better yet, Wagner. Perfect. Wagner: the Nickelback of classical music.
I maneuvered my rented Range Rover down the wide, empty streets. After spending three months in Port-au-Prince, everything here radiated an overly clean and ordered artificiality. The US in general may have looked naïve and well-fed by Haitian standards, but Waterloo’s privilege was now jarring to me.
Glancing at Kevin in the back seat, I successfully managed to banish my feelings of American guilt, replacing them with relationship anxieties. My fiancé Kevin was deeply engrossed in his phone, as usual. He’d been staring at that thing almost every second since my return from Haiti, except when he took occasional breaks to talk about how much he wanted to move to California to work for his friend’s tech startup. He was tapping away on it constantly, barely acknowledging my presence long enough to be disinterested in it. The light from it reflected on the surface of his glasses, obscuring his eyes as thoroughly as the thoughts and feelings he’d been hiding from me.
“I really like your dress, Maddie,” my best friend Clara said from the passenger seat, filling the awkward silence in the car, “that’s the Betsey Johnson you found in that Queens thrift shop right?”
I hadn’t physically seen my best friend Clara in almost two years, although we talked three times a day on Snapchat and had group chats with our extended friend group that were almost a decade old. Our schedules just never lined up. It was a rare tr
eat to see her tonight.
“Yes!” I replied, proud of my find, “I just wish it fit a bit better. I lost some weight in Haiti. Their portion sizes are a lot smaller.”
My dress was a teal-colored silk chiffon with a deep V-neck and a knee-length scalloped skirt. It was vintage Betsey Johnson. This was the only truly nice dress I owned besides the sedate evening gown I wore for work sometimes, and this was the perfect opportunity to wear it. I had piled my heavy, dark cloud of curly brown hair into a messy bun that showed the vivid purple streak normally hidden at my day job, and added some dangly, colorful earrings. My dainty unicorn tattoo stood out on my left ankle. This was the most dressed up I’d been in ages, but Kevin hadn’t noticed.
Clara smirked. "You could probably go naked. With that rack, no one would care. Except my bitch of a sister. She’d get you tossed out for violating the dress code.”
“Angelica’s coming?” I gasped in horror.
“It wasn’t my idea!” Clara squealed, her voice equally defensive and contrite.
Clara’s gorgeous, sociopathic older sister was not a welcome addition. Angelica married super rich and nasty old a few months ago. When her crypt-keeper husband died, she would become a thirty-year-old billionaire widow with Kardashian aspirations. I’d always despised her, although she mostly acted like I didn’t exist. When I was invited to her wedding, she had me down as ‘Morgan Clark’. I’d been her sister’s best friend since second grade.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Clara said a moment later as we parked, chewing her bottom lip in apparent discomfort, “I’m pretty sure she’s just here for Alexander. Like I said, he got back a day earlier, so he’s coming tonight as well. Angie invited herself as soon as she heard. As if he’d every be interested in her.”
Mention of his name made a chill run through me, but I kept my gaze on the road ahead of me. I refused to be rattled.
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