Get Over You (Dare Me Book 1)

by Skylar Hunter

  “Yes, but I didn’t know whether you’d been in contact with him or not.” I spread my hands in a helpless gesture. “What do you want me to say, Emerson? We hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in eight years. Once we reconnected, your mother asked me not to say anything about your father. It wasn’t my place to interfere—”

  “BULLSHIT!” Emerson explodes, shoving at my chest. “You could have warned me if you really wanted to! But you didn’t, because your need for revenge is more important than loyalty!”

  “Loyalty? To a woman who told me she never wanted to see me again?”

  “My point exactly! You’re obsessed with punishing me for the past!”

  “No,” I snarl. “You’re wrong about this, Emerson. Dead fucking wrong.”

  “I’m not and you know it! Not only that—” Her voice catches, her chin quivering as she fights back fresh tears.

  Guilt knifes through me. “Em—”

  She spins on her heel and marches toward the door.

  I’m right behind her, reaching for her arm. “Em, wait—”

  She snatches herself away, yanks the door open and storms down the hallway toward the reception area.

  Grace is at the front desk going over paperwork with the new receptionist. When she sees us coming, she holds up a manicured finger. “I was just about to buzz you, sir. The mayor is on the line. He says it’s—”

  “Not now, Grace,” I mutter, hurrying after Emerson.

  She stops at the elevator, furiously punching the down button. “I’d love to stay and continue our little chat,” she says bitterly as I come up behind her. “It’s been very enlightening, believe me.”

  “I’m sorry your father hurt you,” I growl. “I wish to God there was something I could do to change that—”

  “Well, you can’t,” she snaps.

  I clench my jaw, choking down the old anger and frustration. “You have to believe me when I tell you that your mom never meant to hurt you.”

  “I don’t have to believe anything!” she shrieks, rounding on me. “Why should I believe a damn word you say? You and my mother—” She’s shaking so hard she can’t even finish.

  I grab her with both hands, pulling her tightly against me. She puts up a fight but I don’t let go, my arms enveloping her with such ferocity that her resistance melts and she bursts into tears.

  I hold her close, stroking her hair and whispering soothing words as silent sobs rock her body.

  She seems so small and fragile in my arms, her face buried in my chest and her tears soaking through to my skin. As every protective instinct roars to life inside me, I kiss the crown of her head and rest my cheek there, trying to stem the tide of my own raging emotions.

  Goddamn Silvio Sartori. I could strangle the bastard with my bare fucking hands.

  When the elevator arrives with a soft ping, Emerson pulls out of my arms and swipes at her tears with angry embarrassment.

  “Sorry,” she mumbles, her voice husky with emotion. “Didn’t mean to get you all wet.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for, Em.” I lift her chin to peer into her eyes. “Are you gonna be all right?”

  She nods, backing into the empty elevator.

  I frown at her. “I hope you’re not going back to work.”

  “I still have responsibilities, Reyes. That doesn’t change just because my deadbeat dad has resurfaced as an embezzling criminal.”

  I shove my hands between the doors to keep them from sliding shut. “There might be reporters at your job—”

  “No shit,” she says sarcastically. “I work for a newspaper.”

  “I’m not talking about your colleagues,” I bark impatiently. “I’m talking about reporters who might be waiting to ambush you about your father. Maybe you should take some time off—”

  “For what? To be alone with my thoughts so I can drive myself crazy?” She snorts. “No, thanks. I’ll take my chances with work. At least there I know what I’m dealing with.” She stabs the lobby button and stares fixedly at the floor. “Thanks for the fun week. I’ll see you around.”

  “Emerson . . . Fuck!” I shout, slamming my fists against the doors as they slide closed in my face.

  Grace and Maite eye me worriedly from the reception desk. “Is everything all right?”

  “No.” I pivot and stalk back toward my office. “Get the U.S. attorney on the phone.”

  Grace frowns. “Not the mayor?”

  “No,” I growl. “I need to speak to my uncle, but I don’t have his new cell number. I want him on the fucking phone by the time I reach my office.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  EMERSON

  Still reeling from shock, i stumble across the parking lot to my car, climb inside and pull out my phone to call my mother.

  The phone rings once, twice, and nearly a third time before she picks up with a cheery, “Hello, darling.”

  “Mom—”

  “How nice to hear from you! I just got out of class—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that Dad was living in Piedmont Bay?”

  I hear a startled gasp on the other end.

  “How . . .” She trails off, takes a breath and tries again. “How did you find out?”

  “Reyes told me about the insurance papers that came last year, how you found out that Dad’s address had changed. He tried to explain your reasons for not telling me. But did it ever occur to you that I might actually want to know if the man who deserted us suddenly wound up living in the same city as me?”

  “Emerson—”

  “You should have told me. I had a right to know!”

  “Em—”

  “The only reason I found out is because his face is currently plastered all over the fucking news!”

  Mom goes silent a moment. “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, haven’t you heard? Your ex-husband has been arrested for embezzlement.”

  She gasps in shock.

  “He’s been under investigation for two years,” I coldly elaborate. “Apparently he swindled eight hundred million dollars out of his clients.”

  “Oh, my God,” Mom whispers in horror. “That doesn’t even make sense! Your father was a lot of things, Emerson, but—”

  “Don’t you dare defend him!” I hiss furiously. “Not after everything he put us through! Not after the spiteful way he treated you!”

  She inhales a shaky breath. “I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. I should have told you about him living in Piedmont Bay, but I honestly thought not telling you was for the best. He moved there to be close to you, but he promised to leave you alone until he was ready to be an active part of your life—”

  “I never asked him to be!” I roar. “He had his chance to be a father and he blew it! I don’t need him in my life. Not now, not ever!”

  “Emerson—”

  “My only consolation is that if he’s found guilty, he’ll probably spend the rest of his miserable days behind bars where he belongs!”

  Mom makes a choked sound like she’s trying not to cry.

  “I have to go, Mother,” I say icily. “I just wanted to let you know the latest news about my father—a courtesy you failed to show me.”

  I hang up on her and bang my hand on the steering wheel so violently it leaves my palm red. My whole body is trembling, boiling with so much fury and pain that I want to scream.

  When the phone rings, I’m prepared to give my mother another blistering earful. But one look at the screen reveals that the caller is my boss.

  I pull in a deep breath to calm myself before answering. “Hello.”

  “Hey, kiddo.” Lon’s voice is heavy with concern. “I just heard about your father. Jesus Christ, Emerson. Are you okay?”

  I screw my eyes shut. “I’m fine.”

  “I seriously doubt that.”

  My stomach twists like I’m going to be sick. “I haven’t seen my father in eight years. Believe me, I’m
more concerned about his victims than myself.” I swallow past the hard lump in my throat. “Anyway, I’m on my way back—”

  “I wouldn’t advise that,” Lon says grimly.

  “Why not?”

  “Reporters have been showing up looking for you.”

  Shit.

  “It’s Friday and you don’t have any games to cover till next week,” Lon continues. “Might be a good idea for you to lay low for a few days.”

  Tears burn my eyes. And so it begins.

  “Emerson?”

  “Um, sure, I can do that.” I blink hard, staring out the window. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  “Of course. Didn’t want you walking into a feeding frenzy.” Lon’s voice gentles. “Call me if you need anything.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Lon.” After ending the call, I squeeze my eyes shut and let the tears fall, feeling angrier and lonelier than I’ve ever felt in my life.

  The next twenty-four hours crawl by in a nightmare haze.

  After a sleepless night, I drag myself out of bed and stagger to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth. When I’m done, I trudge down the hall to the kitchen in search of a caffeine fix.

  Zoe’s already there, scrolling through her phone as she sips from a pink Hello Kitty mug. Although it’s Saturday, she’s wearing a white blouse, slim gray slacks and black pumps. Absently I remember that she’s attending a trade show downtown.

  The moment she heard about my father’s arrest yesterday, she left work and rushed home to make sure I was okay. We watched the news together in horrified silence, our eyes glued to the television as my father’s victims gave one tearful interview after another, detailing how he stole their life savings and ruined their lives. Listening to their painful stories made me hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone in my life.

  Zoe looks up from her phone as I enter the kitchen, her expression softening with worry. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I mumble.

  “How’d you sleep?”

  “I didn’t.”

  She grimaces sympathetically. “I’ll make you some coffee. Sit.”

  I plop down at the breakfast table as she grabs my favorite shamrock mug from the cabinet, pops a K-Cup into the Keurig coffeemaker and presses the start button. A few moments later, a stream of hot coffee flows out of the machine and into my mug.

  “Teagan and Daisy have been calling to check up on you. I told them you’re still processing everything and you’ll call them back when you’re ready.” Zoe adds cream and sugar to my coffee and brings the steaming mug to me.

  “Thanks,” I murmur.

  She joins me at the table, watching as I take a small sip of the hazelnut brew. “Molly called me when she couldn’t reach you. She’s worried sick about you, of course. But she also says you need to release a statement condemning your father’s actions and expressing sympathy and support for his victims. She’s drafting a statement for you to review, so check your email after I leave.”

  I nod numbly.

  “You should stay off Twitter,” Zoe advises, sounding apologetic. “Your mentions are a mess.”

  “I can only imagine,” I grumble into my coffee mug.

  “It’s so fucking unfair,” she fumes. “You shouldn’t be blamed for what that son of a bitch did. He’s not even in your life.”

  “Most people don’t know that,” I mumble, massaging my aching temple. “All they know is that my father stole lots of money from his clients. They’re going to assume that I benefited somehow.”

  “But you didn’t!” Zoe sets her mug down hard. “I’m sorry, Em, but I couldn’t take it. I had to speak up and set the record straight.”

  I narrow my eyes. “What did you say?”

  “I sent out a tweet explaining that you and your father have been estranged since you were fourteen years old. I made it perfectly clear that you have nothing to do with him or his business, therefore you shouldn’t be held responsible for his actions.” She bites her lip, eyeing me guiltily. “You’re not mad, are you?”

  I draw a deep breath that burns in my lungs. Then I swallow and shake my head. “No, I’m not mad.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod and try to smile. “Thanks for having my back. Not sure it’ll do much good—”

  “It already has,” she asserts. “I’ve been getting a ton of likes and retweets and supportive comments.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” She smiles. “So take heart. Not everyone wants you to drop dead.”

  “How comforting,” I mutter with grim humor.

  She squeezes my hand and then picks up her coffee mug. “I wish I didn’t have to attend this trade show today. I would’ve called out sick, but I’ll be on vacation for the next two weeks and I still have some loose ends to tie up at the office.”

  She’s leaving tomorrow for a ten-day family reunion cruise. Liam is tagging along to meet her family. It’s a pretty big deal for both of them.

  I give her a wan smile. “Have you finished packing?”

  “Not yet.” She sips her coffee, staring into the mug. “I’ve been thinking . . . maybe I shouldn’t go.”

  I frown at her. “What’re you talking about?”

  “It’s not a good time—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Zoe. You have to go. Your family’s expecting you.”

  “I know, but I don’t want to leave you like this, Em.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I assure her.

  She looks dubious. “Maybe you should stay with Reyes.”

  I scowl. “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.”

  “I told you—”

  “You’ll be hounded by reporters,” she talks right over me. “If you stay at Reyes’s house, you’ll have privacy. And he can look after you, keep you company.”

  “I don’t need him to look after me or keep me company,” I growl.

  Zoe’s expression softens. “I know you’re still mad at him. But he loves you—”

  I snort harshly. “He lied to me.”

  “He was wrong for that,” Zoe concedes. “He should have told you the truth about your father. But he was respecting your mother’s wishes, and he thought he was protecting you.”

  “He thought wrong.”

  “Em—”

  “No,” I say sharply. “I’m not staying with him. End of discussion.”

  Zoe gnaws her bottom lip.

  I glare warningly at her. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “What?”

  “You’re thinking about calling him. Don’t.”

  She frowns. “Em—”

  “Zoe,” I say sternly. “Promise me you won’t call him.”

  She hesitates. “I won’t call him.”

  “Or text him. Or email him. Or DM him. Do not contact him in any way, shape or form. You hear me?”

  She looks conflicted.

  “Promise me, Zoe.”

  She eyes me another moment, then heaves a big sigh. “Fine. I won’t contact him.”

  “Thank you.”

  She frowns. “I still think you’re making a—”

  “Drop it, Zoe.”

  “All right, all right.” She finishes her coffee, then rises and crosses to the sink to rinse out her mug. “I’d better get going so I won’t be late. I’ll check up on you periodically, so answer your damn phone.”

  I know there’s no point in arguing. So I don’t bother.

  After she leaves, I park myself on the couch and turn on the TV to get the latest updates. Every news outlet is buzzing about my father’s crimes. He’s been arraigned and is out on bail after being charged with embezzlement, money laundering and securities fraud.

  Brigham Malone holds a press conference at noon to discuss the headline-breaking case. Looking into the camera as if speaking directly to my father’s victims, he promises that justice will be served. He also vows to push for a speedy trial, undoubtedly hoping to secure a guilty verdict
in time for the election.

  I watch the news coverage for hours. It’s like a horrible car wreck I can’t look away from, except I’m one of the bloodied passengers trapped inside the mangled vehicle.

  Silvio Sartori is described as a mega-successful hedge fund manager who recently relocated from New York, where he lived the high life and traveled in elite social circles. There are pictures of him partying with business moguls, politicians, movie stars, socialites and European royals.

  Every time photos of my mother and me flash across the screen, I feel violated. My father deserted us, callously severing all connections. We shouldn’t have to be dragged into the disastrous mess he’s made of his life.

  At one point I look out the window to see a horde of reporters and cameramen camped outside my apartment building, waiting for me to emerge so they can pounce like vultures.

  I suddenly regret not moving into that gated luxury apartment complex that Zoe loved, the one we could have afforded after I landed my TV gig. Living in a gated community would have come in handy right about now.

  My phone rings incessantly for the rest of the afternoon, and I let every call go to voicemail. It’s only when I see Reyes’s number that I feel compelled to pick up.

  “Hey. It’s me.” His deep voice is gentle with concern. “What’re you doing?”

  “I was just about to have a bath,” I say stiffly.

  “How are you? Holding up okay?”

  “As well as can be expected.”

  He’s silent a moment. “Have you had dinner? I’m at the office wrapping up a few things. How about I drop by with some takeout?”

  “You don’t have to babysit me, Reyes. I’m not suicidal.”

  He makes a frustrated sound. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Pretending you don’t need anyone,” he growls.

  “I don’t need anyone,” I fire back. “Especially not someone who lies to me.”

  “I didn’t lie to you.”

  “A lie by omission is still a fucking lie!”

  He curses under his breath before gritting out, “I know you’re going through a lot right now—”