Silence followed. My brother looked straight forward, not making eye contact with anyone. His mouth was still clamped in a tight line.
“Of course, Mrs. Pryor,” Mason responded calmly in his professional tone, which he used when addressing staff. “It was another lifetime ago. Now, I’d like to take everyone out to dinner to celebrate Jillian’s big day.”
Travis raked a hand through his hair. “That’s fine. I’ll pick up the tab.”
“No, it’s my treat.” Mason answered in a demure tone.
“I’ll treat my own mother and sister, thanks.”
“You can treat yourself, but I’m picking up the rest of the tab.” Mason’s tone became more stern. His nostrils flared.
“Travis.” I was getting annoyed. My brother said nothing more and I knew he wasn’t about to spoil the day for all of us.
15. Mason Woodward
You’re fucking my sister, and I know it.
I could see it plainly on his face as he sat across from me at the table in Carlito’s. He was uncomfortable sitting here with me, and I was equally uncomfortable, although my upbringing allowed for me to mask it. There were times when I wished for things to go back to the way they had been when Travis and I were younger. Those days were more carefree- filled with my days at the office, and my nights going to rock clubs with Travis. Those years had been filled with booze, sports games, music and constant arguments about which team or band was better. That was our friendship. Things could never go back to that point, and perhaps if things never changed, I wouldn’t have Jillian in the way I do now. She is the anchor to my sanity.
I felt her reach over and squeeze my hand. It was difficult to not rove my eyes over her mint green sun dress. It was dipped just low enough to leave room for my imagination, not that I needed to use my imagination. I knew what those beautiful breasts looked like, and I couldn’t wait to tear that dress away and suck on those perfect, pink nipples later tonight.
****
I had to wait four fucking days to meet with Ian Brennan. He claimed he was in Ireland visiting his Gran. Right. Bollocks. I’m certain he stopped in California along the way to visit his mum. I kept Jillian at my penthouse; I needed to keep her close by and within my line of vision. While I was at the office, I ordered security to be blended in with the hotel staff. The men were also given specific instructions to discreetly follow her.
Of course, she didn’t know any of this. I wasn’t about to alarm her and give her paranoia, at least not until I had a chance to sit down and hopefully have an adult conversation with Ian. I’d arranged with him to meet me in my office at two o’clock on the Thursday following Jillian’s graduation.
The day was crap, and filled with stress aside from my impending meeting with this fraud of a man. My father harassed my personal office line throughout the morning, and I could keep him at bay for only so long.
I phoned him back around noon, prepared to hear the vomit that would pour from his mouth this time.
“Do you have any idea what kind of buzz the media is creating around you?” My father asked with malice in his voice.
I rubbed the stubble on my chin as I looked out at the expansive view of Manhattan.
“Do you think I give two fucks?” I asked. I’ve reached my limit. Cut me off. He’d be doing me a favor.
“The media is having a field day with this gold digging whore. There are several photographs of you both around the city. You attended her college graduation? Son, what sort of game are you playing at?”
I wasn’t going to defend Jillian to my father. Defending her would only infuriate him further, and provide additional information which he didn’t need to have about her. There is no reasoning with a sociopath like my father. We’re talking about a man who possibly hired a hitman to create a “boating accident” and an Accidental fall down the stairs. My father is a smart businessman, but he’s not a genius. These accidents are much too coincidental. They are timed too closely…
My old man scoffed. “You might give two fucks when you realize you’re out on your ass, alone, in the dark.” These threats were outdated, and amateur at best.
“Alright.” I replied casually. What the hell else am I supposed to say? I’d let him bitch, and then continue on with my day. My calm state only angered my father further.
“I never liked you hanging out with that Pryor shithead in your youth, and now you’re playing games by letting your dick roam to his sister.”
My brow furrowed. Now he had my attention.
“You never liked it, but you tolerated it.” I wanted to see what he’d have to say about this.
“Tolerated it? Is that what you think?” My father sneered. My nostrils flared.
“Well, yes… you never did much to prevent our friendship.”
My father chuckled. My heart suddenly hammered in my chest from that chuckle. It sent a chill down my spine.
“It no longer matters, dad. My friendship with that man has been over for years since he slept with Ella.”
“Yes. Yes I suppose it is.” His tone was amused, yet callous. My blood boiled in my veins.
“I will remind you of one simple fact, Mason. You are my one and only son.” How unfortunate for me.
“Do you truly believe that I would turn everything over to my nephew without enforcing a bit of action? Yes, he is my nephew, however, you are my son- a perfectly healthy, able-bodied and strong man. You just need a good kick in the ass to set you on the right path. Why the fuck would I disinherit you without taking full advantage of my resources first?” He was angry, malicious and threatening.
The chill down my spine only magnified tenfold, enough to make the hairs on my arms and scalp stand on end. Nobody has ever had such an effect on me in this way as my father did with me.
“I’m a very powerful man, son. Do remember this. I have many people in my pocket and I will do what is necessary to secure our family’s legacy.”
I could no longer think clearly in this moment. My father sucked all the oxygen from my lungs with his threats.
“You might have powerful resources busy sucking your dick, but remember this, dad: The apple doesn’t fall far from the fucking tree.” I slammed the phone back down on the receiver. I was finished with this conversation. I was no longer going to be his punching bag.
I hit the Do Not Disturb button on my office phone, then paced wildly back and forth, in privacy behind my locked door. I was like a caged animal; I felt my sanity slipping... again. He threatened Jillian’s safety… because of me. I’d do whatever necessary to keep my love safe. She is my Jillian. MINE.
My vision was blurred when I phoned my housekeeper, Mrs. O’Malley, to bring me a coffee. Perhaps some caffeine would rejuvenate my thought process and help me think clearly.
Approximately twenty minutes later, my angel sends me a text message. She must have been talking with Mrs. O’Malley.
Jill: Is everything ok??
I thumbed an answer back: The day can just fuck right off.
There was no reply from her. I assumed my mood scared her off. I had that effect on everyone when I hit this downward spiral. As it was, I had the rest of the staff scattering like lost bugs every time I left my office. I wasn’t only enraged from my father’s threats over the phone. My meeting with Ian was in just thirty minutes, and the impending outcome of it had me on edge.
****
Forty-five minutes late. I was forced to cancel all meetings until four o’clock. Fuck the coffee. Mrs. O’Malley promised she’d bring my mug as soon as she was able. I was no longer concerned with caffeine. I was concerned with Ian’s tardiness and possible no-show. I was beginning to question his level of talent and professionalism in whatever it was that he did for a living. I no longer believed he was an actual consultant. My father never met with consultants only once, and those meetings were never in his office. They were reserved for the meeting rooms.
I pulled a flask of whiskey from my top desk drawer and took a swig. It felt like I was dangling off a cli
ff, stressed about Jillian’s safety. Some of the possibilities which floated around in my mind caused a knot to form in my stomach.
Talk to Ian first, before you jump to any conclusions.
The rational side of me was clawing at the surface, and I took another swig.
Beep. Elizabeth paged my office.
“Mr. Woodward, your … two o’clock appointment is here.” She said this hesitantly, because the prick was almost an hour late for our meeting.
Thank fuck he even showed at all.
“Wonderful, Elizabeth. Show him in, please.” My tone was unnaturally demure as I spoke into the intercom. I kept my whiskey flask on the desk and took a seat in my office chair.
Within a minute, the joker struts into my office with a half-smirk on his face, very similar to the one I examined in his adolescent mug shot.
“Mr. Brennan, please have a seat.” I gestured to the set of dark leather chairs facing my desk, while remaining as professional as humanly possible. “May I offer you something to drink?”
The fucker just smirked at me while he slumped down in the chair. He perched his feet up onto the edge of my desk. I eyed his shoes on my desk, attempting to maintain my composure.
“Drinking during a business meeting is highly unprofessional, Mason. No wonder your dad questions whether you can run the company.”
I took a swig from my flask, eying him the whole time. Keep it together, keep it together.
“I have coffee or tea for the pussies,” I responded with a polite smile. “Would you prefer that?”
“Nope.” He kept his feet in position on my desk. I’d have to get those scuff marks removed later.
We stared at one another for several minutes, each measuring the other up. The man would not stop smirking. I wanted to punch it off his face.
“I understand you were in Ireland recently. How is your Gran?” I asked, while trying to get a good read on him. Unlike most individuals I’d interacted with, this one was difficult to read… because he wouldn’t stop smiling. Nobody smiles that much unless they’re up to no good.
The bloke actually stopped grinning, for once. He looked at me with a quizzical expression. “I never said I had a Gran. She’s dead, God rest her soul.” He made a sign of the cross and then blew a kiss toward my ceiling.
I’m dealing with a psychopath. Brilliant. Enough of this bullshit.
I cleared my throat. “I’m curious to know what you were doing in my father’s office.” I assessed him carefully. I was treading on dangerous grounds. The man was obviously keen, regardless of his mental state, and was sizing me up as much as I was doing the same to him.
“Oh, I was hired to kill Jillian.”
I recall staring at him blankly, astounded by his extremely blunt confession, and carelessness on the subject.
The knot in my stomach was twisting uncomfortably. I wanted to throttle him and throw him through my forty-second floor window. I was about to combust with rage. This is the man who hurt my Jillian. I noted how his eyebrow piqued, discerning my fury.
Tread carefully. Tread carefully.
I nodded as I felt my chest constrict. My own father hired a hitman to kill Jillian. I inhaled and exhaled deeply to relax my tightened muscles.
“Am I correct in assuming that Tanaka did not die in a boating accident?” I asked this as calmly as possible.
“Yep.” Another fucking grin.
“If you were hired to kill Jillian, why is she still alive?”
Ian arched a brow at me again. His eyes glinted and matched the half-smirk on his face.
“That’s easy. My expertise lies in making it all look like an accident. Your dad didn’t want any broken necks, no blood, no suffocation… just make the whole thing look like an accident.” He shrugged. “That doesn’t leave me with a whole lot of wiggle room, eh? I pushed her down the stairs, knowing it wouldn’t kill her, but would send her to the hospital. There, I could slip a little something-something into her IV drip.” He grinned.
I was not smiling. I was ready to commit murder in this office, and then again in London.
“After you two broke it off, your dad tore his end of the deal. He didn’t feel she was worth the extra money for killing. I don’t fancy contract withdrawals. Once I get hired for my time, I intend to stick to it. He’s just lucky he didn’t back out of the last deal.” He gave me a knowing look, and then grinned. He relaxed his hands behind his head, while I absorbed everything he’d said to me. “So, what can I do you for?”
“Do you have any plans for an attempt on Jillian’s life?” Since the sick shit was being so honest, I might as well ask blunt questions.
“No. Don’t get me wrong. I’d take the job if he hadn’t backed out on the lass the first time around. I don’t do second chances with the same target. That don’t mean he won’t hire someone else to finish the job.”
Nausea suddenly erupted within me. I was going to be sick. I wasn’t a trained professional like this man was. I had an MBA from NYU, not a trained eye. I didn’t know what to look for. The security I’d hired to keep Jill safe could easily be picked off before anyone knew what was happening. I knew that much.
I took a deep breath. It ripped my heart out to think I might lose Jillian, but I had to make a choice: Her life, or her heart? If I kept her with me, both would be lost. Permanently. The burden of this choice was excruciating.
I looked at Ian as he smoothed the sleeves of his expensive charcoal suit.
“What services do you provide? Surely killing is not your only area of expertise.”
16. Jillian Pryor
Late August
The weeks turned into months. Mason was particularly busy after I confided in him about my occasional nightmares. He was dealing with a lot of stress that I knew nothing about, because he refused to talk about work during our time together. I only heard him raise his voice while on the phone. He’d shut himself away in his study and chew someone out. When his Vegas expansion opened in June, I offered to accompany him to the grand opening. He dismissed my offer, saying he was only going to be there for one night and his people had everything taken care of… It was a vague response but I trusted his judgement.
By July, I practically moved out of Piper’s apartment and into Mason’s penthouse. I spent so much time there, that Mrs. O’Malley began checking in with me regarding the week’s menu and miscellaneous errands. On the weekends, Mason would take the yacht out on the water. Sometimes, we’d just stay in and “watch” something on Netflix, but trying to watch a movie with Mason was nothing but a joke. I can’t tell you how any of the movies ended.
****
It was a humid afternoon when I walked through the thick glass doors of J.A. Woodward & Company, holding a stainless steel mug of coffee. This whole venture gave me such deja vu, but I didn’t mind it. I hadn’t been in this building since February.
Unlike the last time I’d been here, when Mason ordered me to bring his coffee, he wasn’t expecting me. This was a surprise. I had a change of plans earlier in the day, when I stopped by his penthouse to grab the sunglasses I’d forgotten on his night stand. I’d just had a last minute interview for an Intake Case Manager position and I was excited to tell Mason about the interview.
I slipped in, grabbed my sunglasses, and was prepared to slip out before the rich smell of coffee greeted my nose. Maybe some coffee wouldn’t be that bad... Like a caffeine addict, I followed the scented trail all the way to the kitchen.
Mrs. O’Malley was in the kitchen, scuffling about as she multitasked. She seemed frazzled, with a streak of flour smeared over one side of her face.
“Hi Mrs. O’Malley,” I greeted as I entered the kitchen. The older woman looked up with a smile on her face.
“Oh hello, dear.” She smiled as she rolled out some dough. I reached into the flawless wooden cabinet above my head and pulled out a yellow porcelain mug. As I poured some of the rich, dark liquid into my cup, I noticed a stainless steel mug of coffee on the countertop. Mrs. O�
��Malley doesn’t drink coffee.
“Is Mason coming home soon?” I gave her a questioning look as I blew on my mug. For a brief moment, I was excited. I hadn’t seen him and barely heard from him in almost a week. Something was awry but he wouldn’t tell me.
“No, honey. He just rang the house and told me to bring his coffee. I swear that boy thinks all I do is run the vacuum and pour his coffee.”
I snorted, nearly choking on the hot liquid as I took a sip. I coughed, and Mrs. O’Malley was right on top of me, patting my back. I thought it was endearing the way Mason’s old housekeeper spoke about him, like he was just a fifteen year old kid.
“I’ll take his coffee to him,” I said as I gained my breath.
“You’d do that dear? But don’t you have interviews today?” She asked as she resumed her baking.
“I had one this morning. My schedule is a little more relaxed this week so I have some time.” I was grinning from ear to ear. “Just don’t tell Mason. I want to surprise him.”
“Of course, dear. The lad’s been so busy these days, fussing over his dad and the company.” She shook her head, then added quickly. “Ain’t none of my business, though…”
I kissed her on the cheek, and then left the penthouse. Once again, I forgot my sunglasses and my entire reasoning for being there in the first place. I had Mason’s mug of coffee in hand, and I hailed a cab.
****
Unlike my first time visiting Mason’s office, I was not stopped by security at every turn. The elevator chimed once it reached the 42nd floor, and I stepped out into the reception area.
There was Ms. Blue Eyes, the same blonde who was rude to me the first time I brought Mason’s coffee. She didn’t notice me this time. She was blushing like a silly schoolgirl, bashfully flirting with a man who was dressed in a charcoal suit. He was slightly leaning over the reception desk, giving her his full attention. She continuously tucked a stray curl of light hair behind her ear as she giggled at the sweet nothings he whispered to her. His back was to me, so I didn’t see his face, but I could tell that he was a real charmer, whoever he was.
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