Get Over You (Dare Me Book 1)

by Skylar Hunter

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  EMERSON

  Piedmont Bay, North Carolina

  Wednesday, May 13

  A roar of cheers greets me as I enter the conference room for a preproduction meeting on my first day back at the studio.

  “Here comes the bride,” my colleagues sing raucously.

  I laugh and take a seat at the table, a tall cup of coffee cradled in my hands and my hair scraped back into a ponytail.

  After weeks of sleeping late with Reyes, it was hard to drag myself out of bed at the crack of dawn. Especially with my husband lying there looking way too sexy with his sleep-rumpled hair and rippling muscles, those slumberous eyes beckoning to me . . .

  “Welcome back, Irish.” Casey grins broadly at me. “When I told you to take a vacation, I didn’t think you’d run off and get hitched.”

  I grin. “Neither did I.”

  Everyone laughs.

  “Your wedding pictures are amazing,” raves one of the production assistants. “You looked drop-dead gorgeous in your dress, and Reyes looked like a gazillion bucks. And the beautiful vineyard setting . . .” She lets out an envious sigh. “You are so damn lucky.”

  My grin softens. “I know.”

  Jack shoots me a surly look. “While you were off tying the knot with Prince Charming, I was stuck hosting the show with that insufferable Lester Talbot, who took every opportunity to reminisce about his glory days with the Renegades.”

  I chuckle, sipping my coffee. “I like Lester. His play-by-plays are entertaining.”

  “Maybe so, but he’s no Emerson Sar— Oops, I mean Malone. You’re Emerson Malone now, aren’t you?” Jack gives me a nasty little smile. “Sure beats sharing a last name with a notorious embezzler.”

  I freeze in my seat.

  A heavy silence falls over the room, eyes shifting uncomfortably away from me.

  Casey frowns at Jack. “Was that really necessary?”

  Jack blinks innocently. “What? I was just pointing out—”

  Casey turns to me, cutting Jack off. “Our ratings took a big hit in your absence. So let me be the first to say I’m glad you’re back.”

  Based on the murmurs of agreement around the table, it’s clear that the others feel the same way.

  “Thank you, everyone. It’s nice to be missed.” I smile dazzlingly and blow them a collective kiss, then set my coffee down and pick up my pen. “Now let’s get to work, shall we? We’ve got a show to do and ratings to recoup.”

  I derive petty satisfaction from watching Jack’s face redden beneath his overdone tan.

  I’ll take my victories wherever I can get them.

  Four hours later as i’m leaving the studio, I send a text to Reyes: Hey, baby. What’re you doing?

  He responds a few seconds later: Just got to the gym for a team workout. Need to burn off those honeymoon pounds.

  As if, I retort with a grin. I was going to make tiramisu for dessert tonight . . . unless you don’t want me to?

  His response is swift: Don’t talk crazy, woman.

  I laugh out loud.

  Just leaving the studio? he asks.

  Yup, I reply. I’m heading to the apartment to start packing up my stuff. Have a good workout. See you at home.

  God, I love how that sounds, he responds with a heart-eyes emoji.

  I grin like a lovesick idiot before texting back: Me too.

  With my head bent over the phone, I don’t see the black executive car waiting at the curb until I’m almost upon it.

  I look up just as the tinted rear window rolls down to reveal my father’s unsmiling face.

  “We need to talk,” he says in a clipped tone. “Get in.”

  Hot anger flashes through me. “I told you—”

  “Get in the car, Emerson.”

  “Fuck you! I’m not going anywhere with you!”

  Without warning, he pulls out a gun and points it at me.

  I gasp in shock.

  “Get in the car,” he orders.

  My heart starts to pound, heavy and thudding. Trying not to show fear, I lift my chin and look him defiantly in the eye. “You won’t shoot me.”

  He cocks the trigger. “Don’t try me.”

  I swallow nervously and glance back toward the building. No one is coming out.

  “Don’t make a scene,” my father warns in that ominous tone that used to give me nightmares as a child.

  I look at the gun in his hand. It’s aimed straight at my face.

  “Get in the car, Emerson. I won’t tell you again.”

  Shaking with fear and anger, I climb into the backseat and slam the door. The driver quickly pulls off.

  I stare at my father, wild-eyed and scared. “What do you want?”

  He calmly puts the gun away and gestures to the mini bar. “Care for a drink?”

  “No, I don’t want a fucking drink!” I shriek, throwing a frantic glance out the tinted rear window. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you! Aren’t the feds following you?”

  “They don’t have to. They know where I am at all times.” Sullenly he lifts his pant leg to reveal an electronic ankle monitor. “I had to surrender my passport, I’m confined to a thirty-mile radius of my home and I have a six p.m. curfew.”

  I’m not appeased. “You shouldn’t even be out on bail! I don’t care if it was five million dollars. You should be sitting in a jail cell right now. At the very fucking least, you should be under house arrest!”

  “What can I say? I have a very persuasive legal team.” He looks at me with a faint smirk. “If the feds show up on your doorstep to question you, tell them you were taken against your will. You wouldn’t be lying,” he reasons, pointedly lifting one eyebrow. “Why else do you think I stuck a gun in your face?”

  I gape at him for a few seconds, then shake my head in disgusted fury. “You sick bastard!”

  He shrugs a shoulder. “Sometimes the ends justify the means.”

  My heart is pounding against my ribcage. I feel weak, hot and cold all over. “I told you to leave me the hell alone!”

  “And I told you we need to talk,” he counters.

  I’m still clutching my phone in my hand. Before I can call Reyes, my father reaches over and snatches the phone from me.

  “Hey!” I protest. “Give that back!”

  “Not until we’re done talking.” He tucks my phone into the breast pocket of his expensive suit jacket, then leans back against the seat and sends me a mildly amused look. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink? You seem like you could use one.”

  “Are you fucking serious?” I yell in disbelief. “You just kidnapped me at gunpoint, and you expect me to be calm?”

  “Point taken.” His dark eyes roam over my face, cataloguing my features. “My wild Irish rose. You look so much like your mother.”

  “Is that why you hate me so much?” I jeer.

  Something like guilt flickers in his eyes. “I never hated you.”

  I bark out a laugh. “You told me the day I was born was the worst day of your life, and the day you left us was the happiest. Not exactly the sentiments of a loving father.”

  He grimaces at the memory. “Not one of my finest moments.”

  I snort harshly. “As if you ever had any.”

  He ignores that, elegantly crossing his legs and flicking some invisible lint from his dark suit pants. “I hear you and Reyes recently tied the knot.”

  “No thanks to you,” I say bitterly.

  “Indeed.” He smiles faintly. “Better late than never, right?”

  I skewer him with a death glare.

  He glances down at the massive diamond on my finger and whistles softly. “He obviously spared no expense to make it official.”

  I sneer. “Not too shabby for a conniving bitch and gold-digging whore. Remember that?”

  “I do. It was wrong of me to use such hurtful language.” He smiles benignly. “Believe it or not, I hope you and Reyes will be very happy together.”

  �
�Yeah?” I lean across the seat and spit right in his face. “Fuck you and your well wishes!”

  He calmly removes a monogrammed handkerchief from his breast pocket, unfolds it and wipes his face.

  “I suppose I deserved that,” he says evenly.

  “That doesn’t even begin to cover what you deserve!”

  “Probably not.” He calmly tucks the handkerchief back inside his pocket and smoothes a hand down the thigh of his pants. “I must say, mia figlia. I was pretty damn impressed when I heard that Reyes was coming to Piedmont Bay. I should have known I couldn’t keep you two apart forever.” He smiles at me. “You and Reyes are living proof that true love stands the test of time.”

  “Fuck off.” Fuming, I cross my arms over my chest and glare out the window. “Where the hell are you taking me?”

  “We’re just going for a little ride. We need privacy to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “There are things you need to know . . . things you should understand.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Like what?”

  Instead of answering, he turns to stare out the window at the passing scenery.

  I frown, studying his profile. He’s aged a great deal, deep lines creasing the skin around his eyes and mouth. He also looks much thinner beneath his hand-tailored Italian suit. His legal problems are obviously taking their toll.

  “Why are you estranged from your siblings?” I blurt out.

  He gives no sign that he heard me, deepening my frustration.

  “I just came back from my wedding, where only three people there were related to me,” I inform him. “Someday I’m going to have children who will grow up surrounded by Reyes’s relatives—generations of Galindos and Olivareses and Malones. They won’t lack for love or familial connections. But they’re going to wonder what happened to their mother’s side of the family, and I won’t have any answers for them. So for the last fucking time, what’s the deal with you and your siblings?”

  He continues staring out the window, a muscle now working in his jaw. He’s silent for so long I think he’s not going to answer.

  And then he does.

  “I was accused of rape when I was sixteen.”

  I reflexively shrink away from him, repulsed and horrified.

  He swivels his head around to look at me. “I didn’t do it.”

  “Why should I believe you?” I whisper, feeling sick.

  “Because it’s the goddamn truth.” His eyes are so dark they look like empty black sockets. “I’ve done many things I’m not proud of. Rape isn’t one of them.”

  I search his face, every nerve in my body stretched tight. “Who was she?”

  Anger hardens his features before he turns away to glare out the window. “She was the daughter of a family I was staying with,” he says tightly. “During high school, I came to America as a foreign exchange student. The host family’s daughter thought it would be cool to lose her virginity to a young Italian stallion. After weeks of flirting with me and ‘accidentally’ walking in on me getting dressed, she snuck into my room late one night and seduced me. We both enjoyed it. But the next day when her dad found out and confronted us, she panicked and cried rape.”

  My father clenches his jaw, his fingers curling into a fist against his thigh. “Her parents took her word over mine. But there must have been a shred of doubt in their minds because they didn’t call the police. They notified the school that our arrangement wasn’t working out. Then they called my parents, told them I raped their daughter and sent me packing back to Italy.

  “My parents were very upset, but they believed in my innocence. My siblings didn’t,” he says bitterly. “They treated me with suspicion for years. After our parents died in a car crash, they dropped all pretenses and outright disowned me. Rather than stick around where I wasn’t wanted, I packed my bags and returned to New Mexico, a place I was already familiar with. I had a degree in finance, so I got a job at the bank. That’s where I was working when I met your mother. The rest is history.”

  I swallow hard, fighting every daughterly instinct to feel sorry for him. He doesn’t deserve my sympathy or compassion. “Your siblings never reached out to you? Never tried to reconcile?”

  “No.” His voice quivers with pain and loss. “And I’ve never met any of their children. When I tried to reach out to them on social media, my siblings got mad and blocked me.”

  “Wow,” I murmur, shaking my head slowly. “In light of your arrest, they probably feel vindicated for cutting you out of their lives.”

  He scowls and mutters something in Italian under his breath.

  I frown at him, struck by a galling realization. “So . . . despite being falsely accused of rape, you were perfectly willing to ruin Reyes’s life with a false rape accusation, knowing full well that he would never in a million years harm a woman.”

  My father gives me a level look. “As I said before, sometimes the ends justify the means.”

  “What ‘ends’?” I burst out angrily. “Ruining my chance at happiness with the man I loved?”

  He looks pointedly at my ring finger. “As we’ve already established, all’s well that ends well.”

  Infuriated by his unrepentant attitude, I lean forward and bang my fist on the tinted glass partition separating us from the driver. “Let me out!”

  “He can’t hear you,” my father says calmly.

  “Tell him to pull over and let me out!”

  “We’re not done talking yet.”

  “Yes, we are! Take me back to—”

  “You need to watch your back, Emerson. You have a powerful enemy.”

  I stop banging on the glass to stare at my father, every part of my body tightening. “What are you talking about?”

  “Brigham Malone. He’s a very dangerous man, and he means you no good.”

  A chill runs through me. “What do you mean?”

  My father gives me a long, thoughtful look before responding. “Did you know that Brigham was in love with Reyes’s mother?”

  “What?” I croak in disbelief. “What are you talking about?”

  He smirks at my shocked tone. “Reyes’s uncle had a thing for Natalia Malone.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Let’s just say Brigham and I have mutual acquaintances.”

  “What does that mean?”

  My father smiles, serenely folding his hands on his thigh. “Before he became U.S. attorney, Brigham and I ran in the same social circle. We were never friends, but we often found ourselves at the same splashy parties in New York. During a yacht party several years ago, one of our mutual acquaintances told me the most fascinating story about Brigham and Brooks Malone. As you probably know, their parents were pretty distraught when their youngest son left home to forge a new frontier in New Mexico. Two years after Brooks flew the coop, Brigham was dispatched to Santa Fe on a spy mission. His assignment was to check the progress of his brother’s ranch and report back to their parents.

  “Brigham had always resented his brother for being their mother’s favorite. So he relished the thought of finding Brooks broke and destitute after squandering his Harvard education and burning through his trust fund. Brigham couldn’t wait to report every detail of his brother’s abject failure. But when he arrived in Santa Fe, he found a thriving cattle ranch set against the glorious backdrop of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. His jaw probably dropped as he took in the rolling terrain of trees, meadows and canyons. And he probably shit his pants when he saw the size of the main house under construction.”

  I can’t help smiling to myself, reliving memories of Reyes’s childhood home.

  My father grins, clearly enjoying retelling the story. “Hearing laughter and squeals, Brigham followed the noise to the barn, where he found his brother and Natalia throwing hay at each other. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he was instantly smitten. When Brooks introduced her as his girlfriend from Spain, the sound of her accent made Brigham fall even
harder. Brooks invited him to spend the week; he stayed two days longer than that. Seems he couldn’t tear himself away from Natalia. He wanted her for himself, but it was clear that she only had eyes for his brother. By the end of his visit, he knew he would never have her. And it drove him out of his mind.

  “A few months later, Brooks proposed to Natalia and then took her home to meet his family. The visit seemed to go well. But as soon as they went back to New Mexico, Brigham began a smear campaign against Natalia. He turned his parents against her, poisoned their minds and convinced them that Natalia wasn’t good enough to marry into their illustrious southern family. Can you imagine Natalia—heiress to a wine dynasty and daughter of a renowned painter—not being good enough for some American blue bloods?” My father laughs at the absurdity of it. “Without even realizing it, Boone and Victoria Malone rejected Natalia simply because she rejected Brigham. Their xenophobia made it easy for him to manipulate them, stupid old fools.”

  Holy shit.

  I fall back against the seat, trying to process everything I’ve just been told.

  My father shakes his head, a mocking smile on his lips. “Poor General Brigs. The woman he loved never loved him back. She loved his brother. And now, many years later, his own daughter loves Reyes more than she loves him. What a sad irony.”

  I shake my head slowly, floored beyond belief. “Does Reyes know any of this?”

  “No.” My father chuckles. “If he did, Brigham wouldn’t still be breathing. You know how much he despises his uncle. Always has.”

  “What about his dad? Did he know?”

  “Brooks? Of course he knew. He and his brother had never been close. Brigham’s unrequited feelings for Natalia drove a permanent wedge between them.”

  “Wow,” I whisper with another stunned head shake.

  “Now that you’re a Malone, I thought you’d be interested to learn that bit of family history.” My father’s expression sobers after a moment. “You’ve been out of the country for the past month, so you probably haven’t been following local news. Just so you know, Brigham’s main political rival has been rising in the polls. So now he’s worried that the election is slipping away from him, that his candidacy isn’t as inevitable as he thought. He’s determined to score political points by taking down a big-time criminal, so he’s leading the crusade against me.”