by Tara Wylde
The quiet is just starting to make me nervous when she finally speaks.
“So the expansion was funded by terror money,” she says.
I nod. “We laundered it through some shell corporations first, but yeah.”
“Why bother with the company?” she asks, ever the investigator. “Why not just retire rich?”
“You had to know Sully. He saw a lot in Iraq, especially during those attacks in Mosul. Those people weren’t fighters, they were just ordinary folks trying to live their lives. And they were slaughtered. That’s what sparked the change in focus for Atlas.”
“And you went along with it?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I thought it was the right thing to do. I still do to this day.”
There it is – it’s out there. The question is how will she feel about it? What we did was highly illegal, but as far as I’m concerned, everything Atlas has accomplished since then was worth it and more.
But will she? Either we’ve just gotten a lot closer to each other, or I’ve handed her exactly what Pearce needs to ruin me.
“Who else knows about this?” she asks.
“Including you and me? Nobody.”
She blinks. “Really? Not even Tre?”
“Tre has always given me a nod and a wink when it comes to anything that might be on the fringes of the law. And he didn’t become president until after the money was in place.”
“So this is how you ended up inheriting Sully’s share of the company,” she says. “It wasn’t just that you shared his vision. You were literally the only one he could trust with Atlas.”
I nod. “Desmond – he was the guy who spoke at the board meeting that day – wasn’t overjoyed that Sully had skipped over his own son to give control to me. But he also realized he didn’t have the experience to run Atlas.”
“Terrorists funded the world’s first and only humanitarian security company,” she says.
“That’s the long and short of it, yeah.”
She stares into my eyes for a long moment before taking my head in her hands and laying a soft kiss on my lips.
“I always knew you’d make it big,” she says. “But I never realized you were a genius.”
Chapter Ninety-One
45. SARA
The expression on Quentin Pearce’s face is passive, but his eyes are blazing. I’ve never actually been scared of him until now – intimidated, sure, but not flat-out afraid like this.
“I don’t have time for this,” he says coldly. “Get back to work.”
“I meant what I said,” I say defiantly. “I’m done.”
He stares at me for a moment before starting to pace his office. It makes him look like a panther in a cage.
“Let me guess,” he says finally. “You and Chance Talbot are sleeping together.”
My gut cramps as I realize he’s even smarter than I thought. Could he have possibly been listening in on my phone the whole time? No, that’s outlandish.
Isn’t it?
“My reasons are my own,” I say.
“It’s either that or he’s tried to co-opt you by offering you a job.”
Whoa. Thanks for the excuse, Quentin. I couldn’t have come up with a better one myself. I fake a flinch to make him think he’s hit it on the head.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “What matters is that our contract is done. We agreed on $5,000 a day. It’s been fourteen days. You owe me $70,000.”
“You won’t get a penny,” he says acidly. “Can you afford that?”
I can’t, and I knew it was a long shot, but I had to try.
“We’re done here,” I say with a sardonic smile. “It’s been a slice.”
I turn to walk to the door when he says: “Not so fast.”
Shit. I almost made it. Should have known he’d never let this go that easy.
“If Talbot thinks he’s won, he’s deluded. I told you before that I’ve heard rumors about Atlas. About him. Blackmail. War profiteering.”
I turn to face him again. This time, I meet his glare with my own.
“Good for you,” I say. “Have fun dishing about it with your coffee klatch.”
“Your abrupt resignation, especially in light of our conversation the other day, only serves to confirm that I was right. The missing investor is the key. All I need is evidence.”
Oh, fuck. I never thought of that. Neither did Chance.
“You’re the one who’s deluded,” I say, trying to sound cool. “Leaving this job has nothing to do with Chance Talbot and everything to do with you. Working with you makes me constantly feel like I need a shower. You leave a slime trail behind you like a slug.”
His eyes flash again and he crosses the room to where I’m standing. I hold my ground, until he’s well inside my personal space. It’s an intimidation tactic that won’t work on me.
“You’re quite pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” he says. “I can’t help but wonder if Talbot will still have a job for you when you’re on the witness stand, testifying against him.”
My heart sinks, but I keep it off my face. I hope.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“A few calls to the right people will be enough to have the Department of Defense in Talbot’s office within a week,” he says. “At the very least, they’ll have a lot of difficult questions about their contracts with Atlas. They’re the company’s top client, after all.”
My eyes narrow. “What good will that do? You’d put the company you want to buy out of business?”
“Not out of business. Under new management. The DoD need only bring you in for a deposition to get enough evidence to call in the FBI. The Sullivans won’t be able to sell fast enough. I might even be able to lower my initial offer as well.”
Oh, shit. Shit shitshitshitshit.
Keep your mouth shut, Sara. Just walk out.
“Judging by your silence, I’ve struck a nerve,” he says. “So let me prove to you that I’m not the slug you think I am. I’ll give you a way out of the situation.”
I reach the door to his office. Every fiber in me wants to just turn the knob and walk out. But I can’t.
“Go ahead and tell me,” I say without turning around. “I know you’re dying to.”
“Talbot can have a change of heart and recommend that the Sullivans take my new, smaller offer. Of course, he’ll have to sell his shares, as well. Atlas will belong to Empire, lock, stock and barrel.”
Some choice. The devil or the deep blue sea.
I walk out without saying another word. As I cross the threshold, I hear Pearce’s parting shot.
“Don’t make me go to court, Sara,” he says. “Believe it or not, I’d rather not ruin your life if I don’t have to.”
Chapter Ninety-Two
46. CHANCE
“You should have punched him,” I growl.
“Believe me, I wanted to,” Sara says as she pours a vodka from the bar in my office. “But he’s the kind of guy who’d sue you for looking at him wrong. And knowing him, the fucker would win.”
I’m propped against the corner of my desk, brooding. Pearce is a hell of an opponent. I’ve got wheels within wheels, but so does he.
“One thing’s for sure,” I say. “Once the Sullivans hear about this, there’s no way they’ll sell.”
Sara gives me a stricken look.
“You don’t get it, Chance,” she says. “We’re in deep trouble here, all because of me.”
I reach out and take her free hand. “I’m not scared of Quentin Pearce.”
“It’s not him you need to be scared of,” she says. “It’s me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If I get called for a deposition, or worse, if I get called as a witness in a trial, I’m compelled by law to tell them what you told me last night.”
My heart skips a beat. Jesus, she’s right. Suddenly those wheels within wheels are skidding off the tracks.
“Shit,” I say.
“
Shit is right. If I were to lie and the evidence ever came to light, I’d be charged with perjury.”
“I’m sorry, Sara.” It’s all I can think of to say.
She squeezes my hand. “It’s not your fault. It’s this fucked up situation. I don’t know how the hell we’re going to get out of it. Pearce is going to force an investigation, and he’ll use me against you.”
I shake my head. “That’s not in his best interests. He’s hoping his threat will be enough to drive me out and push the sale through. He doesn’t want anything to happen that will throw a wrench into his plans.”
“But you can’t lose Atlas,” she says. “I don’t know exactly what he’s up to, but I can tell you this much: putting Atlas into Pearce’s hands would be a disaster.”
“Agreed,” I nod. “I guarantee he’s flipping it for someone who wants the company’s good will and reputation. I just don’t know who or why.”
Sara finishes her vodka and puts the glass back down in the bar before wrapping her arms around herself.
“I don’t want you to have to sell out,” she says. “But I definitely don’t want to be used as a weapon against you. The situation is impossible.”
Come on, Chance. You’re strategic. You think around corners. You can’t let Pearce get the better of you, on sheer principle alone. You didn’t survive on the streets and then Iraq just to have a little pissant like him put you on your knees.
Wait a minute – on my knees…
Sara tangles her fingers in her auburn hair and tugs in frustration. “Argh!” she hollers, her eyes squeezed shut. “There has to be a way!”
“Sara,” I say.
“Why can’t I think? I’m better than this! There has to be a solution!”
“Sara.” More firmly this time.
She opens her eyes and looks in my direction. It takes her a moment to realize I’m not at eye-level anymore.
I’m down on one knee on the floor.
“Sara Bishop,” I say, taking her hand. “Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Chapter Ninety-Three
47. SARA
My heart can start again any time now.
Aannyyy time now…
“It only makes sense,” Chance says from his place on the floor. “A person can’t be forced to testify against a spouse. It takes you off the board as a chess piece, and it gives us time to come up with a new strategy against Pearce.”
“Uh-huh,” I mutter, blinking.
“Are you okay?”
You mean other than being proposed to as a legal maneuver by the boy you used to love and the man you just recently rekindled your relationship with?
“Uh, yeah,” I say. “Fine. That, uh. That makes sense. I guess.”
“Is that a yes?”
I nod stupidly. “Yes, it’s a yes.”
“We should get it done as quickly as possible,” he says, glancing at his watch.
“You mean today?”
“No time like the present. Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” I say with a shrug. “Let’s do it.”
I actually feel dizzy, my heart is racing so fast. I’m not one of those girls who sat around fantasizing about a dream wedding – hell, I never actually thought I’d ever get married, period. Now I have a guy tapping his watch and saying tick-tock, Sara.
Chance must see all this on my face because he takes me by the shoulders.
“Look, Sara, I know this is another rung on the crazy ladder. It’s just as nuts for me as it is for you. But the last thing I want to see is you in an impossible situation.”
I nod. “And I don’t want you to lose everything you’ve worked for.”
“And time really is of the essence.”
I take a deep breath, exhale. “Okay,” I say. “Next stop, the courthouse and the justice of the peace.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the office door. Karen perks up as we step out and pass her desk.
“Where are you two off to?” she chirps.
“We’re getting married,” Chance says distractedly.
As we disappear into the hall, I hear Karen mutter: “Fine, don’t tell me, then.”
Chapter Ninety-Four
48. CHANCE
“I’m sorry,” the woman behind the counter says with an insincere smile. “It’s a one-day wait for a marriage license in Cook County.”
“We really are in a hurry,” Sara pleads. “Is there any way to do a rush order?”
She gives us a sidelong look. “I’m afraid not.”
I tug my wallet out of my back pocket and discreetly remove five photos of Benjamin Franklin.
“You’re sure about that?” I ask.
The woman’s eyes narrow and she leans closer to the counter. “How do I know you’re not an inspector trying to pull some sort of sting?” she hisses.
My hand produces a fob from my pocket and sets it on top of the bills.
“Do you know many civil servants who drive Bugattis?”
Her eyes widen and she snaps up the cash. “Let me see what I can do.”
The justice of the peace is an elderly woman with a severe hearing problem, I guess that’s what you can expect at two in the afternoon on a Tuesday.
“You have the rings?” she asks as she flips through some paperwork.
Sara reaches into her purse and brings out the rings we bought on the way to the courthouse. We didn’t have time to shop; I just bought the most expensive ones in the store.
The old lady’s eyes pop behind her oversized glasses as she sees them.
“Heavens,” she says. “Someone’s been saving up.”
Sara smiles. “He stole $16 million,” she says.
My heart thumps in my chest as the justice titters and Sara sticks her tongue out at me.
“Oh, you,” the old lady says. Then she leans in to Sara. “Nice catch, dear.”
She goes back to riffling through pages. “Which ceremony would you like?” she asks.
“Whatever’s shortest,” I say.
She frowns. “Well, that’s not very romantic,” she admonishes.
Sara holds up the ring again. “This makes up for it.”
“Young people these days,” the old lady sighs.
“I, Chance, take thee, Sara, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health…”
My mouth makes the words as I hear them, but I’m not really paying attention. I wonder if Sara would be surprised at how many times I fell asleep to this fantasy.
Well, not this fantasy, obviously. But to us getting married.
I gaze into her eyes as she says her own vows back to me. I always thought we’d write our own, and talk about everything we’d overcome together. Talk about how much we owed each other. These words are too banal to capture what we felt.
What we could feel again. Maybe.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” she says, sliding the platinum band down the third finger of my left hand.
The old lady grins. “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” she says. “You may kiss the –”
But I’m already there, my lips on hers, my arms around her waist. Her arms close around my neck and hold me in place.
“Good heavens,” the justice mutters. “Get a room.”
“We plan to,” Sara says as our lips part. “As soon as possible.”
Chapter Ninety-Five
49. SARA
“This suite has two living rooms,” I marvel as we step into the place.
The Sapphire is a downtown luxury boutique hotel that doesn’t have a designated honeymoon suite per se, but the Presidential Suite will do in a pinch. It’s 2,000 square feet of over-the-top luxury, and about ten times the size of the rec center storeroom.
Smells better, too.
“I’m just glad it wasn’t booked tonight,” Chance says, tossing his keys in a ceramic dish on the side table. “I’d like to make up for this crazy last-minute wedding somehow. This is a start.”
“A start?” I say. “This place is
bigger than the block I grew up on.”
He grins. “Should I order up some champagne and what-not?”
“Tell you what,” I say, gripping the collar of his shirt. “You take care of the champagne. I’ll take care of the what-not.”
His eyes bulge as I slink toward the bedroom.
“Don’t get lost on the way,” I say. “This place is huge.”
By the time he arrives, I’m naked under the bubbles in the oversized pedestal tub that occupies a corner of the bedroom.
“What took you so long?” I ask, stretching out a leg to give him a good, long look.
“Just had to take care of a couple of things,” he says, wasting no time in pulling off his shirt.
“I think you should be taking care of your wife, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I do.”
He stumbles trying to yank off the rest of his clothes at once. I giggle as he picks himself off the floor, finally naked, and joins me in the tub.
“My wife,” he says softly as he sits down. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Wow.”
Part of me wants to stop this right now and have a long talk about where we’re going. What happens after the end of the month? If the sale goes through? If it doesn’t go through and we beat Pearce’s ass? Where are we going to be in two weeks?
The rest of me tells that part to shut the hell up as I reach under the bubbles and grab Chance’s cock.
“I heard a joke once,” I say, stroking.
“Wh-what’s that?” he sighs.
“Why are brides always smiling as they walk down the aisle?”
“I,” he moans. “Don’t know. Wh-why?”
“Because they know they’ve given their last blowjob.”
“Huh.” It’s more a grunt than a laugh.
“I never really understood it,” I say. “I mean, why would any woman want to give up blowjobs?”
With that, I dunk my head under the water and take him into my mouth. It’s something I’ve always wondered about, and I figure what better time than my wedding night to try it?