“Such a spoilsport,” Mom says.
“Not because it was unethical. More because it was just … kind of karmically wrong. And not even for the class. For him. Like, he’d always know he’d taken a shortcut. This was after a lot of stupid shortcuts he’d taken — shortcuts that were robbing him of … well, of failure.”
“I hate being robbed of failure.”
“But we need to be able to fail, right? So I told him, go ahead and fail. Skip the class and take the F. Or attend one test so you can get the D and pass. But no matter what, admit to yourself that you’re choosing failure or least effort. Cheating is lying to yourself. And to the world. That kind of thing always seems to come back and bite you.”
“Deep,” Mom says.
“Anyway, I told him that doing wrong stuff creates a kind of haunting. Like there are ghosts around you forever that won’t let you forget. Haunted by your past deeds. Know what I mean?”
“Honey. That’s so cheesy.”
“It became something we joked about — kind of an inside thing. He still cheated and changed his grade. He still faked his way through a lot of stuff. Every time, he told me about it and said, ‘I guess now I’ve got more ghosts on me’ like he was making fun of me.”
“This is a great story.”
“But don’t you see? Nobody knew he was helping Simon out other than Simon. Nobody would ever know that he’s frozen staffing by going over Aiden’s head, or paid out of pocket to support it. He paid for the staffing fund himself because he didn’t want Aiden to know.”
“Because it was stupid?”
“Because it was the right thing to do!”
There’s a long pause. I’m sure Mom is going to do the one thing that will destroy the “ghosts” memory forever. And despite the way Onyx used it to mock me, I miss sharing it. I’m sure she’s going to ask if I said anything about ghosts when Onyx cheated on me.
But she doesn’t, and that causes my mind to start spinning in circles.
Why did my lesson, ignored for so many years, finally land in Onyx’s mind firmly enough to come out now?
Why did he do such an irrational, emotional “right thing” that nobody was ever supposed to know about?
Does this mean he’s been thinking of me all these years?
And if so, have the ghosts of what he did to me been haunting him at night?
It’s a ridiculous train of thought. I force it to drop, and face my mother.
“Honey,” she says.
I see it coming. I grab my bag and stand, saying, “Okay.”
“Honey, I only want what’s best for you.”
“What if he’s changed, Mom? I don’t even know who he is anymore!”
“He hurt you so much. I hate him for it. I don’t care how much he’s changed. You have to stay away from him. Just … don’t give him the chance to get to you. If he has changed? Well, that’s great. I mean it. And I guess I could maybe see my way to wishing him the best. As long as it’s not with you. As long as he stays the hell away from my little girl.”
“What if I was with him again, Mom? What if I gave him one last chance?”
Mom’s face is so sad, it breaks my heart. “Honey. You haven’t talked to him about—”
“No!” And it’s the truth. I’ve just had sex with him. In my office. Today.
“You came to me for a reason. Maybe you don’t want my advice, but—”
“What if, Mom? I know you think he’s a bastard and I do too, but … what if I’d given him one more chance?”
Forgive my sins. Forgive my transgressions. I’ve engaged the enemy, and now I’m afraid I’ll never be free.
I’m begging her to forgive me for what she doesn’t know I’ve done. But I can’t tell her that. I won’t. I’m scared of how she’ll react, and what it says about me.
“If for some fool reason you did that, Mia, then crying for you would be all I could do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MIA
The Tesla isn’t there for the next few days, and neither of our new owners are in the office. I’ve been stalking both of the Forage guys on the Internet using their own search engine, but the only timely item I find is that Aiden apparently returned to Seattle. There are photos at some sort of a charity gala, with him looking dashing. It’s not like the Internet is saying one way or the other, but I get the feeling that we’ve seen the last of him, at least for a while. It makes sense. He shouldn’t have come in the first place.
None of this makes sense. Not taking over UD, not being in Inferno … none of it.
I see nothing about Onyx at all in the past few days. I don’t know if he’s left or gone home, only that he hasn’t been in our building or otherwise in my face.
I run into Riley Grant down at the supermarket and I ask if her father’s seen Onyx around that big, sprawling mansion of his. She doesn’t know, but asks if she’d like me to find out. I tell her no, of course not, then drive past the big house that night, trying to see if enough lights are on, if anyone is still inside.
Friday morning, the Tesla is back in Simon’s parking space.
I brace myself. I knew I’d have to face him again eventually, but no matter how many mantras I’ve run through, I’m not prepared. I’ve avoided advice from Mom and Jamie, both of whom know half of the story. Mom knows about Onyx’s selfless act in saving our employee family and Jamie knows we had sex, but I waffle between believing one might feel better about Onyx if they knew the entire truth and deciding he’s a total shit myself.
The latter is safer, so I embrace it. Obviously he’s here to manipulate me somehow — to dip his dick in the past before running away. I can fight, get angry, or embrace it. I go back and forth. Should I lean into that one mistake with Onyx and repeat it, believing that it’s only sex? Or should I kick him in the balls if he tries it again, seeing as he’s hurt me so many times?
I don’t want Onyx to win, or take me for a sucker.
Yet he’s infected my mind. I dream about him most nights — fantasy and memory swirled together with what we did in the flesh a few days back. I remember how he felt inside me. I remember how hard I came. I’ve touched myself more than once thinking about it — recalling his feel, his touch, the way his handsome face and hot body turn me to putty in his able hands.
Until now, I haven’t had to make my decision.
But seeing the Tesla tells me that today I will.
I see him immediately — across the bullpen, near Simon’s old office, talking to Jamie. I feel a pang of something and realize with shock that it’s adjacent to jealousy, magnified when Onyx says something and Jamie laughs. She’s prettier than me, with a much better body. She seems to have conquered her hatred — now that it isn’t one-degree removed, levied on my behalf. He’s talking to her directly, charming her, probably wetting her panties like mine.
Jamie looks toward me and for a split second I hate her. Then the feeling passes and she makes a face, drawing a finger across her throat when Onyx isn’t looking.
I still hate him for you, I hear her say inside my head. He’s hot as hell and makes me wet, but I won’t fuck him, at least not while you’re looking.
Jamie smiles and heads into her office without coming to me. Onyx and I look at each other across the room. He’s wearing a light suit, bespoke I’m sure, shoes that probably cost more than my car, and a smart blue tie.
I hate that I’m drawn to him. That I can’t stop craving him.
I refuse to look away first. He’ll have to come to me.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he heads into Simon’s office and closes the door.
It’s like that all day. I hang outside my office at lunchtime, tell Jamie I’m eating in even though I’m starving, have nothing, and spend half of my lunch waiting to see if Onyx will come talk to me. He finally emerges, but he doesn’t stop. I get one glance, then he’s out the other door.
He avoids me all afternoon, taking meetings. He’s so diligent with his work and bothers me so littl
e that I could swear he’s trying to run a company. Unpleasant anticipation builds. I wish he’d just come and talk to me. I won’t slap him or yell. I just want to get it over with.
The waiting is murder.
We reach five o’clock, pass it, and move toward six, then seven. I’m not fooled. I know what he’s doing. Waiting until the last people leave and we’re alone. My sticking around will be his excuse.
It’s after seven. Why are you still here, Mia, if not to wait for us to be alone?
The stragglers take forever to leave. We’ve had a major company shake-up, and now we’re in a curious mix of catch-up and suck-up. Some of those who stuck around did so because there was new work to be done, necessitated by Forage’s buy-out … which I’m starting to think wasn’t a traditional buy-out at all. Some stuck around to show the incredibly handsome new boss just how hard they’re willing to work.
It’s twilight by the time the last of them leave. In fifteen minutes, it’ll be full dark outside. Perfect time for an after-hours encounter.
I’m still here — just to see what Onyx has in mind. Whatever he’s going to do, I want him to get it over with.
Finally we’re alone, a departing car the only sound.
He’s going to ambush me. Now that we’re alone, I’m sure he’s going to put himself between me and an exit. He’s going to do his worst.
Not that I want him to. I’ve stuck around for other reasons — like figuring out what bullshit he’s trying to pull so I can end it.
But Onyx just gives me another little look, avoiding my eyes, as he leaves.
And I think, Okay. Fuck this.
I run across the office. Down the stairs, fighting to keep from slipping in my heels. I reach the parking lot just in time to see him drive away.
And here I am, standing like a fool.
Mom said, Stay away from him.
But I get into my car, and follow him instead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ONYX
I’m thinking I can’t do this as the road sprawls out ahead, both of my hands gripping the wheel. Between the town centers of Inferno Falls (Old Town and new) and my rented mansion, there’s a stretch of nothing. It’ll develop eventually, I’m sure, because that’s the way things always happen. Mason James might even do it himself, filling empty stretches with brand new Life of Riley homes. But for now, it’s dark and lonely. There are no streetlights. Only my headlamps on the road.
Every once in a while, someone rounds one of the slow curves as I make my way toward the wealthy suburb. There’s a lone car behind me. I didn’t turn the radio on, and doing it now would feel like hiding. I crave distraction from the thoughts in my head, but there’s nothing around.
What Aiden has in mind won’t work. It’s stupid, thoroughly absurd. Does he really think I can make inroads with Anthony Ross through his surrogate daughter Jamie, through Mia? It’s not only three degrees removed from us sitting down with Ross (something we could do if we were adults, and the Syndicate didn’t already have its dick-measuring and infighting); it also doesn’t feel remotely likely.
Thinking through how this is intended to go, I don’t buy it for a second.
Mia’s supposed to say, Oh, Onyx. I was wrong about you. Not only are you a good man; you have software I just MUST tell my friend to vouch for.
Then Jamie’s supposed to say, Wow, Onyx, I was wrong about you. Your week spent in the Falls more than makes up for all the horrible things you’ve done to Mia over the years. Here, you know what? Let me vouch for you with Anthony. Not because you asked, but because it’s only logical.
And Anthony will say, Yes, Forage Guys. I want you involved in my plan for the Syndicate’s trillion dollars. My protégée’s friend’s blind acceptance of your supposed turnabout is good enough for me.
It’s bullshit that makes me a bastard.
I swore I’d never come back. I told myself it was because I’d left a fire raging behind me, and that returning to Inferno was asking for a burn. I told Alyssa about Mia from the start — because Alyssa, as my public relations agent, needed to know what bad juju might return to haunt my now-glowing public image. Forage could easily look like Enron, but thanks to PR pros like Alyssa, we’re saints. Aiden’s the brooding genius; I’m the affable playboy. Alyssa’s managed to turn our cocky, arrogant, philandering, asswipe tendencies into positives.
The world loves a bad-boy billionaire, she always said.
We offset our negative traits with excellent work and plenty of charity. If I see one more magazine cover with Aiden’s never-smiling face touting him as “The Philanthropist,” I’m going to punch his teeth out just so he stops looking so pretty. Yes, Forage does great things. But that doesn’t change the fact that Aiden treats people horribly and that I left a trail of used pussy through the detritus of my earliest youth.
But Alyssa spit-shined us, made us look great. She told me, Just leave Mia alone. Don’t call her; don’t write her; never seek her out. With any luck, she’ll want to forget about you more than she wants to raise a ruckus just to cause you pain.
So far, Alyssa’s been right. Mia said nothing as I rose from obscurity to become one of the world’s wealthiest and most famous men. We got lucky. That’s why Alyssa lost her shit when I told her I was returning to the scene of my crimes.
Why would I play with fire just because Aiden thinks it sensible?
And worse, why am I playing with Mia’s emotions?
I did care about Mia, no matter what she thought. I was just broken. I’m not like that now, but I can’t change her mind and don’t want to try. I made my bed with Mia, and it was a mistake to lie back down in it the other day.
… or to lie on her desk instead.
This was all a big mistake. We need to let the option expire. Return Urban Design to Simon with the new infusion of capital, hoping it’ll fare better.
Today was torture. I’ve been trying to think like Aiden wants me to, be the cold-hearted bastard I used to be. But it’s not working. I couldn’t even look at Mia. I don’t want to do it again tomorrow, and I shouldn’t have to. I’m Forage’s COO, for fuck’s sake. Why am I playing babysitter to a bunch of architects and engineers?
It’s not because I think I can force my way back into Mia’s panties, is it?
Or her heart?
It’s not going to work. It’s stupid. I can’t do this. I won’t do this.
I’m thinking it as I pull through the gates and into the circular drive of my rented mansion.
The car behind me seems to have closed the gap. It’s pulling in behind me, slipping inside before the gates close.
My pulse races as it stops behind me. I’m unarmed. Should I stay in the car? Anyone who’d follow someone into a gated home must have robbery on his mind … and a gun in his hand.
I don’t kill the engine. I wait, my hand on the gearshift.
But it’s not a home invader who charges from the blue Camry and comes at me.
It’s Mia Stover.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MIA
I’m not thinking. I stopped thinking miles ago.
I might have had the skeleton of a plan when I pulled out of the Urban Design parking lot, hot on the Tesla’s trail, but if so, I’ve forgotten it. The drive isn’t short; I had time for the highway’s hypnosis to work its fingers into the soft meat of my brain. I was aware of my intentions when I put foot to pedal, but after twenty minutes behind the taillights, I’m more zombie than woman.
I don’t know how to feel. Earlier, when I talked to Jamie, I felt defensive. I know myself and my limits even if she thinks I’m making mistakes. When I talked to Mom, I felt pitied. She’d decided I was a fool, and was unwilling to help me if I couldn’t help myself. When I came to the office, I felt agitated. Onyx wanted to play games? Fine; I’d be ready. And when he turned to leave, I got angry. I’d chase him down, if for no other reason than to shout.
You know when you go to a self-serve soda fountain, and you put some of eve
ry soda in your cup? Jamie and I always called that a suicide, and that’s me right now. I’m a suicide soda. I have every flavor in me.
I’m not defensive or pitiable or agitated or angry; I’m all of those things and a dozen more. I’m a bubbling cauldron of emotion. I’m hurt. Heartsick. Broken. Needy. In lust. I’m in love. I yearn. I’m overflowing with shame. I burn for him. I want him. I want nothing more than for him to leave me alone. I wish he’d touch me. And if he touches me, I’ll kill him.
I stop five feet short of the car. Its sleek black metal gleams beneath the rotunda of lights beyond the gate. Onyx’s door opens and he gets out slowly. His expression is uncertain, as if he can read the multicolored mask of my emotions. He says my name. Hearing it, my legs falter, betraying what’s dominant within me.
Damn me for it. Damn me and my weakness.
“Why are you here?”
I don’t give my lips permission. They speak without authority or vetting. “You said it was just sex.”
A pause. Then: “It was.”
“Do you think you can just show up in my life after all these years, fuck me, and ignore me?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s dead simple.” Then, surprising myself: “How dare you.”
“I don’t mean to ignore you.”
“You did. You have. You are.”
“We should never have done that. I was …” He stops, as if unwilling to finish a sentence he’d had all lined up. “It was a mistake.”
“You’re a bastard.”
He nods. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t know where my anger is coming from. It’s boiling within me, growing stronger by the word — with his every rebuttal. Anger blends with other emotions: hurt and hate and six years of shame.
And lust.
And desire.
I don’t want to want him like this.
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry!” I throw the statement like a blade. He can’t dodge it. He can merely stand before me in the sharp halogen shadows, taking my dagger in the chest.
Trillionaire Boys' Club: The Internet Giant Page 11