by Shelly Ellis
Charisse lowered her knuckle from her mouth. “What . . . what kind of a deal?”
The lawyer leaned forward so that his forearms were resting on his knees. He looked at Charisse. “In exchange for them not seeking the maximum penalty, you agree to enroll in rehab. A thirty-day program at a nice facility that—”
“No!” Charisse emphatically shook her head, sending her ponytail flying. She slammed her cup on the coffee table. “No! I have to go to jail and rehab? Are you kidding? I got drunk and drove up a lawn! I’m not some . . . some drug addict, some crackhead!” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not even an alcoholic! I just enjoy a drink every now and then, and . . . and I had too much that night. I refuse to go to a place like that. It’s worse than prison. I outright refuse!”
The room fell silent. The lawyer leaned back, pursing his lips. “Well, if we have nothing to offer the prosecutor, I can’t guarantee you the ten days, Miss . . .” He paused at glanced at Evan, who still hadn’t said anything. “I mean, Charisse. This is our only option.”
“W-what if I plead ‘not guilty’? What if I let it go to trial?”
His eyes widened comically. “I would not suggest that.”
“Why not? What do I have to lose?”
“Well, it’s been my experience that someone of your stature with your background doesn’t get a lot of sympathy from jurors. Frankly, they’ll just see a rich, entitled blonde who got drunk and ran her car onto someone’s lawn. What do they care if you go to jail?”
Charisse lowered her eyes. She swallowed audibly.
“Look, I’ll put in whatever plea you wish, Charisse, but my advice is to go with a guilty plea and a short stint at rehab. And keep in mind that your husband is paying me a considerable amount of money to offer you good advice.” The lawyer gathered his files into a neat pile and dropped them into his tan leather briefcase. He then rose from his armchair, buttoning his suit jacket. “I’ll give you some time to think about it, but please make your decision within the next few days, if you can.”
Fifteen minutes later, Evan and Charisse sat alone in her living room, which was now so quiet that you could hear the ticking of the clock on her fireplace mantel. Charisse took a cautious glance at Evan, then sighed. She reached for the pack of cigarettes on her coffee table. “Go ahead and say it.”
Evan looked up at her and inclined his head. “Say what?”
She lit the cigarette that dangled from the edge of her mouth. “Oh, come on, Ev! We both know you want to. Say ‘I told you so.’ Say ‘I warned you that you had to get your drinking under control, Charisse. I said you needed to get your shit together and now look what’s happened? ’”
“That’s what you think? I want to gloat?”
“Why not?” She laughed coldly and shook her head. She blew out a cloud of smoke. “You were right, weren’t you? Evan Murdoch was right like he always is, and Charisse was the stupid idiot who dug herself into this hole.”
He gazed at her in amazement. “We were married for five years and you don’t know me at all, do you? You really think I give a damn about being right?” He narrowed his eyes and glared at her. “Let me tell you something, Charisse. The last fucking thing I wanted was for my worst fear about you to come true! Why would I want this? Why would I want the humiliation of seeing my wife’s mug shot plastered in the newspaper . . . of having to bail you out of jail?” he yelled, making her wince. “Why would I want my only relief to be that you didn’t take out anyone while you were driving around Chesterton with enough alcohol in your system to kill a horse?” He lips tightened and he balled his fists. “It’s not like I don’t have enough on my fucking plate already! We’re getting a divorce. Paulette has some drama going on in her life that is making her completely unpredictable. And Dante is making it worse by feeding her lies that’s turning her against me, against Terry, against—”
Charisse squinted and lowered her cigarette into the glass ash tray in front of her. “What could Dante possibly say to turn your sister against you?”
“Nothing,” Evan mumbled, rising from the sofa with irritation. He was at his limit and ready to leave. “Like you really care anyway.”
She grabbed his hand, catching him by surprise, halting him in his steps. “No, I do care when it comes to Dante. I hate him.”
“Oh, now you hate him! Funny, you were fucking him only a few weeks ago.”
“Yeah, well, things change.” She dropped his hand and slumped back onto the sofa. “So what did Dante say? Did it have anything to do with that guy who visited Dante at his office, the one who claimed to be Paulette’s ‘friend’?”
“Huh? What guy?”
“Some thug who came to his office last week,” she said, sipping her coffee, then grimacing when she realized it was now cold. “He wanted Dante’s help with a drug charge and said they were almost like family because the guy knew Paulette really well.” She sniffed. “I knew when I saw him he was trouble. He and Dante looked like they could do some real damage together. His name was Marques something or other.”
“Marques?”
“Yeah, you’ve heard of him?”
That name . . . Evan had heard that name before when Paulette had been ranting at Leila about the secrets she alleged Leila had revealed about her. So it turns out that Dante didn’t learn the information about Paulette from Leila, as Evan had insisted all along. He had likely learned it from Marques—the man himself.
“Are you really grateful for me helping you out, Charisse?”
Charisse paused and looked a little confused by his abrupt subject change. “Y-yes,” she began hesitantly. “I told you I was. Why?”
Evan slowly sat down next to his wife again. He gazed into her eyes.
“Good. Because I’m gonna need your help with something.”
Chapter 28
PAULETTE
Paulette turned off the scalding-hot water and reached for a towel hanging on the rack near the shower stall. She slowly dried off herself and wrapped her gray plush towel around her. She reached for the body lotion on her counter just as the phone began to ring. She then quickly walked out of the bathroom and into her bedroom, where a cordless phone sat on her night table. She glanced at the name and number on the caller ID and instantly frowned.
“H-hello?” she answered uneasily.
“Hi, Paulette. It’s Charisse. Are you busy?”
Paulette’s frown deepened. She walked across the room and sat down on the edge of her bed. The last person she had expected to hear from was her sister-in-law. In the five years that Charisse had been married to Evan, she hadn’t gone out of her way to interact with Paulette. She hadn’t invited her on a girls’ shopping day or out to lunch. She hadn’t even asked her out for coffee. Yet she had called her out of the blue this morning. It instantly raised Paulette’s suspicions.
“Umm, no. I’m not . . . I’m not busy. How can I help you?”
“It’s not anything you can do for me. It’s something I can do for you . . . or more specifically, something I agreed to do for you because your brother asked me to.”
Paulette squinted. “What are you talking about?”
“Evan asked me to call you.”
At that, Paulette loudly grumbled. She rolled her eyes and dropped her hand to her hip. “Look, Charisse, Evan and I aren’t—”
“You two aren’t speaking right now. Yes, he told me. But I wanted to let you know something.”
“What?”
“That guy . . . your ‘friend’ Marques came to Dante’s office a week ago.”
Paulette instantly stilled at the mention of Marques’s name.
“He tried to act all chummy. He made it sound like you and he had some . . . some thing going on, I suppose. When I left Dante’s office, he and Marques were still in there talking. I can only imagine what they were talking about.”
“Dante probably invited him there. They were—”
“He didn’t invite him. He had no idea who he was. It was pretty
obvious.”
He didn’t know who he was? Of course, he knew! Leila told him, Paulette thought indignantly.
“You must have been mistaken. They knew each other already.”
“No, they did not unless they were putting on a master performance for my benefit, and I highly doubt that since Dante has made no bones about not giving a shit about me or what I think of him.”
“Why . . . why are you telling me all of this?”
“I told you. Because I promised Evan that I would.”
Paulette could feel the first wave of self-doubt flow over her. Had she been wrong to blame Leila? Had Marques blabbed her deep, dark secrets to Dante instead?
Paulette quickly shook her head. No, she inwardly insisted. No, this is bullshit!
“You’re lying! Evan put you up to this, didn’t he? He got you to say this just to protect Leila. He—”
“Do you really think,” Charisse began frostily, “I would do anything to benefit Leila Hawkins? That bitch stole my husband! She’s sleeping in my house! She’s trying to fill my shoes! No, Paulette, I can assure you that I’m telling you this because it’s the truth.”
Paulette’s heart raced.
“Look, do whatever you want with the information, but I did what your brother asked. Okay?”
“B-but you hate Evan. You cheated on him and—”
“I owe him. And I realize now that he . . . well, he wasn’t quite as bad of a husband as I made him out to be. I thought Dante would be my savior, but I was badly, badly mistaken. I learned that too late. Just make sure you figure out which way is up before it’s too late for you too. Dante has a habit of kicking you when you’re down. I can speak from experience.”
Charisse then abruptly hung up and Paulette was left staring at her beeping phone in confusion. She hung up her end of the line then set the phone in its charger. She stared into space at nothing in particular then lowered her head.
What if she had been wrong all along? What if she had turned on her brother . . . on her family for no good reason?
Oh, God, she thought. She had made yet another mistake. She was about to sell her shares to a man who she could clearly see now was out to destroy her and her family.
“What did I do?” she murmured aloud.
She had to make this right.
“Take a deep breath,” Evan urged as she fidgeted nervously in the metal chair beside him. He then reached out and grabbed her hand. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be fine. We’re here with you. Remember?”
Paulette took a deep, cleansing breath, then nodded.
She, Evan, and Terrence were at the local coffee shop in Chesterton. With the exception of the woman behind the counter who was rearranging bagels, scones, and pound cake on the glass-enclosed shelf, the Murdoch siblings were the only ones in the establishment and would be until Dante arrived in a few minutes. Evan had paid the owner a considerable amount of money to close down the shop for a few hours. He said he didn’t want a big audience when they showed Dante they were a united front now and wouldn’t put up with any more of his manipulations or shenanigans.
Dante was none the wiser, of course. He assumed he was coming here today to finalize the details about his shares purchase, as Paulette had told him over the phone earlier that week. He was completely unaware of their impending ambush.
Which is everything that asshole deserves, Paulette thought as she caught sight of him through the shop window.
He parked his Jaguar along the curb and whistled and twirled his car keys as he strolled toward the coffee shop door. Watching him, she felt a mix of fury and anxiousness. She wanted to do this. She wanted to confront him. But part of her was uneasy at how he would respond and what he would say when he was cornered by all his siblings.
When Dante swung open the coffee shop door, he immediately paused. His face fell. He stopped whistling. His eyes zeroed in on Paulette, Evan, and Terrence, who were sitting at a bistro table in the corner with Evan at the center. Dante cocked an eyebrow.
“Well,” he said, smiling again, “this is a surprise. Paulette, I had no idea we would be having company at our meeting.”
Evan kicked out the chair across from them. It slid loudly across the floor before coming to a halt only inches in front of Dante. “Sit.”
Dante’s jaw tightened. “I’m not a dog, Evan. I’m a man. And I’d rather stand.”
Evan shrugged. “Have it your way. You can hear us just as clearly sitting or standing. We’ll keep it short.”
“We?” Dante turned to Paulette. His face was now clouded with barely masked rage. “So this is how it is? You can’t talk to me like a grown-up, Paulette? Too scared, huh? You had to bring in your big brothers to—”
“Watch your mouth,” Terrence said menacingly. “Watch how you talk to her.”
It seemed that Dante wasn’t the only angry man in the room.
“It’s okay, Terry.” She met Dante’s gaze though her stomach was in knots. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Well, you should be . . . considering what I know about you, honey.”
“You can save the threats,” Evan said, his voice heavy with authority. “She told us everything. She also told us that you tried to get her to sell all of her company shares to you. I had no idea you were so interested in Murdoch Conglomerated, Dante. I could’ve given you a prospectus.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me. That none of you know.” He gave a caustic laugh. “Admit it. You all underestimated me. Why? Because you think you’re so much fucking better than the rest of us. Fuck the Marvelous Murdochs! You think, with your money and your company and the Murdoch name, that you should have everything. When the truth is, without that money and that last name, you wouldn’t be shit,” he spat. “You’ve never had to hustle. You’ve never had to fight. I should be the head of Murdoch Conglomerated. Not you, Ev! I should be the one living in the mansion with four cars in my garage, not you, you prissy piece of shit!” he shouted, jabbing his finger at Evan. “There’s no limit to what that company could be with someone like me guiding it. But I didn’t get chosen, simply because my mother only fucked a Murdoch instead of fucking and marrying one!”
“So that’s what this is all about? You think I’m the prince and you’re the pauper. You slept with my wife . . . you tried to ruin our lives, for what? Not being born rich?” Evan chuckled and shook his head in exasperation. “You know what, Dante? If there are things I don’t know about you, there’s a helluva lot more you don’t know about me. Because you’d know that none of us have it quite as good as you think. You’d also know that once we accepted you as family, you were family. If you wanted shares, if you wanted a position in the company, all you had to do was ask. All the subterfuge and tricks weren’t necessary. But”—he raised his hand—“because you chose that route, we know now that you aren’t one of us . . . and there is no way in hell you ever will be.” His gaze went glacial. “So you can take your ‘poor me’ routine and your chip on your shoulder and get the fuck out.”
Paulette turned and stared in awe at her big brother. She couldn’t have been more proud of him at that moment.
While Evan remained cool, calm, and collected, Dante looked like his head was about to explode. The veins bulged along his temples. The cords stood out along his neck. His chest heaved up and down. His hands formed into tight fists, and he took a menacing step toward the table and raised his arm, like he was about to take a swing at Evan. Paulette jumped back in alarm. Terrence rose to his feet, ready to rumble.
“Oh, hell, no! Not in here!” Terrence barked.
Only Evan didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he gazed up at Dante, looking unfazed by their brother’s threatening gesture.
Dante stopped less than a foot away from the table before staring at them for several seconds. He lowered his arm, abruptly turned around, and silently strode to the coffee shop door. He then slammed the door closed behind him.
Chapter 29
LEILA
“How does my hair look?” Diane White asked as she lowered the car visor and gazed into the mirror at her reflection. She started to pat the curls on her head and wrinkled her nose. “Oh, Lord! I look like Bozo the clown! I told Yvette not to tease it too big!”
“You look fine, Mama,” Leila reassured as she pulled to a stop in the driveway of the Murdoch mansion. “In fact, you look gorgeous. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry?” Diane grunted before flipping up the visor. “When you dine with rich folks, you’ve got to look your best, Lee. I can’t walk in there looking like just any ol’ thing off the street.”
“We’re dining with rich folks?” Isabel piped from the backseat, leaning forward so that she could peer over her mother’s shoulder at the immense home in front of them.
“No, we’re having an early Thanksgiving dinner with friends. That’s all,” Leila clarified, giving her mother a silencing look. She then undid her seat belt and turned to face Isabel. “We’re having dinner with a . . . a very important friend of mine and his family.”
Isabel’s brows knitted together in confusion. “What friend, Mommy?”
“You’ve met him before,” Leila continued as she turned off her car and removed the key from the ignition. “Do you remember Mr. Murdoch?”
“Nuh-uh,” Isabel said, shaking her head.
“Well, he’s a . . . a very nice man. I know you’ll like him. I want you to like him, Izzy.”
It’s important that you do, Leila thought desperately.
Leila still hadn’t told her daughter that she and Evan were getting married. She had even gone so far as to not wear her ring whenever she was around Isabel to avoid having to talk about the engagement. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of Evan. She loved him and wanted to marry him. She just was unsure of how to explain something like this to a seven-year-old, particularly a seven-year-old who still seemed to harbor fantasies that her mommy and daddy would get back together.