I turned back to him and shifted on my bench. “Yeah. Someone I knew in high school got arrested in Mexico and thrown into prison for drug possession.”
I tried to gauge his reaction. Did I notice a brief, stony glaze cover those dark eyes? A slight flexing of his jaw? Or was that all my imagination?
“Huh. Was it a friend?”
“No, definitely not,” I said. “It was that jerk I dated my sophomore year.”
His eyebrow twitched, and there was a long pause. I turned to see that we approached Bay Island, headed right toward our slip. The water slapped up on the sides of the yacht off our private beach.
Adam deftly maneuvered in, and I hopped out of the boat before he could respond. Bring this up? Or push it aside? What should I do?
Was it really essential that he even know? These questions swirled round and round, and I wasn’t ure how I felt about hearing the answers. Did I care whether he was involved or that the guy was getting his comeuppance?
Once inside, I went to the fridge and pulled out the bottle of red wine we’d opened last night with dinner. When he entered the kitchen, I held it up to him and he shook his head, so I pulled out the cork with a thunk and poured a glass for myself.
Adam observed this silently, eyes narrowing slightly as I immediately scooped up the glass and sipped at it. The air between us grew a little thicker, a little heavier. I swallowed and waited.
“Wanna talk about it? You’re not upset about that news, are you?”
I took a breath and let it go. “No.” I sipped again. “I’m fucking overjoyed by it and struggling with how guilty that makes me feel.”
He put a hand on the smooth granite counter and leaned against his arm, never taking his eyes from me. I couldn’t return his gaze, looking at the muscles bulge in his strong forearm instead. “Why would you feel guilty, Emilia? I guarantee that shit-stain never spent a day in his life feeling guilty about what he did to you.”
I nodded, still avoiding his eyes and the question burning on the tip of my tongue. The space between us filled with those unasked questions, those unvoiced answers. My heartbeat flooded the silence with relentless thumps. Then I downed the rest of the glass in one gulp. “My brain is mush. Can we veg out with a movie?”
He smiled, but that forehead still buckled with concern, the dark eyes heavy. “After watching the way you ate that ice cream, I’d be very happy with some Netflix and chill.” He grinned, flaunting that devastatingly handsome smile.
I smirked at him. “You should be so lucky, punk.”
Setting the wine glass in the sink, I enjoyed the warm glow and happy flush the grape had brought me—grateful for it, in fact. Adam swept up behind me to encircle my waist with his arms, and my heart surged, beating quickly as he landed a brief, warm kiss on the side of my neck.
I leaned back against his hard chest, and this feeling—this feeling…
It congealed behind my eyes, causing tingles. It thickened in my throat. Cradled in his strong arms, I decided then and there…it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but this feeling. How he made me feel—safe, secure, at peace.
By the time we moved downstairs to the audiovisual room in the basement, all the emotion had clumped together into a full-blown lump in my throat, around which I could barely breathe—preventing speech.
When he settled into his recliner and watched me where I stood, he deliberately scooted to the side and held out his hand for me to come sit with him. I squeezed in beside him. We were a perfect fit, and he settled his arm around the back of my waist, pulling me even closer. My head lowered against his solid shoulder, and he reached for the remote, beginning to cue up a movie.
I leaned over, straining upward to kiss him—though it landed somewhere between his jaw and the top of his neck. He turned to me, features blank, but still those eyes, so full, so heavy. Was there something there or was I reading into it?
Worry? Attentiveness? Guilt?
Should I tell him what I was feeling?
“What was that for?”
“It was just for being you.” I melted into his side as his arm tightened. “For making me feel safe. All the time. And for knowing when I need to feel that safety.”
He leaned forward to kiss me on the forehead. “Does this have anything to do with that news you got today?”
So he did want to know how I was feeling about it. I took a deep breath and let it go. “I don’t need to know if you were involved with what happened. Don’t tell me, please.”
Another long silence where I tucked my head close to him and he didn’t reply, smoothing a hand over my back. Then…
“But…if you were involved…I’m good with that.”
We sat like that for long minutes, holding each other close. That was all I needed to say—nothing else mattered beyond that. And nothing more needed to be said.
Whether he’d had something to do with Zach going to jail, I didn’t care to know. And I’d consciously chosen not to find out.
We spent a pleasant hour watching the first half of Deadpool before I couldn’t stand it anymore. Just as Deadpool was trying to reconnect with his lost love, and failing, I pulled Adam’s clothes off and attacked him on the recliner. We never even shut off the movie. For the record, recliner sex is fun. Two thumbs up, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Chapter 3
Adam
Emilia dozed against my chest as the credits rolled, Deadpool lecturing viewers in his bathrobe, Ferris Bueller style. I kissed the top of her head, taking a long drag of the vanilla scent of her hair, my eyes closing at that familiar, visceral pull in my gut. I swallowed, hoping it was the wine and hot sex that had worn her out and not the stressful news of that bastard from her past.
So she suspected my involvement in that. And though I wouldn’t have hesitated to come clean to her, I was relieved that she didn’t require it. I’d known the risk when I made the decision to act. She might have become upset—even angry—over my interference, but it was too important that she feel safe.
I shifted her weight against me so I could get to my phone and check email, trying not to think about what would have happened if she’d reacted unfavorably.
How in the hell could I not interfere, though? I was with her in that grocery store. She’d bailed out so fast she’d been a blur—after having gone white as a sheet. That fear. It had killed me to see it paralyze her. And in that moment, I made a note to remember the last name of the woman she’d introduced me to in a stammering, shaky voice.
All of that was enough to get me suspicious. But that night…
That night I’d woken up to her sitting on the edge of the bed hyperventilating, claiming she’d had a nightmare. When I’d finally coaxed her down beside me, I held her shaking body tightly to mine. She slept with a death grip around me the entire night. I’d lain awake for hours, fearful that moving would disturb her. I’d listened helplessly to the occasional distressing whimpers she made in her sleep.
I’d burned with hatred for the bastard who’d done that to her, simply from that two-minute encounter. Witnessing the power of terror he held over her still was enough to put me on a vendetta mission.
It was my job to protect her. To keep her safe. And as long as this shit stain was free to approach her whenever he wanted, her perception of safety did not exist.
For a week after the fact, she’d fought insomnia, growing more and more exhausted. By the time we’d returned home, we’d needed a vacation to recover from that traumatic getaway.
I’d investigated. How could I not? I’d looked through her yearbook to avoid having to interrogate her mom. Once I had the guy’s name, I’d confirmed it with Heath. Then I’d contacted Jordan, who always had his shady network handy (that same shady network that’d gotten me into trouble with Emilia once before). Without asking for details, Jordan hooked me up with a PI.
Emilia sleepily shifted against me as she slowly blinked awake.
And I’d decided to act, even with the chance of her f
inding out and being upset. After witnessing what that chance encounter had done to her, I’d been ready to take the risk.
From the PI, I’d gotten all the details of this piece of shit’s life since college. An injury his sophomore year had shot his pro football hopes, and he’d lost his scholarship. He’d finished community college and worked as a real estate broker in LA. And he had a nasty drug habit to support.
Emilia smiled at me through sleepy eyes, quietly apologizing for nodding off. I kissed her hand. “Nothing to apologize for,” I replied.
It had been easy, really, to set the trap. Arrange for him to “win” a luxury week-long trip to Cancun, assume his natural habits would take over and he wouldn’t be as careful as he should be. Then have a helpful anonymous tipster alert the authorities to closely inspect him on his way back into the country.
Admittedly, that plan had left several things up to chance, and I recognized it, ready to come up with a plan B had it been necessary. But luckily, it hadn’t.
My arms tightened around her involuntarily. So the asshole had gotten away with raping a woman in high school—and though I’d never tell Emilia this, several complaints had been filed against him during college, too, eventually dropped. A serial victimizer who managed to get away with it. But sooner or later, I could hope that it all evened out. Karma and all that. With some help from the vengeful fiancé.
***
Monday was almost over, and it had not gone well.
I glanced at the dusky sky outside the window of my office, dropping into my leather desk chair. It groaned in protest. It was getting late. Too damn late. I’d already texted Emilia to tell her that I wouldn’t be home for dinner or even our semi-usual sunset walk. Her response had been affable but terse, minus her usual dose of snark. What she’d left unwritten spoke more loudly than what she had. I’d probably be in the dog house when I got home.
I traced a thumb over my lips, thinking. Her irritation was understandable. I’d been coming home later and later since Asia, and the balance that we’d been so good about establishing had been upset.
But right now, after the board meeting I’d sat through, I was in no mood to walk through the front door, trying to fake that nothing was bothering me. Were I back in my not-so-good ole single days, I would have calmed the rage by working out in our campus gym then showering in my private bathroom. Then I’d finish by staying in the office to work until dawn, exhausted, catching a quick nap on the pull down bed before starting the next day. But she wouldn’t stand for that. And, at this point in my life, I was glad of it.
Nevertheless, after an insufferable board of directors meeting twenty minutes before, I’d have to wait until I calmed down enough to see any color besides red. Or trust myself not to punch holes in the walls. Because this asshole board had stabbed me in the back. And honestly, I was still reeling.
It had just gotten personal.
A knock on my door came almost exactly a half-hour after the BOD meeting had adjourned. At that time, I’d hurriedly excused myself—pretty much the only way I was going to keep my cool. I hadn’t been very successful. Doubtless, others noticed that I was angry and seconds from losing it on everyone around me.
I called for whoever it was—probably Jordan—to come in. Not only did I get him, but also David Weiss, our chairman of the board, as a bonus. Great. I could be rude to Jordan, and he’d take it like the punching bag he deserved to become. But with David around, I wouldn’t be able to pull the gloves off. I respected David too much to drop the number of F-bombs and general threats required to get through Jordan’s thick skull.
I stood, stuffed my hands in my pockets, and walked to the window, staring out at the purpling sky.
“Hey, Adam,” David said. Jordan, wisely, kept his mouth shut. “Just wanted to, ah, stop by and check up on how you are doing.”
“I’m doing the same as I was thirty minutes ago in the meeting,” I replied in a flat voice.
David paused. “Well, that didn’t seem to go over well. So that’s why I’m here.”
I turned back to him where he stood near the door. David was a man in his mid-fifties, someone I’d known and admired for a decade. He’d been the one to recruit me for my first job—persuading me to quit college and go work for him at Sony years ago. And when the time had come to start my own company, he’d given me his blessing on that, too.
I folded my arms over my chest. “You’re going to try to talk me out of going to war with the board.”
He grimaced. “That would be unwise.”
I balled my hands into fists, gritted my teeth, but did not reply. There was no way either of them would understand.
“Adam—” Jordan began.
“I’ve already heard everything you’ve had to say on this subject in Tokyo,” I said.
“Try to analyze this logically.”
I turned on him, fists now dropped to my sides. “Tell me that you’re going to make April sign one of these when it’s your turn,” I snarled.
Jordan’s brow twitched, and he shot a self-conscious glance at David. I knew he wouldn’t give me his sarcastic one-liner about not being stupid enough to get married. Not in front of his girlfriend’s father, he wouldn’t. Yeah, I was putting him in a shit-tastic position by throwing that at him in front of David, but right now, I was too pissed to care.
Jordan cleared his throat, and the look in his eyes spoke darkly of budding resentment. “When the time comes, yes, I’ll ask her to sign one.”
“Really…and you think she’d be okay with that?”
Jordan flushed, and David moved deeper into the office and sank into one of the available seats. “I do,” he answered for Jordan.
I blew out a breath and ran my fingers through my hair. “But she has assets to protect, too, right?” Jordan and David shared a long look, but didn’t answer. “I see what this shit is about. It’s because Mia is poor.”
David leaned forward. “Adam, trust me, I’ve been through this. It’s not a walk in the park by any means. I’ve been married twice—prenups both times—and—”
I gestured in a cutting motion to him, and his mouth snapped shut, his eyes widening in surprise at my rudeness. Despite my earlier misgivings about being candid in front of David, I had zero fucks to give for his hurt feelings. “Neither one of you knows what it’s like to be poor. I do. Until I was in my teens, there were days where we went without food or even knowing where we were going to sleep that night. Mia’s never had to live like that, but I refuse to put her in a position—”
“No one’s asking you to impoverish her, Adam.” David shifted in his seat to cross an ankle over his knee. “Jordan is right. You’re being entirely too emotional about this.”
That was a low blow. I turned back to the window. “Yeah, God forbid I be emotional about my future, about my goddamn marriage. God forbid I want to protect the feelings of the woman I love.”
“Maybe you should talk to her about it,” Jordan said quietly. I heard him sink into the chair beside David. “Just in the context of what the board has asked you.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face, wanting them both gone as quickly as possible.
Putting that paper in front of her to sign would be saying that I considered myself above her. That my money was more important than her feelings. That we were not equal, when my feelings and perception were very much the opposite of that.
I could imagine the look on her face, in her eyes, if I asked her to do this. To witness a spark of what made her her die just a little. To know that the trust she’d assumed I had in her was merely an illusion.
And the knowledge that if she didn’t sign the paper, we couldn’t get married…that the board was now coercing me to require her to do this. Or she’d never be my wife. That rankled most of all. That they were ripping control of this situation—of the financial welfare of our marriage—away from me and insulting my future wife in the process.
The board threatened to make me choose between my job and Emilia,
like some medieval drama featuring star-crossed lovers avoiding an arranged marriage. I was the CEO of this company. A billionaire before the age of thirty. I knew how to run my own life, goddammit. Why did I feel like I had less control over my future than ever?
My shoulders stiffened. “I’m not going to let a board of directors micro-manage my private life,” I finally muttered.
“Adam, can you sit down with us for a minute?” David’s voice sounded strained now. I recognized the tone. Every deadline I’d almost missed. Every envelope I’d tried to push all those years ago when he was my boss. Those sounded exactly like this. “Can we talk this out? It’s really not as bad as you think.”
I turned and went back to my seat, sank slowly down into it, and then glanced at my watch. “I’m only doing this for ten minutes. You two aren’t going to convince me that I’m wrong.”
And they didn’t.
I’d stand up for her with my last breath. Protecting her was my job. I wouldn’t subject her to this.
When they left my office a quarter hour later, the tension was thick. I packed up my shit, heartily slamming drawers and doors as I did so. I knew the two of them were going to go somewhere and talk about how pigheaded I was.
I didn’t give a rat’s ass. I’d handle this my way. I’d steer my own ship. My own life.
Chapter 4
Mia
“Breathe in. Now exhale slowly,” Kat murmured calmly.
I stared up from where I lay on the floor, past my thigh—which was curled awkwardly above me—at Kat. This was not natural.
“Bodies were not meant to bend this way,” I muttered tightly as I inhaled like she instructed.
Her hand supported my lower back as, ass in the air, my legs were thrown over my head, feet resting on the ground somewhere behind my shoulders.
“Adam is going to love how bendy yoga will make you. It’s great for sex. Now lock your fingers together behind you. See how your arms help your stability? This pose is called the Easy Plow.”
“Jesus, it even sounds like a sex position.”
Worth Any Cost: (Adam & Mia #4) (Gaming The System Book 6) Page 4