Dirty Scandal

by Amelia Wilde

  “What the hell do you two expect me to do about that?”

  “Pay it,” Charlie answers, his tone direct and matter-of-fact.

  “I don’t have ten thousand dollars.” I’m having trouble keeping my voice steady. I desperately want to project an air of confidence to this asshole and somehow convince him to get the hell away from us. This entire thing seems so absurd. What was Adam thinking?

  “She doesn’t need to be part of this,” Adam bursts out. “I can do whatever it is you need her to do.”

  Charlie laughs cruelly. “We’ve discussed this. It won’t be nearly as successful unless your sister—” he pauses to look me up and down, eyes lingering on the buttons of my top, “—does exactly what we tell her to do.”

  “Leave her out of this.” Adam’s voice is shaking.

  Charlie clicks his tongue. “It’s a bit late for that now. Keep in mind, Adam, that it could be worse. We could have taken her for payment.” Charlie’s eyes haven’t left my breasts.

  “You’re a sick bastard.”

  Adam takes one step toward Charlie. That’s as far as he gets.

  Charlie’s movement is so fast, so calculated, that Adam doesn’t have time to flinch. Fist meets face with a sickening crunch, and before I know it, Adam has dropped to the floor, clutching at his nose. “Fuck,” he spits. There’s blood, a cut—Jesus Christ. I drop to my knees next to him, my heart in my throat.

  “I’m not generally a violent man,” Charlie continues, as if nothing has happened. “But we have some terms and conditions.”

  “We?” I choke out as Adam groans, twisting his body away from Charlie.

  Charlie grins at me, then shakes his head as if he’s saving the surprise for later. “It’s not important for you to know the names of my associates. The important thing is…” he says, and every muscle in my body tenses as he reaches behind him. Does he have a gun? Time seems to slow as Charlie’s hand disappears behind his back. It reemerges...holding a phone. “The important thing is that you realize what’s at stake.”

  “I think we get it.” My voice trembles now despite my best efforts to remain calm. I want this man out of Adam’s apartment.

  “Listen, Angelica, I can tell you’re angry.”

  I bite back a caustic reply, instead turning my attention back to Adam. His hands are pressed to his face, but blood is seeping out from around his fingers.

  “I don’t know what your people are into—.”

  Charlie holds up his hands. “Now’s not the time to go into detail about our organization. Your brother offered to resolve this himself, but it will be far easier for you to complete the assignment.”

  I still don’t know what Charlie’s talking about, but the more he says, the more I’m certain that my only option is agreeing to whatever it is that he wants. My brother writhing on the floor is proof of that.

  “What assignment?”

  Charlie smiles like I’ve made the right choice. “You’ll complete a little side project for us, and we’ll leave your brother unharmed.” He looks down at Adam and chuckles. “Well, mostly unharmed. But remember, if you call the police, the deal is off. You tell anyone about what you’re doing, the deal is off.”

  “Fine.”

  “Ah, ah,” he says, holding up one finger, and suddenly he’s in my face, his breath hot on my skin. “One wrong move, and the deal is off. You don’t want your brother to face the consequences of your failure, do you?”

  What can I possibly say?

  “No.”

  “Of course not,” Charlie says congenially, reaching down and patting my shoulder. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to flinch away from his touch.

  Then Charlie looks down at the watch on his wrist. “I’d better be going,” he says, and moves toward the door. Adam jerks toward me as he steps around us, but Charlie doesn’t land a kick. He pauses once more before he leaves. “I’ll send the instructions on Monday.” The door swings open, closes behind him, and then he’s gone.

  I’m left alone with my bleeding younger brother, his life, once again, in my hands.

  2

  Jett

  I’ve got to get that wretched woman out of my head.

  One week back in New York City, and the time I wasted on Emerald Winslow still makes my shoulders tense and my cheeks flush with a sickening heat.

  My fingers clench around the stylus I’m using to mark up some contracts on the new tablet I had Stuart pick up for me this morning. I wiped the old one clean before I left London and threw it into a box of Emerald’s things. I don’t care if it gets broken on the way to wherever her sorry ass is now.

  Sorry ass. She had a wonderful ass, I think as I press down too hard with the stylus. The tablet screen skews my signature. What Emerald didn’t have is a worthwhile personality. I took a risk on her but I shouldn’t have. My hit-it-and-quit-it lifestyle was serving me perfectly well until I went and ruined it by falling for her.

  One wrong move and even a billionaire can find himself screwed over.

  Financially, I’ll recover. I didn’t invest much, comparatively, into the venture with Emerald in London. But I’m never letting another woman get that close to me again.

  I put a hand to my forehead. Stuart notices the movement in the rearview mirror.

  “All right, Mr. Brandon?”

  I’m not going to admit to being mortified by the fact that I let some stupid infatuation take me across the Atlantic and open my wallet. I take my hand away. “Considering some options.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  My focus does not improve once I’m in the office. The headquarters of Brandon, Inc. occupies six floors of a Midtown high-rise, with my office at the very top. The various companies and divisions under the Brandon, Inc. name are all serviced here. Most people will never hear of my umbrella company, but they’d be shocked to know how many products and services we produce. I took my father’s advice and diversified. That advice has made me very, very wealthy.

  Of course, all the money in the world couldn’t save me from being overtaken by Emerald, and I can’t force the thought from my mind. It’s like a black cloud covering the summer sun. You don’t get to the top of the Fortune 100 by being a cuddly pushover, but today I’m acting like an even bigger asshole than usual.

  I shouldn’t have ignored what my father had to say about women. He’s been happily married to my mother for thirty years, but he always communicated a similar strategy. Once, on a big game fishing excursion in the Bahamas, he turned to me and said, out of nowhere, “Marriage is generally a bad investment, Jett. You can really get your ass handed to you if you’re not lucky.” Then he turned and helped the crew members wrestle a marlin onto the boat.

  By the time my CFO comes into my office to update me on a pending merger between one of my media companies and a social site I decided to acquire, the day has already taken a turn for the worst. I’ve snapped at my head secretary, Emily, twice, and though she doesn’t say anything about it, I see the set of her jaw when she pokes her head in the doorway to tell me that Connor has arrived.

  “Send him in,” I say sharply. Connor has been one of my best friends since college. The man can drink most people under the table, but he also has an exceptional mind for business. He never schedules meetings like this unless it’s bad news.

  He enters my office, his lips pressed into a thin line. What the hell went on here while I was in London? I thought I’d had the situation well under control from overseas, but it looks like somebody—maybe several somebodies—have been dropping the ball.

  “It’s my fault,” Connor starts in, and I roll my eyes. I’ll give him credit for that—he never throws anybody else under the bus.

  “Tell me, Connor. Is the merger fucked?”

  “Not entirely.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and lean back in my leather chair. Connor takes that as his cue to continue.

  “The original documents they supplied overestimated the area of influence by quite
a bit.”

  Wonderful. I hate when this kind of stupid, amateur shit happens in my own company. “What’s the game plan?”

  “We can pull out of the merger if you don’t want to take the risk.”

  “Do you have new numbers?”

  “Working on it now.”

  “Get them to me by 5:00. I’ll decide then.”

  Connor gives me a curt nod and heads for the door. “Hey,” I say when he’s almost at the threshold, and he turns back to look at me. “I signed off on it, didn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  He doesn’t pull any punches.

  “Thanks.”

  Connor opens the door, steps through, and closes it gently behind him.

  Christ.

  A few months under the spell of a woman like Emerald and I start to lose my edge.

  My chest tightens. I’m not going to become some weakass idiot who can’t handle his business.

  I want to text Stuart to tell him to bring the car around. I want to hit the gym across the street from my penthouse until my muscles are screaming, then stand in a steaming shower until all of the tension knotting in my shoulders is gone.

  But backing down from business isn’t an option for me. Not ever again. And definitely not for anything less than the absolutely perfect woman. After Emerald, I’m convinced there is no such thing. Resorting to hit-it-and-quit-it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore.

  So I don’t text Stuart. instead, I pick up the phone and tell Emily to schedule status meetings with all the section presidents. I don’t apologize for anything. I’m done being sorry.

  They’re probably calling me a tyrant behind my back, but that’s too bad. Most of Brandon, Inc. will be working late tonight.

  3

  Angelica

  Adam stays with me at my place for the weekend, so it’s a blessing my roommate Sarah is gone for a few weeks. She’s a sparky redhead with a great sense of humor, but Adam clearly doesn’t want to talk about what happened. He mostly camps out on the couch and broods in silence. We watch shitty movies and order takeout.

  Charlie’s punch didn’t break his nose, but the skin over his cheekbone was cut so badly that he needed four stitches, and his left eye has a deep purple ring circling it. Friday morning before I left for work, I overheard him in the bathroom calling in sick to Freddy’s, the pub where he bartends, his voice low and shuddering.

  I spend all weekend trying to tactfully ignore the fact that my brother is a wreck. He jumps every time the delivery people knock on the door. By lunchtime on Saturday, I’ve started leaving instructions for them to leave the food with the doorman.

  With every hour that passes, I get angrier.

  I’m not thrilled with Adam for getting himself into this situation, but these scumbags are far worse. I’m not sure exactly what kind of “assignment” they want to send me on, but I’m sure as hell not going to do it.

  Late Sunday night I send an email to Hadley, telling her a family emergency has come up and I need to take a few hours off on Monday to sort things out. Her reply comes back within minutes, like she’s been sitting in front of her computer waiting for messages to come in. I feel a flash of pity for her. She can be a real bitch, but at least she’s not cutting herself any slack either.

  I’m assuming you have enough sick time? –H

  I write back immediately.

  Hi, Hadley. Yes, I do. Thanks for your understanding. –Angelica

  On Monday morning, Adam is still asleep on the couch when I head out the door. I’m all set for work, wearing a lightweight blazer over a navy sundress with a white-stitched flower pattern that I love. I plan to head to the office as soon as I visit the police station.

  Charlie said that if I called the police, the deal would be off. His words echoed in my ears all weekend, making my heart race whenever I thought about it. I don’t have any way of knowing if he’s listening in on my phone calls, so even though it’s paranoid, I didn’t make any calls all weekend except to restaurants that didn’t have online order forms.

  It’s going to be hot out today, but at 8:00 in the morning the air still seems pleasant and light as I make my way down 21st Street in the direction opposite from my apartment. It’s only half a mile to the 10th Precinct station house, so I take my time. My story is going to sound insane, so I’d rather not arrive looking like a sweaty mess. A little over a block and I turn right onto 8th, then take another left onto 20th.

  At first, the man standing halfway down the block—between me and the police station—barely catches my attention. He’s lingering on the edge of the sidewalk holding something in his hands. CD cases. The closer you get to Times Square, the more of those kinds of guys you run into. I’ve lived in the city long enough that they’ve started to blend in with the background.

  I’m almost even with him before it all comes together. It’s 8 a.m. The 10th Precinct building is nowhere near Times Square. And he looks way too interested in me. Goose bumps rise along my arms. Shit.

  “I’ve got music,” he calls out, then reaches up and adjusts the baseball cap he’s wearing.

  I cut my eyes toward him and give him a tight-lipped smile. “I’m all set. Thanks.”

  “You’ll like it,” he speaks to me again, his voice a little louder this time.

  I focus my eyes on the doorway of the 10th Precinct. I looked it up on Google Maps last night to be positive I knew where I was going, so I recognize the arches from the photos. All I need to do is get past this asshole, and—.

  Too late. He’s stepped out onto the sidewalk, blocking my path. “Don’t be so rude,” he says, an edge to his smile and a dark glint in his eyes.

  The pain from my clenched jaw spikes up toward my temples. “I need to be going. I’m not interested in any music this morning.” I want to yell at him, force him to get out of my way, but for all I know he’s some creep wielding a knife, and the police wouldn’t get here in time even if I screamed. At the same time, my heart pounds, and I want to get this errand taken care of so I can move on with my life and my brother can move on with his.

  “You know,” he says, his eyes gliding up and down the curves of my body, “I think this is a misunderstanding.”

  “There’s no misunderstanding.”

  “What I meant to say....” He pauses, licks his lips. The sooner he spits it out, the sooner I can shove past him and—. “I meant to say that I think Adam will really like this music.” His eyes bore into mine, and as his words sink in, the world narrows to this few feet of sidewalk.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, but my voice comes out as a whisper and I can feel the blood rushing out of my face.

  “Adam,” he says again, giving me an encouraging look. “You know, your brother. Adam. He’ll like this music.” Only then does he hold out the CD case in his hands. Inside is a note. Through the clear plastic I can see that it reads, “One chance.”

  My breath is shallow, fast.

  “I don’t want any music,” I repeat for the last time, then spin on my heel and take off down the street, walking as fast as I can in my low heels.

  Charlie wasn’t screwing around.

  He’s watching.

  I have no choice but to do what he says.

  I’m still rushing down the sidewalk, sneaking glances over my shoulder to see if Charlie’s goon is following me, when my phone vibrates. The text comes from a blocked number, but there’s no doubt: it’s the first of the instructions.

  4

  Jett

  My place on the Upper East Side isn’t cutting it. Not if I’m going to be at the Midtown headquarters until all hours, whipping Brandon, Inc. back into shape. No more distractions. No more slip-ups. There’s no point in dwelling on what happened with the media merger—Connor is already working on a way to sort it out—but I’m not going to waste any more time sitting in traffic.

  And I’m not going to let that bitch Emerald have a hold over me.

  I’ll never admit it to an
yone, but the reason I’ve been staying at my place on the Upper East Side since I returned from London is because Emerald’s prints are all over the Midtown penthouse.

  Things moved fast between us, and at first it didn’t seem much different from any of the other women I’ve taken home with me since I graduated from college. But Emerald got under my skin, got her claws deep into my organs, and I made the mistake of letting my guard down. She moved into the penthouse inside of a month. I was the dumbass who let it happen because the sex was hot.

  I shake my head as I slide into the car on Tuesday morning. I’m done thinking about her. Done.

  The most important item on my agenda is getting all my things moved back into my penthouse. That’s a job for Howie, my personal assistant. At nearly fifty, Howie has been with my family for almost twenty-five years. He handles everything I don’t have time for, and with discretion. Three texts is all it takes, and he’s got people packing and moving things from one place to the other. By the time I get home this evening, the penthouse will be back in order.

  I sit through my breakfast meeting with laser focus, and by the time Stuart pulls the car up next to the curb to pick me up, I can’t wait to get to the office.

  My ass has hardly met the seat when my phone rings.

  “Brandon.”

  “Mr. Brandon, this is Emily,” Emily sounds out of breath, and there’s a weird echo in the background like she’s taking the stairs instead of the elevator.

  “What is it?” I ask tersely.

  “Building security called to let us know there’s a gas leak. They’re evacuating the building.”