by Tara Leigh
My heart lifted as a tremulous smile tugged at Reina’s lips. “And I believe you about that, too,” I said, nodding toward my computer.
“Yeah,” she released a shaky breath. “Making out with my brother is not exactly how I want to be introduced to the family.”
“What did you think of him?”
“It was pretty cool to be hanging out with Bryce. Even if he thinks I’m just his friend’s drunk girlfriend.”
I laughed. “Yeah, you were hogging the champagne bottle.”
“I was nervous!” Reina closed her eyes, shaking her head. “But you’re right, not my finest moment.”
I planted a kiss on her temple. “I wouldn’t worry about it—Bryce isn’t exactly a choirboy. But your sister’s another story.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Wendy?”
“No, not Wendy. Celeste.”
Reina’s face softened, a wistful gleam in her eyes. “Celeste,” she repeated. “God, I would love to meet her.”
“I’m sure it can be arranged.” I reached for my phone.
“Tristan, no.” She shook her head. “Just because you know the truth doesn’t mean you can tell anyone else.”
“You don’t need to hide who you are. You have a right to get to know your siblings.”
“And hopefully I will, one day. But I’m not going to torpedo the life my mother built for herself. It would mean that she left me for nothing. And I couldn’t stand the thought of that.”
I sighed. “Okay. But Van Horne’s an aging bully who has somehow managed to fool almost everyone into thinking he’s a hedge funder with a heart of gold, a role model for everyone on Wall Street. I can’t let that slide. He’s not just hurting you, he’s coming after me and my family’s business too. It’s about time someone stands up to him.”
I could have framed the smile that lit up Reina’s face. “Why do I think that someone is going to be you?” she asked.
“Nope.” I threaded my fingers into her hair and pulled her face toward mine. “It’s going to be us.” Reina didn’t need Gerry or Gayle, she had me. I was all the family she’d ever need.
Reina
Us. God, I loved that word. The anger that had been sizzling around Tristan like a magnetic force field had evaporated, and his blue eyes were as soft and warm as cashmere. I’d never been an us before, not really. And if it meant Tristan would look at me like that for the rest of our lives, I was all in.
Except for one thing. My father was my problem. Van Horne was only going after Bettencourt because of me. If he didn’t want me as his daughter, fine. I could live with that. Had been living with it and doing just fine, thank you very much. But if I let him knock me around and go after the man I loved, I would never truly be free of him.
For years I’d believed that I was just unworthy. But now I knew the truth. Van Horne was a brilliant financier, but he was a shitty father. I didn’t need him, and he didn’t deserve me.
I kissed Tristan back, my body responding the way it did whenever he touched me—immediately and passionately. I groaned into his mouth, arching my spine and pressing into his chest.
He was the first to break away, resting his forehead against mine, our breaths mingling between open mouths. “This might be the one time I regret having glass walls.”
“Me too.” Maybe sex wouldn’t fix things, but I craved a few minutes of nirvana. A physical reminder of why I needed to take a stand and fight for my future. And Tristan’s. For the first time since walking into the office I took a deep breath. And then I choked on it.
Drawn by a flicker of light from Tristan’s computer screen, my eyes lit on the incriminating photos available for anyone to see. Again, the sight slammed into me like a two-by-four to the stomach. Jesus. “Everyone out there must hate me.”
God bless him, Tristan shook his head. “I don’t think they’re emotionally invested in my sex life, Reina. This morning we’re gossip, but tomorrow we’ll be old news. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
On the table between us, Tristan’s phone buzzed to life. Bryce. Tristan’s jaw tightened as he answered the call on speakerphone. “Fuck, man. I just saw Page Six. I didn’t touch your girl, X. You know that, right?”
Tristan sighed. “I know. I’m here with Reina now.”
Van Horne? I mouthed the name, wondering if Bryce knew his father was the one behind the scandalous piece.
Tristan shook his head, and I realized he wouldn’t put his friend in the position of having to defend his father.
Bryce turned his attention to me. “Hey, Reina, sorry about all this. Crazy that some photographer was just there waiting, huh?”
I eyed Tristan. “Yeah, crazy.”
“Listen, I have to head to the doctor’s now. I just wanted to call and make sure we were cool.”
“We are. Go get your shoulder taken care of, maybe Reina and I will make it to your next game.”
Bryce chuckled. “Yeah, maybe if we play our cards right we can make Us Weekly as the new face of polyamorous threesomes.”
Tristan’s lips twitched and I caught a flash of his dimple. “Always good to have a goal.”
As he put down the phone, I couldn’t help but feel like David gearing up for his date with Goliath. But I’d walk through fire if it meant keeping Gerald Van Horne’s hulking shadow away from Tristan. I’d lived under it for too long, and I wasn’t going to pull him into the shameful corner I’d allowed myself to get backed into. No more. If my father was going to such lengths to keep me locked up and hidden away, clearly he saw me as some kind of threat. It wasn’t much to go on, but I was going to use whatever leverage I could. Time for me to prove that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I could fight dirty too.
Tristan
“As much as I’d love to stay in here all day, we have some damage control to do.”
Reina groaned. “Kyle is probably in a corner somewhere, breathing into a paper bag. I guess I should tell him about my background, too, just so he understands what’s really going on.”
“Kyle will be fine, and so will everyone else. You only need to tell him whatever you’re comfortable sharing, and I’ve never known him to betray a confidence.”
She gave a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing. We’re in this together, and we’re going to come out of it together.” I jerked my head toward the closed door. “And I’ll make sure everyone out there knows it.”
The smile disappeared. “Unfortunately they’re getting their messages from someone else too. Do you think the person behind @BettencourtBets is working with Van Horne or anyone at Bull Capital?”
That damned Twitter account again. Every time I saw the blue icon, I had an urge to break that bird’s neck. “I don’t know. But they know a lot more than they should, and their audience is growing.” I rolled my shoulders, making an effort to release the tension that crept in whenever I thought about the spy in our midst. “Don’t worry about it, though. Now that I’m sure you’re not the one working against us, I have our best tech guys on it. Shouldn’t be long now before we have a name.”
“What are you going to do when you find out who it is?”
I offered a wry smile. “I haven’t decided yet. I’ve been a little preoccupied thinking about someone else.” In response, she leaned in to me, close enough that I smelled the citrus notes of her shampoo. I opened my mouth, and words I’d been holding back burst through my lips. “Reina, as far as I’m concerned, you are my future. But if you don’t feel the same way, you need to tell me now.”
Her eyelids fluttered, bits of gold from each iris twinkling at me. If we lived a thousand years, I would never get tired of looking at them. “I do, but for the life of me I still don’t get why you’re putting everything in your life at risk for me. Because of me. Tristan, I’m so glad I finally came clean and told you all that I’ve been keeping from you. But now you’re free. You can walk away. You should walk away.” She shook her head, those beautiful eyes welling up. “You’re Mr. Perfect
and I’m Miss Complicated. Your family has heirlooms, mine has secrets. We don’t belong together.”
I wiped away the tear shimmering on her cheek. “Did you ever play with tangrams as a kid?”
Reina responded with a puzzled look and shook her head again. “I don’t think so.”
“When I was little, I was obsessed with them. Completely low tech, but I could play with them for hours. You had a few basic shapes: triangles, squares, parallelograms. And there were cards with designs on them. Could be a house, a robot, maybe a dinosaur. The challenge was to take the basic shapes and turn them into something else entirely.”
“Sounds kind of familiar.”
“Before we met, that’s exactly how I felt. Like pieces, rather than a whole. And when we’re together, we make up something different than when we’re apart. Something better. Not perfect. Not complicated. Just better.”
Reina released a soft sigh, leaning into me. “I want to believe you.”
“And I want to love you. I already do, you know.” I lifted her chin with my fingertips, planted a soft kiss at the tip of her adorable nose. “See? We go together.”
“I love you too, Tristan. And that’s exactly why I should leave. Maybe if I go, Millennial won’t be at risk.”
Relief swept over me at her admission. We had something worth fighting for, and if there was anything I’d learned about Reina today, it was that she was a fighter. “Millennial’s a hedge fund—risk comes with the territory. And if you leave, I’d just hunt you down and drag you back.”
She opened her mouth, about to say something else. But there wasn’t time. Kyle knocked once and walked in. “Sorry to interrupt, guys, but we have a situation.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
@BettencourtBets: A key player might b moving to the other side. Could change the entire game!
Reina
“What now?” Tristan sat up straighter, but didn’t take his arm from around my waist. That was good, because I was still reeling. He loved me. He shouldn’t, but he did. Love. The emotion took shape in my mind, resembling an exotic creature I had no idea how to care for. Did I need a license? Was there a course I could take?
“Bull Capital is going to submit an offer for the purchase of Bettencourt tonight,” Kyle said.
Tristan tensed, but otherwise remained stoic. “How do you know?”
“I have my sources too.”
“What kind of offer?” Tristan asked.
“We don’t know all the details yet. But word is that it’s fair—if Millennial implodes.”
I drew in a sharp breath, anger rushing through my veins like venom. My own flesh and blood was gunning for the man I loved. The man who just announced that he loved me too. I had to go. “Tristan, I’m going to run out for a few minutes.” My baby teeth were gone, and I wasn’t aiming for anything less than Van Horne’s jugular.
Preoccupied by strategizing with Kyle, Tristan barely acknowledged my comment. I slipped out of the office, closing the door behind me. If Van Horne was making an offer for Bettencourt, I was sure he’d be in his office today. I’d never been there before, but I knew exactly where it was. I stepped into the bathroom, intending to do a quick touch-up before walking over. One glance in the mirror told me that wasn’t going to be possible. Sure, my navy suit and basic topknot were fine for work. But if I was going toe-to-toe with my father for the first time in my life, fine wouldn’t cut it.
Leaving Bettencourt, I hailed a cab and gave the driver my address. Less than half an hour later I was peeling off the clothes I’d barely had time to wrinkle and stepping into my shower. Not that I was dirty, I just always seemed to do my best thinking in the shower. Something about the water cascading over my scalp helped clear my mind. I got out just before my fingers turned into prunes and began carefully blow-drying and straightening my hair. There would be no flyaways when I walked into Bull Capital. Foundation, powder, bronzer, mascara, lip liner, brow definer, a swipe of gloss. It was amazing how many products it took to look naturally flawless. But each step in my routine felt like another layer of armor. And I needed every advantage I had at my disposal.
My life was a dozen shades of gray, but I had a feeling Van Horne saw the world in only black and white. I reached for a white silk top, then a black St. John suit trimmed in white. A Hermès scarf, Louboutin heels and a vintage Louis Vuitton bag completed the look. Attending college in New York City had its perks. I had four years to learn all the best consignment shops so that when my signing bonus from Bettencourt had been safely deposited in my account, I put three-quarters toward the massive school loans I’d accumulated and bought a few statement pieces with the rest. Image wasn’t everything, but when you rubbed elbows with Manhattan moguls, it didn’t hurt to know the dress code.
I left my hair long, just as my mother had worn hers for years. Staring at myself in the mirror, I dared him to do the same and tell me he didn’t know exactly who I was.
On my way back downtown, an almost eerie calm descended with each passing block. This family reunion was long overdue.
Nearly twenty-four years overdue, to be precise.
I breezed past the front desk in the lobby, sending a confident smile to the two security guards blocking access to the bank of elevators. Without an ID badge, I should have checked in at the front desk. I should have had to prove that I belonged.
But they didn’t ask, and I didn’t offer.
Instead, I slipped into the elevator unchallenged. I didn’t need to ask what floor Van Horne’s offices would be on. The top, of course.
The doors opened to a floor that reminded me of the gilded age mansions I’d once toured in Newport. Marble floors, oversized chinoiserie pottery, mahogany accents, somber paintings in elaborate gold frames. Surprisingly, there was no receptionist hindering my entry onto the floor, and I walked through thick Corinthian pillars into a maze of cubicles. Straight ahead, a coterie of gray-headed men in navy suits was contained within a glass-walled conference room. At the head of the table sat the one I was looking for. His head swiveled as I walked toward him, only the slightest widening of his eyes hinting that my arrival was at all unexpected. It wasn’t much to go on, but it hit me like a shot of Red Bull poured into a crisp martini, giving me just the edge I needed.
As if in slow motion he rose, mouth moving as he excused himself.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone, probably the receptionist who should have barred my entrance, rush over, her face ashen. Van Horne lifted a hand, forcing her to a screeching halt before she skulked away. She would likely be packing her personal effects into a cardboard box before I returned to the lobby. I should have felt bad, but I didn’t. Van Horne was a prick. I didn’t know her, but she deserved better.
His polished wingtips came within an inch of my toes, his face close enough that his stale breath abraded my cheek. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”
“You didn’t get the memo?”
His lip curled. “What memo?”
“It’s take your daughter to work day, Dad.” He jerked back as if struck, but I wasn’t finished. As close as he was, I leaned in closer. With my heels, we stood nearly eye-to-eye. “That’s what you’re trying to do by acquiring Bettencourt, isn’t it? None of your other kids want to work for you, so you’re trying to buy the firm that signs my paychecks. What else is a long-lost daughter to think?” I took a step back, gesturing with my arms. “So here I am.”
His eyes were so filled with fury they should have been bleeding. Even I couldn’t face them any longer. So I did the only thing I could think of that would piss him off more. I peered around him at the room full of men trying not to appear as if they were watching our every move.
And then I waved.
Daddy Dearest nearly choked on his own breath. His hand clamped down on my shoulder, fingertips burrowing through the lightweight knit fabric of my suit, and marched me into his office down the hall. No doubt I would see the bruises tomorrow, but I wouldn’t have dropped my
smile if he’d ripped my arm out of its socket.
Displaying more self-control than I would have expected, he closed the door softly before letting go of me and seeking refuge behind his enormous desk. But he wasn’t getting away from me that easily. I followed him, dropping my purse on top of his keyboard and sliding my ass onto the polished wood surface.
“You asked for this meeting, you know. Not me. I’ve never asked you for a damned thing. Not once. Not even after you took my own mother away from me.”
Van Horne drew in a sharp breath as I crossed my legs, practically shaking with indignation that I had the nerve to plant myself on his seat of power. Not hiding my satisfaction, I watched him push back his chair to put more space between us. “What do you want?”
“I want you to keep your mitts off Bettencourt.”
His smug chuckle dragged across my skin like a rough rake. “You think I’m going to take orders from you?”
Quick as a cricket, I reached out and tugged a few strands of hair from his head, shoving it quickly inside my bra as he roared his outrage, slapping his hand over the tiny bald spot I’d inflicted. “What do you want to bet there’s a reporter waiting downstairs with a camera and a DNA testing kit?”
Van Horne’s amber eyes glittered with fury at my threat, the barometric pressure in his office plummeting. Any meteorologist could have come into the room and predicted a storm of global significance. In silence, we studied each other. Father and daughter. Rivals on opposite ends of the field. Not a word had passed between us until a few minutes ago, and yet I could see parts of myself in him. The arch of my brow, higher than my mother’s, was exactly the same as his. The golden tone of his eyes had been distributed within the green I inherited from my mother.
Van Horne was an attractive older man, the very definition of a “silver fox.” He had a few wrinkles, but not a single one of them could be called a laugh line. In a way, maybe I’d been lucky he never accepted me as his daughter. This was not a man I’d want to know. It took everything I had not to jump off his desk and run to the other side of it. Doubtless he was scrutinizing me, too. Good. Let him examine every inch of the daughter he’d rejected. I remained as still as the statue in the corner of the room, probably bought for millions at an exclusive art auction for only the most qualified (i.e., filthy rich) collectors. His eyes finally narrowed, mouth pursing for a moment before any sound emerged. “What were you doing with my son?”