Descent

by Knight, Natasha

  “I’ll be back in time and I’ll take you. Please don’t leave dad alone.”

  “I wouldn’t. Christ, Percy. I can’t believe you think I would!” Annoyed, Lizzie turns to the men. “This way.”

  I grab my coat, slip into a pair of running shoes and head out to the driveway, dreaming of telling him exactly where he can shove his contract even though I know what I’m going to have to do.

  It takes me twice as long to get to the club with the snow that’s falling in thick flakes now. But the man who showed me in this morning and dropped off the envelope just a little while ago doesn’t seem surprised to see me again.

  I realize when I leave my car with the valet that I forgot my purse and phone. I just came clutching that stupid contract.

  “Where is he?” I ask, peering back to the entrance of the restaurant where we’d met earlier.

  The man blocks my path. “If you’ll have a seat, I’ll let Mr. Montgomery know you’re here.”

  “I’ll let him know myself.” I walk around him, and he follows close on my heels, telling me to wait as I push the curtain back and reach for the doorknob. I open it, and, opposite this morning, almost every table is full, and all the men seem to stop their conversations and look up at me when I enter.

  “Ms. Abbot,” the man on my heels says again, this time a bit more forcefully. “If you’ll wait, I will find Mr. Montgomery for you.”

  I look at the table on its raised dais where we’d sat earlier but it’s empty. I guess that one’s reserved for his exclusive use. How arrogant to have it raised as if it’s a throne and he’s the king.

  Although I guess here, he is king.

  I walk toward the curtain I saw earlier behind which I hear more sounds, men talking more quietly, then something else. Something different. A slap?

  “Miss,” the man closes his hand over my arm to stop me when I reach for the curtain.

  I look down at where he’s touching me, open my mouth to protest, but suddenly, I don’t have to.

  “Peter,” comes Hayden’s deep voice.

  Peter and I both turn to find Hayden stalking toward us, looking every bit the predator he is with his dark suit and narrowed eyes on Peter’s hand which is still closed around my upper arm.

  “Sir,” Peter says, clearing his throat and releasing me instantly. “I was…” he falters.

  Hayden looks me over. I look down at myself, at my open coat, the hoodie that’s really meant more for inside the house than outside it, yoga pants and—shit—mismatched sneakers.

  In my haste, I’d put on one of mine and one of Lizzie’s. How?

  And why now of all the days?

  I clear my throat when his eyes return to mine.

  He arches his eyebrows.

  I tuck my hair behind my ear. I’d let it down but hadn’t bothered to brush it out and am suddenly very conscious of it. I hadn’t even looked in a mirror before I’d stalked out of my house and come here to tell him off. All the while, he still looks perfect, impeccable in his tailored suit. Looking right at home in his expensive club, with his initials in gold all over the walls.

  “Narcissist,” I say.

  He cocks his head to the side but either ignores my comment or knows it’s true so doesn’t bother denying it. “Were you anxious to deliver the contract in person?”

  I step toward him, hating how I have to crane my neck to look up at him. He’s at least a foot taller than me and now that I’m not wearing heels, the difference puts me at an even greater disadvantage.

  I steel my spine when he doesn’t budge, his eyes sparkling with amusement and his lip quivering with suppressed laughter.

  “No, not anxious to deliver it. You didn’t include your phone number anywhere. I can’t call you.”

  “I will happily give you my phone number. I didn’t realize you were interested,” he says with a wink.

  “I imagine it’s hard for you but try not to be a dick.”

  I notice heads snap toward us, but he doesn’t seem bothered. His smile widens, in fact. Like the cat who just swallowed the canary.

  I clear my throat. He may not be embarrassed but I certainly am.

  That slapping sound comes again from behind the curtain followed by a girl’s moan. “What the hell’s going on in there, anyway?”

  “This isn’t a good time,” he says. “I have an appointment—”

  “You have an appointment? I have a life! Sorry to be an inconvenience while you take it over.”

  “Go home. We’ll do this later.”

  “No.” I dig my heels in.

  He pauses, smirks. “No?”

  “No. We’ll do this now.”

  “Fine, if you insist.”

  He takes my elbow and steers me away, tightening his grip when I try to free myself.

  “Let me go.”

  “It’s a gentlemen’s club, Persephone. Not for ladies. And you’re causing a scene.”

  “Like you care.”

  “I don’t, but I thought you might. Isn’t Senator Barnes a family friend?” he asks, gesturing to the senator sitting a few tables away watching us.

  I’d been so angry I hadn’t even looked around. Now that I do, I see more than one face I recognize.

  “Smile and nod,” Hayden says.

  I do.

  He leads us to an elevator that I don’t even recognize as one until the wood paneled doors slide open and we step inside. He only releases me once the doors close. He punches some numbers on the keypad and the elevator begins its ascent.

  I turn to him, catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror against the wall. I look at us together.

  I look like something the cat dragged in.

  He, on the other hand, well, he’s the cat who did the dragging.

  “Where are we going?”

  “My office.”

  At the thirteenth floor, the elevator dings and the doors slide open.

  “I thought buildings didn’t have a thirteenth floor. Bad luck or something.”

  “Good and bad are a matter of perspective.”

  I look around the large room with windows overlooking the city. The furnishings are dark, like in the club, leather and polished wood and chrome. Masculine, like I’d expect. There’s nothing soft in this room.

  At least the walls aren’t plastered with his initials here.

  “Drink?” he asks.

  I turn to find him pouring himself a whiskey.

  “No, thanks.” I need to keep my wits about me.

  “You sure? You look like you could use one. When’s the last time you slept?”

  “I look like this because I got home to learn from my father’s nurse that he’d be moved today. Then had a conversation with my stepmother about her sudden trip to Florida, compliments of you. Then, after trying to talk to my sister who is lying to me about skipping school, my doorbell rings and I think it’s the men from Sotheby’s come to pick up our things but no, it’s your errand boy,” I say, waving the contract around. “And when I ask for a phone number, he runs off, telling me all I need is in that envelope. And this,” I shake the paper at him. “This contract is…is insulting and degrading and—”

  “What did you think we were doing exactly, Persephone?” he cuts me off casually and I watch how relaxed he looks. His arm on the mantle of the fireplace where the fire crackles softly, drink in his hand, his sly predator’s eyes on me.

  “What did I think we were doing exactly?”

  He nods, sips his drink.

  I shift my gaze, scratch my head, shake it, then turn back to him. “Do you snap your fingers and people just do what you tell them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Unbelievable. You’re an arrogant son of a bitch, you know that?”

  “I never knew my mother so I can’t say.” He’s casual, watching me over the rim of his glass, but I don’t miss how his posture just stiffened. “Let me get you that drink before you say something you’ll regret.” He walks to the bar and pours me a vodka.

 
; I don’t refuse it when he hands it to me. Instead, I drink a big sip. “I don’t drink during the day,” I tell him.

  “Clearly.”

  “This isn’t…I’m not—”

  “Are you going to miss Irina?” he asks.

  “Well, no.”

  “But you’re upset I sent her away?”

  “I’m upset that you just inserted yourself into my life and not only sent her away but then you’re taking my father away. Not to mention the house or the company.”

  “I’m not taking your father away. I’m getting him the care he needs. The care you can no longer afford.”

  “You don’t give a crap about him. You said yourself he’s a vegetable.”

  “You’re right. I don’t care about him. I care about me. I’m clearing my own path. I don’t want anything getting in the way of having you in my bed, Persephone.”

  5

  Hayden

  She’s clearly taken aback.

  I watch her swallow the rest of the vodka. The way she looks right now with her mismatched shoes, messy hair and tired eyes, she’s a little lost. No, a lot lost. And out of her league.

  “Take off your coat and sit down.”

  She inhales deeply, walks to the couch and sits but keeps her coat on.

  “Have you eaten today?”

  “What?”

  “Have you eaten anything?”

  She presses the heel of her hand to her forehead, squeezes her eyes shut. “I don’t remember.”

  “You need to eat.”

  “Please don’t pretend to care.”

  “I’m not pretending.”

  Her eyes narrow.

  “I take care of what’s mine,” I add, just to be clear.

  She snorts, leaning her head against the back of the couch and folding her arms across her chest.

  I walk to my desk, push a button on the phone. Peter answers immediately. “Get some food up here. A sandwich. Something substantial.” I stop, remembering. “Are you still a vegetarian?”

  She nods.

  “Vegetarian,” I amend.

  “Yes, sir,” he replies, and I disconnect the call.

  She finishes her drink. “I want to be close to my father.”

  “The facility is a half-hour drive away.”

  “You had no right to do it behind my back.”

  “It wasn’t behind your back. I believe I mentioned it. This was simply efficient.”

  She sighs, sits back and looks at the contract still in her hand. The elevator dings and a few moments later, the doors slide open.

  We both turn to watch Peter and a waiter enter. The waiter carries a tray inside and sets it on the coffee table. He takes the cover off the plate and at my nod, they both leave.

  “Eat,” I tell her.

  She looks at the sandwich, a baguette with brie and some greens, with a small side salad. She then slides her arms out of her coat and picks up the sandwich, takes a bite, making a point of looking at me as she chews.

  I drink my whiskey and watch her.

  She’ll be turning twenty-one soon. Last time I saw her she was sixteen years old and too drunk to stand on her own. Although Jonas wouldn’t admit it, I think he’d put something in her drink. And the way she was with me afterward, when I brought her home, that’s not just alcohol.

  It was Halloween night. I still remember the lightning storm. It’s what had caused the fire at our house.

  After overhearing the argument between my grandfather and father, I’d gone out to the chapel ruins avoiding the party. It’s where I always used to go on nights I felt shitty. But that particular night was different. I’d heard my grandfather angry, but I’d never heard him sound like he had that night.

  As I approached the chapel that straddled both Abbot and Montgomery properties, I saw the light of lanterns burning inside. I might have changed direction if I hadn’t heard her. I might have opted to leave. But I had heard her, Persephone, and she’d sounded wrong.

  She wasn’t screaming for help or anything like that, but she sounded off, like she couldn’t scream. And she sounded scared.

  When I’d gotten close, I’d seen the three of them through the glass-less windows. Jonas, Nora and Persephone. Nora and Jonas didn’t see me right away, but I remember how Persephone had looked at me when she did. She turned her head as I got near like she felt me coming before I even stepped out of the shadows.

  Jonas and Nora wore strange black cloaks. I remember how dark the circles under Nora’s eyes were, thinking it must be Halloween makeup. She didn’t look like herself and it struck me strangely.

  “Don’t let her up,” Jonas had told Nora.

  Persephone’s mouth was open, jaw slack, and she just looked out of it. She was lying on the altar, trying to get up, but Nora had her hands on her shoulders, whispering something to her. I remember how strange I thought it was that Nora would be keeping her down on Jonas’ command. How not like my sweet sister.

  The skirt of Persephone’s costume—because they’d come from the party at our house—was raised to her belly. I still remember my stepbrother’s hand bruising her thigh.

  I remember how enraged he’d looked when I’d slammed the door against the stone wall and stalked into the church.

  I wonder how much of that night she remembers. How much of what happened after.

  “Happy?” Persephone asks, drawing me back into the present.

  She’s eaten about a quarter of the sandwich.

  “I’d be happier if you ate the whole thing.”

  “Why are you back? I mean, why now?” she asks, ignoring me.

  I’ve been away for five years. That’s not to say I haven’t been here in those years, but when I was, I always stayed at the club. Never went anywhere she’d see me.

  “It was time.”

  “You waited until after my dad’s accident to make a move on Abbot Enterprises.”

  “That’s not true. Plans were in the works for some time before the accident. Your father knew.”

  “He never mentioned anything.”

  “No, I guess he wouldn’t. He was ridiculously optimistic about trying to save the company, the house and his reputation.”

  “He’s not ridiculous.”

  “Ridiculously optimistic. There’s a reason I was able to do what I did, Persephone. He left himself wide open and if it wasn’t me, it’d be someone else.”

  “No one would take our home from us.”

  “The bank would. Isn’t it better off on my watch?”

  “Nothing’s better off on your watch.”

  “No? I remember a night when you were grateful for it.”

  She goes quiet, shifts her gaze away. Her cheeks flush and she takes a deep breath in. “Just tell me why you’re doing this.”

  “It wouldn’t change things.”

  “Tell me. I deserve to know.”

  “Deserve,” I snort. “Does Nora deserve to be in the ground?”

  “What?”

  I swallow my drink, let it burn. “You couldn’t handle the why, Persephone,” I say more harshly than I intend. I pick up her glass and refill both. I set hers back down on the table before her.

  “What does that mean? What you said about Nora?”

  “Let me give you some advice. Trust me when I tell you to leave it alone.”

  “But I don’t trust you.”

  Her words make me flinch. I watch her drink a sip of vodka and tell myself I’m right. That learning the truth would destroy her.

  But isn’t that what I want? The destruction of the Abbot family just like Quincy Abbot destroyed the only good in mine?

  “Why did you break off the engagement to my brother?” I ask because I need to know.

  She glances at the glass in her hands and when she looks back at me, her eyes are darker. Sadder. She puts the drink down and picks up the contract which looks abused now.

  “You said you’d give me back the house,” she says, not answering my question. I’m not the only one
keeping secrets.

  “I don’t think I ever said those words.”

  “You inferred them.”

  “I disagree. The house belongs to me. Period. But I’m not unreasonable. I have my own home. You sign the contract and you’ll be allowed to carry on with your life in the house like you always have.”

  “But it will still be in your name. You will own it.”

  “Correct.”

  “As you said, you have your own house. What do you want with ours?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. We were discussing the contract itself.”

  “You’re the one who brought up my engagement to Jonas.”

  “Which you don’t want to talk about.”

  “Fine.” She looks down at the contract. “I’m not going to give you, how did you put it, my person,” she reads. “And make myself available for your pleasure so I can continue to live in my house with you as what? My landlord?”

  “Rent-free,” I add with a grin, and watch her eyes burn as she grows angrier.

  “I want the house back in my father’s name.”

  “No pussy is worth that much.”

  “You’re crude.”

  “You’re arrogant.”

  “What’s the difference? I mean, you don’t want the house to live in it.”

  “But I do want the house.”

  “And what happens if you tire of me?”

  “Don’t let me tire of you.”

  “Are you just going to dangle that in front of me as I…” she looks at the contract again. “Submit to your commands.”

  I grin. “I do like that language.”

  “It reads like something you’d say. Did you write it up yourself?”

  “I did.”

  “That wasn’t meant as a compliment.”

  “No, I didn’t think it was. What’s your decision?”

  She exhales, her shoulders slumping a little. “What about the company?”

  “I want fifty-one percent. Non-negotiable if you don’t want a hostile takeover on your hands.”

  “I hate this.”

  “You’re in debt up to your ears. I saw your house. I saw the state of things. You’re having the furniture you have left auctioned off to pay your creditors and even if you got top dollar on every single piece, you wouldn’t have enough to do it. Take my offer. It’s a good one. A fair one.”