by Amelia Wilde
I can’t wait until this is over.
It’s irrational, I know it, but the more that goes wrong with this acquisition, the more I think it all started with Emerald. If I had been less distracted, if I hadn’t been so quick to think I was in love with her....
No. I might be a prick, but I’ve never done anything as horrendous as the assholes at LoveLink allegedly did.
Not that it matters in a case like this.
At any rate, I don’t love the idea of standing outside in the Indian summer heat to answer questions—there’s such a thing as a digital broadcast—but Riley and the rest of the PR team think the best image to present involves me, along with Connor, addressing the reporters in person outside the building.
Whatever.
I haven’t been listening to Connor’s question, but Riley is answering it in great detail.
“The key when it comes to the financial discussion is going to be remaining clear and concise. We’re not apologizing for anything, but....”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Angelica must have forgotten that I had the press conference scheduled for noon. This morning we both slept a little late, and she clearly had something on her mind. I’d guess she’s still thinking about what happened last night.
But it’s not Angelica. The name that pops up on the caller ID is Jackson Cook. His accounting firm handles my personal finances, and he’s been the lead on my account since I turned 21 and gained access to my trust fund.
“Excuse me.” I interrupt Riley before she can launch into her next explanation. “I have to take this.” I move away toward a deserted corner of the lobby and answer the call. “Brandon.”
“Hello, Jett. I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of the work day.”
That makes me laugh. “When else would you bother me, Cook?”
But the man’s gravelly voice has an undercurrent of tension. “I’m sorry nonetheless—I know you’re a busy man. Do you have a moment to talk?”
It’s air-conditioned in the lobby, but something in his tone makes my skin go hot underneath my summer-weight suit. I can’t remember the last time Jackson Cook sounded concerned about anything involving my account. I pinch one of the sleeves of my jacket to make sure Mrs. Henderson didn’t sneak one of my winter suits into the closet. “Of course.”
“I’ll make it as quick as I can, Jett. One of my associates noticed something odd happening with a few of your accounts over the last few weeks.”
Eyes narrowed, I look out the lobby doors at the members of the press gathering around the podium. “Odd how?”
“She brought it to my attention today, and I reviewed the accounts personally before I called you. It appears to be a number of small transactions—and by small, I mean a few dollars each—moving from account to account.”
“Does this have anything to do with the automated investment system we set up last year?” Cook wanted to test it with a few accounts, not a significant risk, and it performed well enough that they deployed it for most of the clients at the firm. Most of my assets are still managed by hand, but there’s something to be said for a diversified portfolio.
“That’s why I wanted to call and check with you. You’re not a client who has a particular interest in making changes to your accounts without letting me know—unless something’s changed.”
“Nothing’s changed.”
Everything has changed. The moment the words are out of my mouth, Angelica’s face is all I can think of. Emerald might have come close to throwing my life off track, but Angelica...
That brother of hers, though, and creeping out in the middle of the night...
“That’s what I thought, but I needed to confirm. I’ll have my team begin a more thorough investigation. We’ll sort this out, Jett.”
“Thanks, Cook. Keep me updated.”
“I will.”
I’m about to end the call when something else occurs to me. “Cook?”
His voice comes from far away. “Yes, Jett?”
“When did you say this activity started?”
“About three weeks ago. Once we’ve gone over everything with a fine-toothed comb, we’ll have an exact date.”
Three weeks ago was when I saw Angelica for the first time.
It’s a bizarre coincidence, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to say something else to Cook, but there’s a touch at my elbow.
It’s Riley. “They’re ready in three, Mr. Brandon,” she whispers.
“I’ll wait for your results, Cook.”
“Is there anything else you wanted to go over, Mr. Brandon?” Riley walks by my side back across the lobby to where Connor stands, reading over his remarks one final time.
“No. Thanks, Riley. You’ve been very helpful.”
She smiles brightly and backs away, giving Connor and me a little space.
Connor glances up at me. “What’s going on?”
“Something weird with my personal accounts.”
“Yeesh,” Connor says. “Is it settled? Or are they looking into it?”
“It was discovered today.”
Connor snaps his fingers three times, then gives me a meaningful look.
I force myself to focus on the press conference, but my mind wants to linger over what Cook said.
Three weeks ago, three weeks ago....
29
Angelica
It’s a pile-on at work on Tuesday and Hadley is in rare form, so I’m stuck at the office well past six o’clock. Finally, when my eyes are burning from staring at the computer screen for so long, I give up. It’s painful to write a summary email for Hadley.
Jett isn’t waiting up against the car when I get down to the sidewalk. He’s sitting inside it. Stuart is the one who comes around and opens the door for me. I give him a little smile and a thank you, then slide in beside Jett.
He’s staring deeply into his phone.
“Hey.”
He blinks up at me, but his face takes several seconds to light up. “Hi.” Jett leans in and kisses me, but it’s the closest thing to a peck on the cheek we’ve ever exchanged.
Stuart pulls the car away from the curb, and Jett looks back down at his phone, absently patting my nyloned thigh with one of his strong hands. I put one of mine over it.
We ride two blocks in silence before I can’t stand it any longer.
“Tough day at the office?”
He shakes his head like he’s trying to break himself out of his train of thought. “Not especially. We held a press conference today to put all that shit with LoveLink behind us.”
“It didn’t go well?”
“It went fine. Connor was the life of the party.”
Connor is his CFO and a close friend. I looked up his picture online after Jett told me about him. To say “sexy All-American” would be the understatement of all-time.
“That’s good.”
“Yes.”
Another silence. Jett looks out the window.
I try telling him a joke. “Did I keep you up too late last night?”
He attempts a half-smile while his eyes flicker back to me, then away. “Those three o’clock shenanigans disturbed my beauty sleep.”
I intertwine my fingers with his and catch his eye. “I’m really sorry about that, Jett. I was trying my hardest not to wake you up. There was nothing you could do.”
When he answers, his voice has an edge to it. “I could have had Stuart drive you. I could have driven you myself.”
“I was safe.”
Lie. Charlie’s fingers around my upper arm left a faint bruise that thankfully escaped Jett’s notice.
Jett sighs heavily. “You’re a grown woman. I’m on edge because my accountant called today.”
I look at him with eyebrows raised. “Connor?”
“No, my personal accountant—a man named Jackson Cook. One of his people saw something strange going on with several of my personal accounts.”
My stomach churns like it’s filled to the brim with acid. I
t’s all I can do not to give myself away. “Strange how?”
Jett shakes his head. “Small transactions, and lots of them, going from account to account. At first he thought it might be an automated investment program we set up last year, or that it might have been me making changes to the accounts without notifying him.”
“That’s not the case?”
“No.” He takes a deep breath. “It could be something going haywire with the automated investments, but Cook didn’t seem to think so.” Then he smiles at me, his teeth brilliantly white but his eyes still distracted. “No need to spend the evening worrying about it. They’re investigating right now. I’m assuming they’ll be back with me in a couple of days at the latest.”
“That’ll be a relief.”
Jett wraps his arm around my shoulder. “In the meantime, I might need a distraction.”
I nuzzle into him. “I can help with that.”
He lifts my chin with one of his fingers and kisses me, this time deeper and softer. “Do you think it’s odd?”
“The stuff with your accounts? That can’t be normal.”
“No,” he says, wrinkling his brow. “The fact that a month ago we didn’t know each other at all.”
I force a satisfied smile onto my face, but my heart is thudding so hard that it feels like it might fly out of my chest and onto the floor of the Town Car. Blood rushes in my ears. It takes two full breaths until I can answer.
“It’s hard to imagine life without you.”
The moment the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could shove them back in. That’s way too heavy a statement for right now, especially when we’re on the verge of....
Oh, God. What am I going to do?
I turn toward Jett, preparing to play it off like I was teasing, joking, but it’s the truth...and then Jett throws me a life preserver.
“I feel the same way.”
He says the words, but there’s something reserved in his expression. He’s trying hard to move past whatever is in his head, but either he doesn’t want to or he’s failing.
“Good,” I say softly, kissing his smooth cheek.
“Three weeks ago,” he says, almost under his breath, and I shudder involuntarily.
Jett could find out what I’ve done before I have a chance to tell him, and that would be the worst-case scenario.
I open my mouth to tell him. I don’t know what I’m going to say. There’s no way to make this seem less bad than it is. Do I start by telling him that I’ve fallen for him, hard? Do I start by telling him about how the guilt keeps me awake at night? That I’m doing all of this because I’m afraid my brother—and now my mom—might get hurt?
I know where they are, and you know what I’ll do.
I close my mouth again.
I know I’m being a coward. I know it.
I take a breath.
Say it, Angelica.
“Something on your mind?” Jett says.
Elsie, where your mother lives. Your brother’s visiting her right now.
I want to tell him so badly that it hurts.
I want him to think the best of me so badly that I can’t.
I want my mother and my brother to be safe....
“No,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder. “It was a long day.”
And every time I lie to you, it gets worse.
30
Jett
For the first time since she arrived, Angelica and I have an off night.
Not “off,” per se, but...quiet. A little strained.
Her boss must be pushing her, still, and I can’t stop thinking about what Cook said. Three weeks ago, three weeks ago....
I look at Angelica, curled up in one of the massive armchairs in the living room, nose buried in a first edition of Through the Looking-Glass.
None of this can have anything to do with her.
Can it?
I think about the first time I saw her in the elevator. I’ve never asked her about who lives on the eighth floor, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. People deliver things here all the time. It would be a bizarre move to start questioning her about that now.
“Is it good?”
She looks up at me and grins tiredly. “It was one of my favorites as a kid. I don’t know if I love it as much now.”
“Lewis Carroll was a weird bastard.”
She laughs out loud, closing the book. “Yeah. That’s about right.”
“I have a different idea.”
“What’s that?” Angelica glances toward my office, which is where I also keep a small portion of my book collection. I’ve never read most of them.
“It doesn’t have to do with reading.”
Angelica unfolds herself from the chair and stands up to her full height, stretching her arms above her head. I take the opportunity to cross the room and slide my hands over her waist, feeling her body work and turn. She drops her arms around my neck and kisses me below my jaw.
“I bet I can guess what your idea is.”
“Is that so?” I bend down and nip at her earlobe.
“Yes. In fact....” She leans up like she’s going to whisper something dirty in my ear. “Race you!”
Then she’s tearing through the penthouse, feet soft on the carpet. I stay close on her heels and catch her right inside the doorway to the master suite, letting the momentum carry us both onto the bed, her laughing and gasping and fumbling for my face to draw it in and kiss my lips so hard I think one might bleed, and in between kisses she says,
“It feels so good to be caught.”
That moment is on my mind all day at work on Wednesday—Angelica, pink cheeks and laughter that turned to sex as if it was meant to be. The memory battles for supremacy with the ongoing thought of wanting to resolve this shit with my accounts as soon as possible.
That’s what I’m going to do the second we get back to the penthouse—take twenty minutes in my office and go over everything with Cook one more time. He’s missing something...or maybe he hasn’t found it yet. Either way, I want to know.
I’m thrilled to see Angelica when Stuart pulls the car up to the curb outside the Sisterspark offices. For the millionth time, I scoff inwardly at the name of that website. No wonder they’re losing ad revenue.
But those thoughts are body-checked by her presence on the sidewalk. I hop out of the car before Stuart can even move and hold the door open for her. She slides in, and the moment I have the door shut she’s kissing the side of my neck, breathing me in.
“Hi.”
“Hi, sweet thing.”
There’s a little bit of a wild look in her eyes. Lust or nervousness? It’s hard to pin down.
Then Angelica does something she’s never done with me in the car.
“Stuart,” she says, her voice strong and clear. “There’s somewhere I need you to take us.” She rattles off an address in Chinatown. When she turns back to me, her eyes are sparkling but her smile isn’t all there.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I tease, and she gives a little shrug.
Stuart pulls away from the curb. I can see his half-smile in the rearview mirror.
Angelica digs into her purse and pulls out a length of deep purple fabric. “Avert your eyes.”
“Not a chance.”
While Stuart navigates the traffic she strips off her skirt and blouse and tugs the dress, which turns out to be skintight and gorgeous, over her head.
“Let me help.”
She gets a wicked look in her eyes and throws one knee across my lap, straddling me while I struggle to focus on tugging the fabric over her perfect hips. “Damn,” I say softly when I’ve finished. Angelica stops kissing the side of my neck and rolls back to her side of the car.
“Come back here.” I try to tug her back onto my lap, but she resists playfully.
“Not before our date.”
“Our date?”
“I planned a date for us.” Her eyes are wide and hopeful. “I wanted to give you a
nice time.”
I can’t wipe the silly grin off my face. I can’t tell you the last time a woman took me out and did all the planning and didn’t rest on my laurels to do it. “You don’t owe me a nice time.”
“Yeah, I totally do,” she says, and kisses me on the lips for so long that the next thing I’m aware of is the car pulling up and stopping next to the curb. She breaks away, and for an instant I see an expression halfway between disappointment and fear flicker across her face.
Then her smile is back. She steps out onto the sidewalk, taking my hand as soon as I’m next to her, and tugs on it a little.
“Dinner first,” she says, and we climb down the stairs and into a basement Italian restaurant that I’ve heard about but never visited. It’s a tiny hole in the wall, but every table is jammed with people. There’s one remaining. The hostess takes us to it without delay.
“Wow,” I say, and Angelica beams. “Are you sure this isn’t some kind of sorry dinner?”
It’s a joke, but the dark look that crosses Angelica’s face before she laughs starts a drumbeat in my head.
Something’s up.
31
Angelica
I can’t take Adam’s call when it comes in. Hadley is literally standing over my shoulder when my phone starts buzzing inside my purse in the desk drawer. She steps away, head cocked, listening.
“Is that yours?”
“I think so, Hadley.”
“Well, turn it off,” she says, tapping her foot against the carpet. While I open the desk drawer and fumble in my purse for the phone, she grumbles under her breath, “Common courtesy in the workplace. It’s not much to ask.”
When she retreats into her office to ruin more lives—or whatever it is she does in there when she’s not making sure that all of my work is in tip-top shape—I reach back into the drawer to check my messages.
Sure enough, there’s a text from Adam, as well as a missed call.
Call me.
I shake my head, the tension rising in my shoulders. He could leave a voicemail for once in his life.