Ex-Con Times Two

by Jay S. Wilder

  I tell Dad to calm down. He reiterates he’s not letting anyone in. He goes on to say that the issue is behind us now. I’m curious what he means, but I don’t want to speak to openly with Rebecca around. She does not need to know what a monster he really is. Dad presses on. He admits that sometime this morning—probably while I was making coffee—Kara came to an agreement with Rushton. Rebecca overhears, but she doesn’t react.

  I have to ask. “What kind of agreement, Dad?”

  “He’s going to lay off the media and quit pressuring the Mayor and NYPD Chief of Police about his niece.”

  “Just like that?” I ask. I notice Rebecca’s expression. She’s barely paying attention. Or maybe searching through her purse is just a distraction.

  “Yes. Just like that. It has something to do with the fact that she was a call girl. I suspect someone is ready to tell ex-Mayor Stinley’s camp, if Rushton keeps it up. You do know that Stinley has joined the race for Senator, right?”

  The plot thickens. Stinley announced he was going up against Rushton for the New York State Senate seat.

  “Yes.”

  “You know Kara has the power of persuasion.”

  “What does this…this agreement entail, Dad?”

  “What do you mean?” he asks innocently.

  “I doubt Senator Rushton and his wife will just drop it. What’s in it for him?”

  “Ahhh. Simple. Two things. Sloan Sports and Entertainment is about to announce a charitable donation to launch an NYU scholarship in the Senator and Doreen Rushton’s names. It’s also a Senate election year next year for the bastard.”

  “Okay…God, Dad. You’re backing his campaign, aren’t you?”

  “Of course. I backed him the last time too. He’s a fine Senator.”

  I should have known there was more going on. I forgot it’s Kara we have working for us. Dad says he’s fine about the warrants. He’s confident they won’t find anything, and he’s still adamant he’s not letting anyone in here. I don’t feel like sticking around for the action. He makes a point of pulling me aside to tell me, “Kara has put me on such a tight leash, it’s never going to happen again. Trust me, son. No more cleanups. No more girls.”

  I believe it, too, but a part of me is disappointed there’s no retribution for him—no one can ever bring back the girls he killed.

  I ask him, “Where’s the justice for the others?”

  He ducks his head, and answers, “Kara is working on that. She made me set aside an arm’s length trust fund of almost two hundred million dollars over the next twenty years. I still don’t know how she’ll track down their families. Son…I can’t bring them back, and I do take responsibility now. This is honestly the best I can do to protect us all.”

  I’ve seen and heard enough. I tell Rebecca I’ll take her home, unless she wants to come back to my place. She says she’ll come with me. I’m all mush inside at that.

  We get back to my place and something shifts in my chest. Or maybe it’s my gut. I can’t do this to Rebecca. I have to tell her the truth about myself. I ask her to sit down.

  “We need to talk,” I tell her.

  “About what?”

  I sit beside her and turn to face her. “Rebecca, I…I care a lot about you.”

  “I care about you too.”

  “I know…but let me finish. I care enough to tell you who I am before you go any further with me. I apologize for not telling you sooner. I’m not perfect, Rebecca…but I can honestly tell you I’ve never killed anyone. Outside of boxing training, I’ve never hurt anyone intentionally. You know about my second degree charge that was dropped…but…I’ve also done things. Things I’m not proud of.”

  She continues to look at me with kindness in her eyes. She waits for me to continue.

  “At the time, I did those things to protect someone else. Looking back, I see now I was an enabler. By protecting them, I became an accomplice. At the beginning, I was a teenager. I couldn’t stop them, but maybe if I had refused to help, or had turned them in, maybe some really horrible things would not have happened. What I’m saying, Rebecca, is, I—”

  “Shhh,” she said. “Don’t tell me anything more. I understand. And it’s okay.”

  “No. It’s not okay. I need to tell you this.”

  “I’m asking you not to. I know enough…about you…and your father. Just tell me you won’t be a part of it again, and that it’s in your past for good. That’s enough for me.”

  “It is, but don’t you want to know?”

  “No,” she says, and gets up to sit in my lap. She turns to look me in the eye, and cups my chin in both her hands, planting a soft kiss on my lips. “I just want to look forward, Jonathan, and when I do, I want you in the picture.”

  I close my eyes, press my forehead into hers, and tell her I can’t let her do this. I need her to take that next step with her eyes open. I beg her to let me come clean. She says okay and I tell her everything. I don’t leave a thing out. I even tell her about the nightmares. By the time I’m finished, it’s a couple hours later. My eyes are red from the tears, and so are hers, but that sweet, kind look in her eyes is still there. She sits silently in my arms for almost another hour afterward, saying nothing. She’s just holding me and telling me it’s not my fault. She tells me she can get me some discreet help for the PTSD, and it’s going to be okay. She even says she’s sorry I had to go through it.

  She’s sorry? I can’t grasp her level of empathy, and that she’s not even remotely as disgusted with me as I am with myself. That brings on even more tears on my end, which she responds to by going into my kitchen and coming back a few minutes later with two cups of tea and a box of tissues.

  After I finish the tea, she asks if I have to be at work. I tell her I need to be there after lunch for meetings. She says she’ll stay at my place for the day, if it’s okay with me. I tell her I’m fine with that. She whispers in my ear that she will be right here when I get back—and that we’ll only look forward from that point on.

  That was a year ago. Mrs. Rebecca Sloan and I have not looked back ever since.

  The END

  The Billionaire’s Temptation & Seduction Complete Series

  Parts One and Two

  Jay S. Wilder

  Part One

  Temptation

  Prologue

  Adam

  My dad, the Wilhelm Frederick Gerome, called me into his corporate office.

  “You bellowed,” I said when I walked into his office that day and, in hindsight, I probably should have shown a bit more respect. Dad had looked at me and pointed at a chair. I’d known this day was coming since my older brother had bailed me out of jail… again.

  “Adam Garfield Gerome, explain this.”

  I flinched when he added my hideous middle name, feeling six instead of my twenty-six years of age. I flinched even harder when I saw what he’d tossed on the desk between us. The Inside Inquisitor, in all its gossip glory had a full-color picture of me being hauled from a cop car in handcuffs on the front cover. The headline read: Billionaire Playboy Plays Too Rough. I flipped the gossip rag open to check the accuracy of the story and to buy myself another few moments from my father’s glower.

  Damn.

  Pretty darn accurate.

  Whoever the ‘source’ was got it right for once. I’d been in a club, actually in the bathroom of a club, having sex with a hot brunette in a skimpy red dress. In the middle of the act, the bathroom door had burst open and I’d had a little scuffle with the girl’s boyfriend. Cops were called. We’d both gone to jail. Russell, the only brother I like, bailed me out.

  If it had happened to anyone but me, it wouldn’t have garnered a mention. But I’m Adam ‘the Dick’ Gerome, fifth in line to the Gerome fortune. If I fart too loud, the audio goes viral.

  “Now.”

  The single word booming from my father’s chest had me snapping back to attention. I explained the fight, spinning it so it looked like I was defending the girl’s honor
. Dad doesn’t need to know I was screwing her on the bathroom sink.

  “So, the arrest wasn’t warranted at all,” I concluded. “The guy was a maniac, I had to protect the girl.” I looked him straight in the eye, doing my best to look truthful as I finished tweaking the story.

  Wilhelm stared at me and I stared back, fully convinced I had won this battle. Then, dad pulled out another tabloid, then another, and another. Soon, he had quite the little stack piling up between us.

  “Adam, I despair for you.”

  I didn’t flinch, I’d heard the words before. I settle back in my chair, and cross an ankle over a knee. Might as well get comfortable for the lecture that was to come.

  “I feel I’ve been patient, allowing you your early twenties to, uh, sow your oats. You’ve passed your early twenties and are on the downhill slope to thirty. At this point in time, I see no hint of a change in your behavior.”

  I had opened my mouth to defend myself, but his raised hand and even more ominous glower stopped me cold.

  “I feel your mother and I have failed you.” I sat up straighter in the chair, this line was new. “As the baby of the family, we haven’t been as diligent in training you effectively.”

  Great. Now I’m a St. Bernard in need of training? “No, Dad. That’s not true at all. You and Mom have been great.”

  He signed and steepled his fingers under his chin. “I’m sure it appears that way from your side of the story…but from ours, we see a spoiled brat who doesn’t know the meaning of work ethic and who spends money as if it grows on trees in our backyard and gets delivered inside on a silver platter.”

  I barely had enough self-awareness and discretion to not say ‘platinum platter’, thinking of my AmEx. “That’s not true. I pay attention to my spending.”

  “Really? How much was the Land Rover you purchased last month?”

  Shit.

  I’m going to have to guess.

  “Sixty? Sixty-five thousand?”

  Dad exhaled and rifled through a stack of papers. “Try ninety-five thousand, son.”

  I stared at him. Is that bad? It’s a really awesome, but highly practical SUV. I needed another vehicle for icy New York weather or ski trips over at the Pocono Mountain resort in Pennsylvania. I probably shouldn’t tell him I’d also needed it to pull the boat I purchased in Oak Springs near the Poconos two days ago.

  “Adam, do you know the cost of your monthly bills to simply live in your penthouse apartment?”

  I stared at him again, this time really confused. “Isn’t it paid for?”

  Dad slapped a hand across his forehead. ‘What?’ I want to ask him, but my intuition is screaming at me to shut the hell up.

  “Son, you know I love you, don’t you?”

  I nodded, feeling a big ‘but’ heading my way.

  “I can no longer, in good conscience, allow you to piss your life away. Effective immediately, you will begin a life plan that will instill the necessary skills, direction and dedication to ensure you become a responsible adult.”

  Holy shit. Did Dad have lunch with Dr. Phil again? “What do you mean, life plan?”

  “You will take on a role of responsibility within one of my companies, be given a salary and expected to pay our own bills for a period of one year. If the company of my choosing breaks even at the end of that year, you’ll be given your inheritance, in full, and can go about your life.”

  Shit. Another ‘but’ was zooming at me at supersonic speed.

  “But, if the company does not break even, you’ll head said company for an additional five years, after which time you’ll inherit and be set free.”

  I had stood up, so quickly I’d almost knocked my chair over. “Five years. That’s… that’s… blackmail. Extortion. Child labor…”

  “Life, son,” my dad interrupted. “That’s called life. I suggest you choose wisely.”

  I lifted my chin and began to pace the office, angrier than I’d ever been. Choose wisely my ass. “And if I decline your generous offer?”

  Dad smiled. Smiled! Not a good sign. He rifled through his papers again and looked up at me. “You might want to sit down for this.”

  He was right. By the time he was finished with me, my head was between my knees and I was fending off an attack of hyperventilation. Choice #2 was really no choice at all. If I didn’t do as my father instructed and run a company and grow the hell up, I would lose my inheritance, my apartment, my vehicles, and my credit cards. Oh, my boat too, he added that on as an almost after thought. Shit on a stick. He really did know everything.

  “You… you can’t do this,” I sputtered. “Does Mom know?” Damn, I was six again.

  “Yes. She had suggested we trade in your wardrobe for, oh, what was it? Old Navy.” I knew that last bit was a lie because the bastard’s lips twitched a bit.

  “I don’t know anything about running a company.” There, a much more pertinent and grown-up question.

  “Didn’t you take business classes at Columbia?” He wrinkled his nose at the school name. I’m sure it was because my two oldest siblings, George and Janine, had attended Yale while Diane and William had chosen Harvard. Me, I didn’t have the grades for either. In fact, I’d flunked out my sophomore year and had somehow convinced my parents I should study in the ‘school of life’ which equaled backpacking across a lot of the world. Looking back, I think they were just pleased to get rid of me for a while. Let’s just say I wasn’t their easiest child.

  “Adam, you are a tremendous people person and, in leadership, that could be your most valuable tool. I’d suggest you hire people more experienced and smarter than you. Hire hard and manage easy, I always say.”

  I looked at him as if he were speaking Chinese.

  He sighed and added, “I’ll make sure you have support staff in which to turn to in the beginning. But, be warned, they are for support only. I fully expect you run the company. You will not be a figurehead.”

  My sigh echoed his and I sat back in my chair. “Okay, it seems like you have this all thought out and you know I’ll choose plan a.”

  “Excellent.”

  I had scowled at him, but the bastard had had the nerve to smile. I ground my teeth together and bit out, “Which company did you have in mind?”

  His smile grew broader, wider, he even showed a hint of teeth. He opened a drawer and pulled out a magazine, tossing it in my direction.

  I dropped my head in my hands. A fashion magazine? He really wanted me to run a fashion magazine? With clothes and models and shit?

  Chapter 1

  Anna

  One Week Later

  “Nice shoes.”

  Glancing over at the lovely blonde woman who stepped onto the elevator beside me, I smile and scan the other woman’s clothes for the prerequisite “thanks, love yours too”. Before I can say a word, the blonde adds, “Is mix and match the latest fad this season?”

  Confused, I glance down and, for a moment, nothing seems out of place. I had dressed carefully, agonizing on what to wear for my first real-world interview. I had finally settled on a new Calvin Klein Crepe de Chine color-block dress. The mix of light and dark is striking and I hope I’ll stand out among all the suits I’ll be competing against.

  I paired the dress with nude Stuart Weitzman pumps that go with just about everything in my wardrobe. To my growing horror, I realize the left shoe is indeed my favorite Weitzman, but on my right is—no, no, no—the L.K. Bennet’s my mom gave me as a graduation present just last week.

  Panic pushes the adrenaline button in my brain and the hormone floods my system. I can’t believe I’d been so careless. Today was so important, a day I’d been working toward for the past four years. How could I be so stupid?

  In the vast landscape of life, having mismatched shoes wouldn’t be a problem. I realize that. I really do. 99.9% of all human resource directors wouldn’t take the time to look down at my feet. They’d be too busy scanning my resume and asking “what are your strengths and weaknesses�
� questions.

  The problem with this situation is I’m in New York City. I’m walking into the headquarters of one of the oldest, most well-respected fashion magazine in the world, and crap, I’m about to interview for a coveted editorial position. Worst of all I’m fresh out of college, so I’m already at a disadvantage. A fashion faux pas like this at Trendsetter Magazine will be considered the deadliest of sins.

  Shit.

  I wanted this job. I needed this job. Not for the paycheck, but for the independence it would give me. I can’t give Mom the satisfaction of being right about my career choices. I can’t bear the look of disappointment on my dad’s face.

  Ding. The elevator stops and the door slides open and I’m still standing there, gaping at my shoes. I’d maintained a 4.0 average at the Columbia Journalism School. I was even on the debate team, for goodness sake. But right here, right now I’m dumbfounded, at a total loss as to what to do.

  “Come with me,” the blonde says, breaking into my trance.

  “But… but, this isn’t my floor.”

  “It is now,” she says and gives me a smile and a wink. “If you want to borrow a matching pair of shoes.”

  “Really?”

  She smiles bigger this time. “Really. Only to borrow, you’ll have to bring them back.”

  “Oh, I will. I promise. Thank you so much.”

  Following her down the hallway, she stops in front of a door marked Closet.

  “I’m Kelly, by the way.”

  “I’m Anna,” I answer, holding out my hand to shake her. “Anna Nash, and again, I can’t thank you enough for helping me out.”

  “Well, Anna Nash, I feel bad that I pointed them out and upset you. You really should have seen your face.”

  I laugh. “I can only imagine, I felt like the breath had been knocked out of me. I can’t believe I was such an idiot. I’m always so organized and careful.”