by Shelly Ellis
But he’s gonna lose it today. I’ll make sure of that.
“You guys didn’t get the chance to go on your honeymoon? Oh,” Dante snapped his fingers and inclined his head, “I’m sorry. I forgot! You’re facing an attempted murder charge and can’t leave the state, can you? That kind of puts a damper on travel plans.”
“Let’s get out of here, baby,” Leila whispered to Evan, shooting daggers at Dante with her dark eyes. She looped her arm through Evan’s and tried to walk away, but Evan didn’t budge. He just continued glaring at Dante.
“Why are you in such a rush to get away, Lee?” Dante asked, coming to a stop a few feet away from the couple.
“I have nothing to say to you,” she snarled, pulling at Evan’s arm again, but he stayed firmly in place.
“You have nothing to say to me? Really? But you had plenty to say a few weeks ago in that hotel room in Reston when you were begging me to show your man a little mercy.”
Leila gave a barely noticeable flinch, making Dante want to burst into laughter all over again.
“But we did a lot more than talk, didn’t we, baby?” he asked, giving her a wink.
She made a panicked glance at Evan to see his reaction. For the first time, Evan’s face went blank; he wasn’t sure how to respond to the news that his new wife had cheated on him. His eyes turned away from Dante and shifted to Leila.
“Don’t worry, Ev! It didn’t get too down and dirty. I only let her—”
“You son of a bitch!” Evan yelled as he lunged forward with his arm extended, like he was reaching out to grab Dante or he was about to throw a punch. “I’m going to beat the shit out of you!”
But Leila stopped him. She held onto his arm with all her might, fighting to hold him back. She threw her body between the two men.
“Don’t . . . don’t, baby!” she said, staring up at Evan. “You know what he’s doing!”
When Evan tried to pull away from her and walk around her, she placed her hands on both sides of his face. “Listen to me! Listen to me, Ev! Don’t fall for it. He’s not worth it! He’s not important—we are.”
At that, Evan’s shoulders relaxed. The flames dimmed in his eyes a little, and Dante nearly groaned in exasperation.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!
“I need you. Your family needs you, honey!” she pleaded. “Don’t let that bastard send you back to jail!”
Dante chuckled. “Oh, this is touching . . . so touching. Too bad she—”
“Shut up! Just shut the hell up!” Leila spat, whipping around on him like a coiled cobra poised and ready to strike. “Don’t say anything else, you piece of shit!”
“What are you, his guard dog now?” Dante spat.
She didn’t answer him but instead continued to stare at him with the same contempt and imperious air as Evan had. It felt almost like a betrayal.
“Do you really think you’re one of them because he put that big-ass rock on your finger? Well, you’re not! You’re not a Marvelous Murdoch, Lee—and you never will be! You’re just like me—a poor relation. And one day you won’t even be that. You’ll be his cast-off when he finally decides to move on to wife number three!”
Leila ignored him. She turned and began to walk again, holding Evan’s hand. Evan followed her—reluctantly. Dante watched them until they reached the end of the hall, boarded the elevators, and the doors closed behind them.
Chapter 10
Evan
Evan gazed out of his office’s floor-to-ceiling windows, staring at the choppy water of the Potomac River and the gray clouds gathering over Reagan National Airport. The scene was apropos; it reflected his dark mood.
He had been staring out the window for more than an hour, lost in thought, replaying his confrontation with Dante earlier that week. Each time he thought back to the argument at the courthouse, his mind created a different ending. Instead of Leila quietly tugging him away and ushering him down the hall to the elevators, he would march straight up to Dante and start punching him in the face. Or he would wrench out of her grasp, charge back down the hall, wrap his hands around Dante’s neck, and start strangling him. He would only stop once the bailiffs and police officers pulled him off.
Only his half-brother could suck him into these black holes of fury. Evan usually considered himself a level-headed, pragmatic man, but Dante Turner knew how to make him feel like the Incredible Hulk. He’d want to just start smashing cars and knocking down walls from all his bottled-up rage. But Evan knew Dante’s end game: it was to destroy him and taint everything he held sacred. He had even managed to make Evan doubt Leila’s fidelity—something he never thought he would do.
“He’s not worth it, baby,” Leila had whispered soothingly to him as they sat in the backseat of his Lincoln Town Car on the way back to the mansion from the courthouse. She’d held his hand as she said it. “He’s not worth the dirt on your shoes.”
“I know that,” Evan had spat, yanking his hand out of her grasp. “But that son of a bitch always knows what buttons to press. He knows what shit to say to push me over the edge—even when it’s not true. Because I know it’s not true. It can’t be.”
“What can’t be true, honey?”
“Those things he said about you. What he said you . . . you two did. You never met him at a hotel. You could never fuck someone like that or even consider it!”
She fell quiet.
“It’s all bullshit . . . Right?”
Leila didn’t immediately respond. Instead, she broke his gaze, and for a split second, Evan had panicked. He had wondered if what Dante had said was true, after all.
Leila met that son of a bitch in a hotel room in Reston, he’d thought, horrified. She fucked him. Dear God! She did it!
His grip on her hand had tightened. His pulse had quickened. Finally, ever so slowly, she’d shaken her head.
“Of course not, baby,” she’d whispered, rubbing his shoulder, calming him instantly. “How could you even ask me that? This is the same man who claimed you shot him in a parking garage one night. You can’t believe a damn word he says!”
Leila was right. It was ridiculous to even consider believing Dante. And no matter what Dante said or did, Evan couldn’t let him get to him like that again. There was too much at stake now.
“Have you seen the email?” Joe Cannon asked as he burst through Evan’s open door and strode into his office. “I can’t believe the bastard did it!”
Evan slowly turned away from the floor-to-ceiling windows, mentally snapping back to the present. He blinked.
“The bastard did what?” he asked distractedly as Joe, the chief operating officer of Murdoch Conglomerated, stalked toward his desk. “What bastard?”
They couldn’t be possibly talking about Dante, were they?
No, Evan thought. His half-brother didn’t lurk in dark corners in everyone’s lives—just his and his family’s.
Joe looked angry enough that his head was about to explode, which was rare for the genial older man. He was trailed by Ed Morgan, the company’s vice president of marketing and communications, whose face was almost green, like he was physically ill.
“Payton!” Joe snarled. “That son of a bitch submitted his resignation. The coward did it by email!”
Evan stared at them both. “Payton . . . wait, Payton as in Payton Thurston? Our director of public affairs?”
Both Joe and Ed nodded in unison, making Evan slump back in his leather office chair and close his eyes.
Payton had been with the company for almost seven years. He was the person who spoke to the press and appeared at summits and conventions. In lieu of Evan, Payton was the public face of Murdoch Conglomerated. Now that Evan was facing attempted murder charges, Payton had been pushed even more to the forefront, being a less controversial figure than the company’s CEO. Payton’s resignation couldn’t have come at a worse time.
“Jesus,” Evan whispered, scrubbing his hand over his face. He opened his eyes again. “Did he say wh
y he’s leaving? What happened?” he asked, frantically clicking his computer mouse and tapping on laptop keys, searching for Payton’s resignation email.
“Issues with his family . . . unable to dedicate his full attention to his duties . . . yada, yada, yada,” Ed said, waving his hand dismissively.
“He couldn’t hack it!” Joe charged. “The jackals started circling, and he ran for cover!”
Ed shook his bald head and sighed. “Payton is fine at announcing new products and doing photo ops and ribbon cuttings, but crisis management just isn’t his strong point.”
“The boy has no balls!” Joe shouted. “Let’s just call it what it is, Ed! He didn’t even have the balls to tell his boss to his face that he was quitting. Instead he snuck out the back door like a—”
“Stop,” Evan said tiredly, holding up his hands. “Just stop, all right? I get that you’re angry. Hell, I am, too! But none of this is helpful. We’re short a company spokesperson when Murdoch Conglomerated’s image is already shattered. The board will go ballistic when they find out Payton jumped ship, not to mention what the damn press will say! I don’t need griping. I need an action plan.” His gaze shifted between both men. “Now what are we going to do? You think Payton’s assistant can take over?”
“That nitwit, Kyle?” Joe exclaimed, raising his bushy white eyebrows. “The only reason why he’s even on the payroll is because he is Payton’s wife’s nephew! He wouldn’t know how to write a press release, let alone how to preside over a news conference with bloodthirsty reporters! Something like that is completely beyond him!”
“Fine,” Evan said, drumming his fingers impatiently on his glass desktop. He zeroed in on Ed again, who still looked like he had just received a stage-four cancer diagnosis. “Is there anyone in your department who can step forward and fill the position for now?”
Ed shook his head. “None have press experience, and I don’t know if we could train them quickly enough to be ready for what’s going to come at them.” Ed shrugged his bowed shoulders. “I guess I can do it myself if—”
“No,” Evan said, “you have enough duties as it is, and we have that big launch later this month. I want you to focus on that.” He grumbled to himself then sucked his teeth. “I guess we’ll have to recruit someone from outside of the company . . . though I have no idea who. We should call up that firm that—”
“I have someone in mind who might work,” Joe piped, stopping Evan mid-sentence.
Evan and Ed stared at him in amazement.
“You do?” Evan asked.
Joe nodded.
“Who?” Ed inquired eagerly.
“Before I say who it is, just . . . just hear out my reasoning. Okay?” Joe began.
He seemed to hesitate. He nervously adjusted his tie, making Evan wary of where this was going.
“Now he doesn’t have a lot of communications or media experience, but he’s strongly connected to our brand and has an emotional investment in the company. He’s handsome. . . articulate . . . charming, but doesn’t come off as disingenuous. I never would have thought of him before but . . . but when I saw a broadcast not too long ago and saw how he held his own with a reporter, I thought, ‘That boy has potential! He’s got talent!’ I wondered why none of us had considered it sooner.”
“Who are you talking about, Joe?” Evan asked.
“For the love of God, just spit it out!” Ed shouted.
Joe waited another beat. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Terrence,” he said.
“Terrence?” Evan asked, squinting in confusion.
“Terrence Murdoch.”
“My brother?”
Joe nodded.
Evan didn’t know how to respond at first because he was so taken aback. A laugh tickled his throat. It finally burst forth into full-on, stomach-cramping laughter.
“You think Terry should be our company spokesperson? You’re joking, right?”
He swiveled in his chair to look up at Ed, expecting him to be laughing, too, or at least to look incredulous, but instead the other man’s eyes had narrowed with concentration. He didn’t look sick anymore. He was actually nodding in agreement now.
“You two can’t be serious! Have you lost your minds? Look, I love Terry to death but . . . but he can’t be our director of public affairs! He’s never worked a nine-to-five! His last job was modeling—and he hasn’t modeled in years! He doesn’t know a damn thing about public relations or—”
“But you didn’t see the interview, Evan,” Joe insisted. “Your brother handled it like a pro, and that reporter was asking him some pretty serious questions about your case and the allegations. Payton never could have done an interview like that. With a little training and finessing, Terrence could get even better! The seeds are there. I can see it. Trust me!”
“And it might be good to have another Murdoch step forward to represent the company, Evan—at least temporarily,” Ed argued, shoving his hands in his suit pockets. “It would show the board that the Murdoch name—the brand is still good. If this works out, it could silence the naysayers.”
“Or it could make even more of them call for my head on a silver platter!”
Joe leaned against his desk. The expression on his pale, wrinkled face was dire. “Look, Evan, we have to accept the facts. Murdoch Conglomerated is at a crisis point. I worked for your father for twenty-two years. He wasn’t a perfect man, but he fought for this company. He did whatever he had to do to help it survive and thrive. I know how much blood and sweat he put into Murdoch Conglomerated to make it what it is today. And I know you know it, too.”
At the mention of his father, Evan’s gaze involuntarily flickered to the portrait of George Murdoch hanging on the wall near the door. It was the only holdover from when his father had been CEO of Murdoch Conglomerated and had occupied this very office. Even his father’s image seemed to be judging Evan at that moment—and finding him lacking.
Are you really going to let this destroy us? his father’s image seemed to silently ask. Are you going to let those sons of bitches kill everything I built?
Evan lowered his eyes and stared down at his glass tabletop.
“If we want the company to survive, we have to take some risks, Evan. This is one of them,” Joe said.
Evan finally raised his gaze. He exhaled. “Fine. I’ll talk to Terry. I’ll ask him. But I think I know what his answer will be.”
* * *
“No! Hell no! Are you crazy, Ev?” Terrence exclaimed a day later, lowering his bottle of Stella Artois from his lips and slamming it to the restaurant table.
Evan slouched back into the padded booth and sighed. “I knew that’s what you would say,” he murmured as the waiter placed their ceviche appetizers in front of them.
He had decided to broach the topic of Terrence becoming Murdoch Conglomerated’s new director of public affairs over dinner, hoping to butter up his little brother with a good meal and liquor. But it hadn’t worked. Terrence had still reacted as expected.
“Why the hell—” Terrence bellowed then caught himself. He glanced around the high-end tapas restaurant, his eyes landing on the nearby table of elderly women who were currently enjoying bowls of gazpacho. He leaned over the table toward Evan.
“Why the hell,” he began again, this time in a whisper, “would you want me to work at Murdoch Conglomerated. . . let alone be the spokesperson for the whole damn company?” He ruefully shook his head. “Whatever you’re smokin’ must be some good shit! Share some with me!”
“I didn’t smoke anything, and it’s not just me who thinks you’d be a good fit. A few other executives made the suggestion. I’ll admit that I was . . . doubtful, at first,” he explained diplomatically. He took a sip of red wine. “But then I went online and saw that interview you did with Channel six news. It made me proud, Terry. I didn’t know you had that in you. They were right. You held your own that day!”
“But it was that day, Ev! I don’t know if I could do that agai
n, let alone do it over and over and over. I swear like a sailor! You know that! What if I drop a few f-bombs on Fox Business News?”
“You know how to code switch. I’ve seen you do it at dinner parties and galas. You know how to carry yourself and how to schmooze when the time calls for it. You won’t drop any f-bombs on live TV. I know you won’t,” Evan assured. “And if you’re really that worried, ask C. J. to coach you! She’s a reporter. She can help. I’m sure she’d be happy to do it!”
Terrence rolled his eyes. “Look, Ev, even if . . . even if by some chance I manage to talk to reporters and do interviews with no problems, I know there has to be more to it than that! I didn’t finish college, but I’m not stupid! What about coordinating publicity campaigns and social media? What about—”
“Terry, we would bring in someone who can handle the day-to-day strategic stuff like that. We just need you to be the face and the voice. That’s all!”
Terrence gritted his teeth. “I can’t do it. I just can’t!”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“I can’t! I’m not a ‘suit and tie’ guy! I never have been. I hate that corporate shit!”
“You hate that corporate shit, but you’re happy to live off of its proceeds, though, right? What do you think made your trust fund, Terry? What do you think pays for your condo and your Porsche and your personal trainer?” Evan barked, drawing the attention of the diners at the tables nearby. “Dad busted his ass wearing a suit and tie, working long hours, and building the company for you to have a good life . . . for all of us to have everything we’ve ever wanted! And now you’re saying you’re too good to work? You’re too good to do the same?”
Terrence winced, making Evan immediately regret his words and his anger. He took a deep breath and counted to ten.
“Look, I’m . . . I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right.”
“No, it came out like you meant it. I’ve been freeloading off of Dad’s legacy. You don’t think I know that?” Terrence paused. “C. J. keeps hinting that I should get a job. That I should do more than go to the gym and hang out with my boys all day. Maybe she’s right. But what you’re asking me to do is a big damn leap, Ev! What if I fuck it up?”