Get Over You (Dare Me Book 1)

by Skylar Hunter

  “You don’t have to tell me that,” I snap. “I know better than anyone what the hell I’m going through.”

  He exhales a long breath. “Look, I didn’t call to argue with you. God knows we’ve done more than enough of that lately.” He pauses before continuing in a softer tone, “No matter what’s happened between us, Em, I’d like to think we can still be friends. And as your friend, I want you to know that I care about you and yes, dammit, I’m concerned about you.”

  I suck in a choppy breath, hating the way his gentle words bring hot tears to my eyes. “I appreciate your concern, Reyes. Really. But it’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”

  “Then why don’t you call your mother and put her mind at ease,” he quietly suggests. “She says you’re ignoring her calls. She’s pretty worried about you.”

  “Don’t tell me she’s been calling and crying on your shoulder?” I sputter in angry disbelief. “I swear, you two are like coconspirators!”

  “No one is conspiring against you, Emerson,” he says calmly.

  “Whatever!” I know I’m probably being childish, but I don’t care. The pain of their betrayal is too fresh, the wound too raw. “Look, Reyes, thanks for calling. When you speak to my mother again, let her know that I’m still alive or whatever else she needs to hear. I really don’t give a shit.”

  He groans. “C’mon, Em—”

  “I have to go. My bathwater’s getting cold.”

  I hang up on him, storm down the hall to the bathroom and slam the door behind me, an ache of regret already burning a hole in my heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  REYES

  Goddammit.

  Phone gripped in my hand, I drop my forehead against the window and unleash a string of expletives.

  The glistening skyscrapers of downtown lay before me, but all I can see is the shattered look on Emerson’s face, the shock and pain she felt when she learned about her father’s crimes. It guts me every time I think of it, which has been pretty much nonstop since yesterday.

  I should have told her about her dirtbag father living in Piedmont Bay. She didn’t deserve to be blindsided like that. I knew it was a bad fucking idea to keep her in the dark, and I wish to God I’d trusted my instincts and warned her.

  Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

  “Is this a bad time?”

  I turn from the window to find my uncle standing in the open doorway.

  “Good evening, nephew.” He gives me one of those reptilian politician’s smiles. “Apologies for showing myself in. The reception desk was empty. Your assistant isn’t working today?”

  “No,” I murmur. “It’s Saturday.”

  “Too bad,” he laments. “I wouldn’t have minded seeing her again. Such a pretty little thing.”

  I don’t respond as he walks across the office to the seating area and makes himself comfortable on the black leather couch facing the windows.

  “Fantastic view.” His gaze shifts to mine. “We need to talk.”

  “I agree.” I pocket my phone. “Something to drink?”

  “Whiskey, please.”

  I cross to the bar to pour us each a glass.

  “Got any exciting Saturday plans?” he asks conversationally.

  “Just having drinks with Greer.”

  “Ah, yes, good ol’ Greer,” Brigham says with grating paternalism. “I’m glad you two have remained friends all these years. You’ve always been a good influence on him. You’re the reason he went to college and made something of himself.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” I walk over and hand my uncle a glass, then sit in the adjacent matching armchair. “Greer has always wanted better things for himself. He would have been successful with or without my friendship.”

  “Perhaps. But not likely.”

  My uncle has always looked down his nose at Greer and his family. He considers them beneath him, nothing more than lowly servants who once toiled for his parents. His condescending disdain got under Greer’s skin, burrowing deep until it metastasized into seething resentment and hatred. He loathes Brigham, and he’s not too crazy about the rest of my family either. He only tolerates Susanna because I have a soft spot for her, and even then, he refuses to call her anything but princess or daddy’s little girl.

  Yeah, he’s got a serious chip on his shoulder. But then, so do I.

  Brigham swirls the whiskey in his glass. “I’m sorry I wasn’t available when you called yesterday. I assume you were calling about Silvio Sartori.”

  Just hearing the man’s name has my fingers tightening around my glass.

  “You know, of course, that I can’t discuss the case with you.” Brigham takes a long sip of whiskey, savoring the smoky flavor before swallowing. “What I can tell you is that we’ve got a rock-solid case against Sartori. Embezzlement, money laundering, securities fraud—we’ve got him dead to rights on all counts. He’s also facing charges in New York, which is where his reign of thievery began years ago.” Brigham smiles with vicious satisfaction. “There’s no way he’s getting out of this. He’s going away for a long damn time.”

  I sip my drink. “I won’t be shedding any tears.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you will,” my uncle says with a chuckle. “There’s never been any love lost between the two of you.”

  “None whatsoever,” I say darkly.

  “Which brings me to the reason for my visit this evening.” Brigham stares intently at me. “We need to discuss your relationship with Sartori’s daughter.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “What about it?”

  “You need to cut ties with her.”

  “Is that right?” I drawl, leaning back in my chair. “And why would I do that?”

  Brigham frowns. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Not to me.”

  Brigham’s jaw tightens. “She’s tainted goods—”

  “She didn’t commit any crimes. Her father did, and you know damn well he’s been out of her life for years.”

  “Doesn’t matter. She’s still his daughter. In the eyes of the public, she’s guilty by association. Getting involved with her will hurt your reputation.”

  I laugh harshly. “You’re not worried about my reputation. You’re worried about protecting the family name. That’s all you’ve ever cared about.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” Brigham counters indignantly. “The Malones are one of the oldest, most distinguished families in North Carolina. I won’t allow our proud lineage to be sullied by undesirables—”

  “Like my foreign mother?” I challenge.

  We stare each other down, the air between us crackling with decades-old animosity.

  “Your mother was a lovely woman,” Brigham says tensely. “But she wasn’t suitable for this family. Someday you’ll under—”

  “Get out,” I snarl.

  He frowns. “Now, Reyes—”

  “You have five seconds before I call security to haul your ass out of here.” I smile viciously. “Or I can do it myself. Your choice.”

  He looks outraged. “How dare—”

  “Three seconds.”

  Face flushing with indignant fury, he slams his glass down on the table and lunges to his feet, glaring down at me. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you about Emer—”

  “GET THE FUCK OUT!” I roar.

  Something like fear flares in his eyes before he pivots on his heel and marches out the door.

  I glare darkly after him. Good fucking riddance.

  But I know the worst is yet to come, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to protect Emerson from the impending tsunami.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  EMERSON

  “Emerson? got a minute?”

  I’m on my way back from the restroom when Lon pokes his head around his office door and beckons to me, stopping me in my tracks.

  My heart pounds with dread. Can he fire me for being related to a scumbag criminal?

  For the past week, I’ve tried to lay low and focus on work eve
n as my father’s case dominates the Gazette’s front page and water cooler talk.

  Navigating my way around the office has been pure hell. My coworkers either avoid eye contact or openly stare at me, their expressions ranging from sympathetic to suspicious. Conversations come to a halt when I enter a room. As soon as I leave, the whispering starts back up again.

  Troy and Will have been trying to act like everything’s normal, drawing me into their usual jokes and sparring matches. Although I appreciate their efforts, I’m too emotionally drained to go along with the charade. So I’ve mostly holed myself up in my cubicle like an exile.

  It’s a hundred times worse on social media, where total strangers have been hurling threats and insults at me. I’ve been called a cunt so many times, I’ve considered adding the word to my Twitter handle.

  It’s usually quiet in the office on Saturdays, which is one reason I came in today. I was hoping to fly under the radar and work in peace until quitting time.

  No such luck.

  “Emerson?” Lon prompts when I don’t respond.

  Forcing a tight smile, I follow him into his office and close the door.

  “Have a seat,” he says, offering me the chair across from his desk.

  I sit down, watching him expectantly. “What’s up?”

  He folds his hands on the desk and gives me a long look. “I know you’ve been going through hell this week.”

  I don’t deny it. “I’ve had better weeks.”

  He smiles sympathetically. “I can’t imagine how upsetting it is to see your name and picture splashed across every news cycle. With all that’s going on, no one would blame you for not being able to focus on work.”

  “I’m managing,” I say tightly.

  “Are you?”

  My stomach churns. Casey has already asked me to take some time off from Team Ticker until the media frenzy dies down. Apparently my presence has become too much of a distraction.

  I stare back at Lon. “I know it’s been a circus around here with the press camped outside every day. Having me on the payroll can’t be good for the Gazette’s reputation.”

  He offers me a pained smile. “I can certainly think of better ways to promote the paper.”

  My back stiffens. “Does that mean you’re firing me?”

  He frowns. “Why would I fire you?”

  “You just said—”

  “You’re one of my best writers, Emerson. I didn’t say a word about firing you.” Lon leans back in his chair, shrewd brown eyes studying me from behind his glasses. “I’m not worried about the Gazette’s reputation or the quality of your work. I’m worried about you.”

  My throat tightens. “I’m fine.”

  “We both know that’s not true.”

  I swallow hard, fighting the sting of tears.

  Lon leans forward. “I think you should consider taking some time off, maybe getting away for a while to catch up on some much-needed R&R.”

  “You sound like my best friend,” I mutter.

  He smiles. “Your best friend is very wise.”

  “She seems to think so.”

  He chuckles. “Look, it’s not like you don’t have the vacation time. You’ve been here four years and have only taken three weeks off. Two of those were to fly home to help your mother pack and move to a new house.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I admire your daughterly devotion. But how about taking care of yourself for a change?”

  I bristle. “Who says I don’t?”

  He fixes me with a steady gaze. “I’m not asking you to take a vacation, Emerson. I’m telling you. Believe me, it’s for your own good.”

  I scowl. “Why does everyone in my life think they know what’s best for me?”

  Lon reclines in his chair, smiling indulgently at me. “When you’ve returned with a terrific sunburn and a lot less money in the bank, ask me that question again. Now go on. Get outta here before I change my mind and start cracking the whip.”

  I stand and walk to the door, pausing to look over my shoulder. “Are you taking me off the NFL beat?”

  He meets my gaze, lips pursed. “Obviously someone has to cover the beat while you’re on vacation, especially with the draft coming up.”

  “That’s not what I asked. I want to know if you’re permanently reassigning me.”

  He hesitates. “We’ll discuss that when you get back.”

  It’s not the answer I was hoping for, and he can tell.

  “I said you were one of my best writers, Emerson. I didn’t say you were my only writer.”

  My chin goes up. “I’m the best football beat writer you’ve ever had. I know it and so do you.”

  He scowls but doesn’t deny my assertion.

  “Don’t reassign me until I get back,” I implore him.

  “It’s not entirely—”

  “If management insists and you have no other choice, I’ll understand. But if there’s any way you can keep things status quo, I’d really appreciate it.” My voice softens. “I need this, Lon. Please.”

  He regards me for the longest moment, then waves a hand and grumbles, “I’ll hold off making any changes. Don’t worry.”

  I grin with relief.

  “Now get lost,” he orders gruffly. “I don’t want to see you back here for another week. And if you’re having too much fun and want more time, take as much as you need.”

  “Yes, sir.” I manage a small smile. “Thanks, Lon.”

  “Don’t mention it.” His expression gentles. “Have a good time, kiddo. You’ve earned it.”

  I mull over his words on my way home that evening, steering through downtown as the darkening sky threatens rain.

  Maybe Lon is right. Maybe all I need is some time away to forget about my father and his legal troubles. Maybe while I’m gone, an even bigger scandal will seize the public’s attention.

  The thought makes me feel guilty and selfish. I wouldn’t wish this kind of misery and suffering on anyone, not even my worst enemy. Of course, my worst enemy happens to be the source of my current misery and suffering.

  Ten minutes later, I pull into my assigned spot in front of my apartment building. Before climbing out of the car, I scan the parking lot for any sign of lurking reporters.

  I don’t see any, thank God. Maybe the weather forecast scared them off.

  Just as I reach for the door handle, a loud crack of thunder booms. Seconds later, huge raindrops splash the windshield.

  “Great. Just what I need.” I glance in the backseat for an umbrella before remembering that I left it at the office last week.

  Scowling in frustration, I eyeball the front entrance to the building, measuring the distance.

  After taking a deep breath, I throw open the car door, jump out and make a mad dash across the parking lot in the pouring rain.

  As I near the building, a gleaming black executive car pulls up in front of me.

  I stop short, watching as the tinted rear window rolls down to reveal a thatch of salt-and-pepper hair framing an olive-toned face with sharp features.

  I suck in a sharp breath, staring in shocked recognition.

  No. Hell fucking no.

  My father manages a strained smile. “Hello, Emerson. It’s been a long time.”

  I blink rapidly, rain dripping down my face and soaking my blouse. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Those familiar dark eyes search mine from the shadows of the backseat. “I wanted to see you.” His voice is gentler than it’s ever been. “I need to explain—”

  I step back, my heart pounding painfully against my ribs. “You don’t need to explain a damn thing. I have no interest in anything you have to say.”

  “You’re angry with me. That’s totally understandable. I was a lousy father to you—”

  “Was?” I bark out a short, ugly laugh. “God, that’s rich.”

  He winces slightly. “I want you to know I didn’t do those things they’re accusing me of. Someone’
s trying to frame—”

  “Give me a fucking break!” I interrupt scornfully. “Someone’s trying to frame you? Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  I give a derisive snort. “That’s the oldest excuse in the book. I sure hope you’re not planning to enter a courtroom with that pathetic defense.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Bullshit! They’ve got an airtight case against you!”

  His jaw flexes. “No such thing as an airtight case.”

  “Spoken like a true criminal mastermind.” I shake my head in angry disgust. “How could you steal from your own clients? How could you betray their trust like that?”

  “I didn’t,” he grits out.

  My lips twist contemptuously. “Given your abhorrent treatment of me and Mom, do you honestly expect me to believe you’re not capable of hurting others?”

  He frowns up at the sky. “It’s coming down pretty hard, sweetheart. Why don’t you get in the car so we can talk—”

  “YOU SON OF A BITCH!” I scream at him. “We have nothing to talk about!”

  He grimaces. “Emerson—”

  “After what you did to me, and after all these years without so much as an apology or a damn birthday card, you show up out of the fucking blue expecting me to take your side? To believe your despicable lies?” I shake my head, backing away from the car. “You wasted your time coming here.”

  “Emerson, wait—”

  “GO TO HELL!” I spin around and hurry back to my car, unlocking the doors and throwing myself into the driver’s seat.

  My father doesn’t follow me. But I peel out of that parking lot like he’s in hot pursuit, my heart beating so hard I almost choke getting my breath.

  I speed away from my neighborhood and hit the interstate, weaving recklessly between lanes while my emotions rage like wildfire.

  Who the hell does he think he is? What fucking right does he have to show up here asking for my understanding?

  My tears flow fast and furious, half blinding me in the rainy night. Without intending to, I find myself exiting the highway and driving along a hilly country road toward Orange County.