by Liz Durano
"It wasn't my place—”
"Maybe. Maybe not, but it's done, and I'm glad you said it," he says, leading me out of the lavatory and back to the bed where we settle ourselves under the covers. "He was the one who taught me all about the constellations, and about sailing. He also taught me how to fish, by the way, with a fishing rod and worms as bait. He's got a lake house in New Hampshire, and mom and I spent time there many times, especially after she got out of the mental hospital."
"What about Harris and Tyler?"
"I nominated Tyler to the board based on our work experience together and her excellent track record," Heath says.
"She was the one who brought in the security people who included Brad.”
"I know, and I've thought about that myself," Heath says, exhaling. "She just contracted another company to handle her security, just in case."
"It could all be an act, to make you believe she's scared for her life," I say. "But then I'm probably only saying that because she did rub me the wrong way in Santa Barbara."
"Tyler can be blunt, but she's someone I trust with my life."
"What about Harris? Whose security does he use?" I ask.
"He's always had the same security detail since he and Edgar..." Heath's voice fades as he takes a deep breath and lays back down on the pillow.
"What's wrong?" I ask. Apparently we're not getting any rest on this flight at all.
“I didn’t just demote my brother-in-law, but the son of Edgar’s best friend,” Heath says slowly. “Daniel is Harris’ son. I still remember Harris advising against it, not because Daniel was his son but because it would set a bad tone throughout the company—at least, that’s what he kept telling me. That whoever had been nominated before I came in had been appointed for a reason—that they were good, even though I didn’t need to see anyone’s resumes to know they were hardly qualified to run the company. Like Ethan, even with my Father’s—I mean, Edgar’s argument that Ethan could run it just as well as he did. And maybe Ethan could if he had received the correct advice. But looking back now, even the information Ethan received had been terrible, and the only adviser I can think of that Ethan would trust explicitly is Harris."
As I listened to Heath, Alicia’s words returned to me. The longer the brothers fought, she had said, the more distracted they’d be from what was actually happening around them. A hostile takeover would have done it. Or a scandal.
“How far-fetched would it be to think that beloved Harris Colman is behind all this? That he and Daniel—and even to an extent, your sister, planned to get rid of you and Ethan?"
"It's not far-fetched, not anymore. Unfortunately, you and Blythe would have been nothing more but collateral damage," Heath says, his jaw clenching. "And considering that you only have each other, Billie, how hard would it have been to make you disappear eventually?"
By the time we land in New York, it's drizzling, the city as dreary as our collective mood. In Heath's company limo, the tension feels thick, but Heath holds my hand during the whole ride from the airport to the Kheiron high-rise in midtown. I realize now that it's the same building where Ethan and Blythe live in the penthouse apartment, and where I had stayed for my first two nights in New York.
The limo slows down in front of the building, past photographers snapping pictures against the glass, before turning into the parking garage entrance along the side of the building.
"What's going on?" I ask as the gates close behind us, and the limo continues down the ramp, past a security guard and then at a private parking area where it stops by two gorgeous cars.
"Is the meeting public?" I ask as I join Heath, who has stopped to look at the Rolls-Royce parked in the space marked President and bearing the car plate Colman1. An Aston-Martin sits in the space marked for the Vice President though this one has regular New York plates.
"Doesn't Tyler have a Ferrari in Santa Barbara? Guess she's got an Aston Martin in Manhattan."
"She owns a Ferrari in California, yes, but Tyler would never get an Aston Martin, not here. She's got a company car to use whenever she's here," Heath says as we enter the elevator flanked by four security personnel.
Compared to the more laid-back vibe in Santa Barbara, these men appear more serious now, with their dark suits and imposing figures. I feel dwarfed by them though Heath, who's as tall as they are, doesn't seem to mind them at all.
"So whose was it if it's not Tyler's?" I ask as we exit the elevator. I don't even know how the elevator could go up to the 50th floor as fast as it did, but I barely blinked, and the doors have opened.
"Why don't we find out?" Heath says. "By the way, I just heard from my men back in Sacramento. Richard couldn't wait for a deal. He finally gave his statement to the police, and it turns out he really is a Kheiron. He's the son of one of my so-called aunts who gave him up for adoption so she could keep everything Edgar gave her. Aunt Connie. He said he was promised a chunk of Edgar's inheritance if he helped frame Ethan. The task of getting rid of loose ends—“
“You mean, getting rid of me? But why? It's not like I knew anything."
“Yes, you. And yes, you did know something. You could place Charlene for fraud when she had you sign papers that needed to be signed before a notary,” he said, exhaling. “Apparently the decision to get you came at the last minute—from Harris. Richard recorded the conversation.”
“I can’t believe Richard knew all about the stolen money, yet he was willing to let Blythe and Ethan take the fall. Wasn’t he Ethan’s best friend?”
Heath shrugs. "It all boils down to money, Billie. He said Harris promised him ten million and he was tired of tagging behind Ethan."
"So what's the plan now?"
"Fred called in every favor from everyone he knew in the police department, even the DA's office for the warrants," Heath replies, pausing when he sees four men waiting for us at the far end of the hallway—two uniformed cops and two detectives, a man, and a woman. "And I assume they got everything they needed to get the warrants."
"Could they get warrants that quickly?" I ask.
"Given official statements from Jackson and Charlene—and now Richard—it’s possible, though it's probably not enough to keep them in custody long enough before the defense lawyers get their crack at it," Heath replies. "But I'll leave everyone else to do their job while I do mine, and that's to keep everyone I love safe—especially you, Billie."
I frown, wondering if I imagined hearing him say something. Did he just say, love? ”Heath—”
"Why don't we get this over with?" he murmurs as he kisses me lightly on the forehead. "I believe we've got a meeting to crash."
29
Old Habits Die Hard
As soon as Tyler opens the door for us and we walk into the board room, an eerie silence descends around the table. There are eight of them in attendance, their mouths hanging open at the sight of Heath and me, bruised but alive.
Still, it's all Heath needs to see—the shocked expressions on their faces when they see us, followed by confusion and panic. For whatever his PR division has cooked up, it worked, if only too well. For while Heath and I were at the hospital and later, on his plane headed to New York, business and investment news programs were abuzz with speculations over the fate that lay ahead for Kheiron Industries once the identity of the fatality, believed to be Heath Kheiron, was confirmed. After significant financial losses during Edgar's last months on the board, followed by bad decisions by his oldest son, Ethan, what would happen now? Who would take over? Would sharks be circling the water again, like they did more than a year ago?
Even entertainment news outlets grabbed hold of the publicity if only to surmise where Ethan and Blythe were, and why there were no official statements yet released. They even checked Blythe's Instagram and other social media accounts, in case she happened to post something that would them clue the press into their whereabouts.
While taking over Heath's position during the emergency meeting didn't mean that Harris was behind t
he whole scheme to rid Kheiron Industries of its current President, it's the statements from Jackson, Charlene, and Richard that seal Harris' fate, along with Daniel's, who is sitting to Harris' right.
And as much as I wish it isn't true, Jessica, who sits to Harris' left, looks just as shocked as her father-in-law and husband are, if not more horrified. All three of them turn pale, and even Harris, ever the ebullient grandfather who was never at a loss for words, can only stammer.
"Heath, you're alive. But I thought you were..."
"You can't believe everything you read, Harris," Heath says as he towers over the older man. In his white shirt and jeans, his thumbs casually stuck inside his pockets, Heath doesn't look like the Chairman of the Board at all as he turns to face Daniel. "I never thought Aston-Martins were any good in the rain, personally."
Daniel doesn't say anything to Heath, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, his eyes wide as he stares at Heath, before turning to his father. "You told me they killed him!"
"Don't say another word, Daniel," Harris barks, "not without a lawyer!"
As my eyes scan the table, occupied by four other members of the board who are now whispering among themselves and demanding what the hell is going on, I catch Tyler's eye. She'd been waiting by the door for us where we entered, her arms crossed in front of her and she hasn't moved. But she smiles at me, a relieved smile that makes me understand what Heath sees in her. Maybe she is blunt, but she's the only person in the room who appears genuinely relieved that we're alive.
"And Jess, not a word from you either, not without our lawyer," Harris barks before his gaze turns to me, and this time, I can't help myself.
"Not exactly a pathetic copy of Blythe now, am I?" I murmur before the detectives walk past Heath and I and begin reading Harris and Daniel their rights. The female detective attends to Jessica, who hasn't said a word.
With Tyler leading the rest of the attending board members to another conference room to answer questions, Heath waits till Jessica gets up from her chair. She hasn't said a word, not even after the detective tells her she's under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, as well as for the death of Jeremy Walthers though I knew him as Wally.
Heath asks the detective for a minute with his sister, a request spoken so softly it makes my heart hurt for him as the detective nods and takes one step back. Harris and Daniel are long gone, and it's just the four of us now in the conference room.
"Why, Jess? Why couldn't you have talked to me?"
"Dad never listened, and Ethan never did either," she replies haughtily, "so why would you?"
"Because I would have listened to you, and I would have given you want you wanted, according to what you're capable of, Heath says, and I see the hurt in his eyes. "You graduated top of your class, for crying out loud, yet you never even applied for any positions when I was restructuring the company, or I would have known about it. How was I to know that you wanted to—”
"Do I have to ask you for everything?" Jessica snaps. "Do I have to beg like I had to with Dad?"
"I'm not dad, Jess," Heath says. "I can't read minds."
"Well, Harris promised me a position on the board six months ago, after he promised Daniel he'd make him VP. It's more than you ever offered me, Heath. Way more."
"That's because you never even told me you were interested in anything but an advisory position on the board. Never!"
"Whatever," she says. "But I never knew that Harris was planning on killing you, Heath, or your girlfriend. If I'd known…”
"Would you have stopped him?"
When Jessica looks away, it's all Heath needs to know and he nods.
"Just as I thought," he says as I reach to hold his hand, grateful that he squeezes my hand back.
"You're not even a Kheiron. You're just another one of Father's bastards, like Richard, and God knows, who else is running around out there thinking they can have a piece of the pie," Jessica snaps. Whatever pretense of the chastened sister is gone, her light blue eyes flashing with anger, her pink lips pulled back in a snarl.
"I may not be a Kheiron, but I'm still your brother."
“—a brother my mother chooses over all of us to give all her company shares to! Why couldn't she have given it to Ethan or me? Doesn't she realize that I do so much to keep our name intact, and her name, too?" She scoffs. "Oh, right, because you had her declared mentally incompetent, just like Father did."
"Mother has Alzheimer's, Jess, and given that you and Ethan hardly ever visit her, someone had to take over her finances and the management of her health. I'm not the one who lives five miles away yet has never bothered to visit with her, not even to call regularly to see how she's doing," Heath says before turning to the detective. "I'm done now, Detective. Thank you."
As the detective escorts Jessica to the rear elevator, sparing her from the photographers waiting below, I watch Heath's shoulders droop the moment the elevator doors close, and we're alone in the conference room.
"I'm sorry, Heath."
"It's not your fault," he says, chuckling dryly. "Sadly, it’s the most I've ever spoken to her since the last Christmas party."
"Are you okay?" I ask as I reach for his hand again, relieved to feel the warm grip of his hand on mine.
"I am now," Heath says, pulling me into a long embrace that threatens to unleash a new barrage of tears in me though I hold back. "I'm godfather to her daughter. What do I even tell them about their parents going to jail because of me? If I didn't seem a monster to them then, I'd be a monster to them now."
"They're the monsters, Heath, for even involving themselves in this plot to kill you and me, for framing Ethan and Blythe for months," I say, pulling away to look up at him. "I'm sorry, but they may have the sweetest children in the world, but no one in their right mind would have agreed to go with any plan that involved embezzlement, kidnapping, and even murder. So who's the monster now, Heath? Who?"
I pull Heath closer again, wanting to appear strong for him, knowing that in a span of hours, he lost almost everyone he'd considered family, all of them too caught up in a web of lies and deceit for money and power.
It makes me yearn for the simple things, like the safety of the embrace we both retreat into, even if it lasts only till Tyler returns to the boardroom and clears her throat, reminding us that we all need to go down to the police station and give our statements.
At the precinct, I learn one important thing about Heath when I catch a glimpse of his New York driver's license. Just like the novel, his name is Heathcliff, and that's not the only that catches my attention.
His legal surname is Ettinger.
Heath catches sight of my quizzical look when he returns his wallet into his jacket pocket.
"You're Heath Ettinger, not Heath Kheiron.”
"I grew up a Kheiron, but the moment I went out on my own and started Ettinger Holdings, I legally took my mother's name, though it's not something I announced to the world even if it is public knowledge."
"But why does everyone still call you Kheiron?"
He shrugs, wrapping his coat around my shoulders as we emerge from the precinct and head to the waiting limo. "Old habits die hard."
It's almost midnight when Heath and I make it home. But it's not the penthouse where Blythe and I first stayed in, with its all-white modernistic interior design and tricked-out bathrooms. Instead, Heath's home is a penthouse apartment in a historic building owned by his mother's family in the Upper East Side, with a view of Central Park.
Right now, the view is a large rectangular patch of black space flanked by blinking city lights along the north, south and west borders. And as I stand on the balcony overlooking the park, I remember the 23,000 trees and the 280 species of birds Heath told me about, and I can't help but smile. I can almost smell American elm and black cherry trees from where I stand, and though I hear the hooting of an owl, the birds are pretty much quiet.
I feel Heath's arms wrap around my waist as he stands behind me, his breath fanning
against my ear. I lean my head back against his shoulder and sigh. There are no words to tell him how I'm feeling, this sensation of belonging filling me, suffusing every inch of me and making my body hum. I've lived a lifetime with him by my side in the last six days, on two coasts and even an island nation. I've learned forgiveness with him telling me stories of the constellations, of twin brothers falling in love with sisters, of lovers killing each other.
I have gone through so many emotions, faced almost every fear and doubt, embracing the temporal nature of them all, even the one I'm feeling now, that I'm in love with Heath. But though a part of me feels afraid for what's to come, a bigger part of me is eager to begin. I want another lifetime with him again, and this time, one that spans more than the rush of the past seven days—and hopefully slower.
That night, Heath kisses every bruise on my body as he makes love to me, a slow and torturous delight that, mingled with each deliberate nip of his teeth and the touch of his hands and his lips against the unbruised parts of me, leaves me begging for more. With him, I'm the most beautiful woman in the world—the only woman in his world—and no matter how fleeting this moment may be, I'm taking it with no regrets, for there is no room for them, not tonight.
When morning comes, I call Blythe, not caring if it's 4 am her time, and leave her a message telling her I'm okay and asking her to call me as soon as she can. After everything that's happened and whatever radio silence now lifted, I can't wait to tell her what's happened since we left Santa Barbara. Then I ask Heath to take pictures of me.