by Sienna Ciles
I was lost in my thoughts when a car horn blared just to my right, causing me to swerve and almost fall off the bike. I looked over to my right, thinking that maybe it was an angry car driver I'd cut in front of or something, but instead I saw that it was my Aunt Cara, in her limo.
“Ernest,” she said, “we saw you cycling, and I told my driver to follow you because you and I need to chat. Have you made a decision about Peter White?”
“All right, Aunt Cara, let's just pull off the road and we can have a quick chat. There's a park two blocks down, I'll meet you there.”
“Very well,” she said, and the limo sped off.
I cycled down to the park, leaned my bicycle against a tree, took my helmet off, and walked over to the limo. The back door was open, and there was my aunt, sitting inside and looking coolly out at me.
“Get in,” she instructed.
I climbed into the limo and had a seat across from her.
“Would you like anything to drink, Ernest? You must be thirsty after all that cycling.”
“No thanks, Aunt Cara,” I answered. “I just had a big smoothie, I'm good.”
“So, let's cut straight to the chase, shall we. The Peter White situation—what have you decided to do?”
I figured there wasn’t any point in beating around the bush, so I cut straight to it. “Peter is staying.”
She stared at me in shocked silence for a few moments, her eyes looking as if they were going to pop out of her skull. “Foolish, foolish, foolish boy!” she hissed. “You're committing financial suicide if you do this!”
“No, I'm not,” I said. “This thing is going to blow over, like all scandals eventually do. I'll get Pete to make a public apology, to donate a generous sum of money to a charity of his choice as a gesture of apology, and he'll attend AA meetings. And we'll go public with the news about his father's terminal cancer. As much as I don't like the thought of doing that, when the public knows about it, they'll be more sympathetic toward him and they'll understand better why he did what he did. And then, in a few weeks, maybe months, everyone will have forgotten about it. Everything will go back to normal then.”
“That's all very well and good, Ernest,” she said sternly, “but you don't have a few months! Your IPO is next month! And if you don't get a significant injection of capital before then, it's going to be a disaster.”
“I know that. And that's why I'm going to sell my house and my cars. With a quick sale, at bargain basement prices, that should give me enough capital.”
“You'd do that?” she asked, seeming almost incredulous. “You'd go to those lengths to protect your friend?”
“I would,” I answered, without a moment of hesitation.
She nodded slowly, and I could see that she was thinking intently about something. After a few moments, she looked up at me and spoke. “There is another way. Without you having to sell your house and cars at a huge loss.”
“There is?”
She nodded. “There is. I'll invest. I'll give you the capital you need.”
This was great news—but I could tell that this was no offer born of simple generosity, kindness, or sympathy.
“And what do you want to ask me for in return?” I asked.
She smiled slyly. “Thirty-three percent of the company.”
“Whoa . . . Aunt Cara, that's . . . that's asking a lot.”
“I know. I'll own the company in equal shares to you and your friend. But think about how good a partner I would be. I have almost unlimited funding. I can provide you with whatever you may need, any time you need capital for new developments. And when the business community learns that I have such confidence in your company that I've invested heavily in it, think about how investor confidence will shoot through the roof.”
What she was saying was right. I had to admit that. But . . . a whole third ownership?! That was a tall order.
“I can get the capital you need tomorrow morning, Ernest. You can have it right away. It's ready, waiting for you. I can have my lawyers draft an agreement tonight. I'll get them working around the clock, so that it will be ready for you to sign tomorrow. All your problems can be solved with one stroke of a pen. Think about it, Ernest, think about it.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Aunt Cara. It's a . . . it's a more than generous offer. Can I just have twenty-four hours to think about it before I give you an answer?”
“That's fine. Call me tomorrow evening and tell me what you've decided to do.”
“I'll do that. We'll talk tomorrow evening then.”
* * * * *
I had been thinking about my aunt's offer all day—but I had also been thinking about something else all day—or rather, someone else. I couldn't get my mind off Lanie. But she still hadn't replied to my last message, and while I had tried to call her earlier, she had simply not answered her phone. I had to wonder what was going on here. Had I done something to offend her? I mean, why had she just seemingly cut me off like this? What was happening?
I had decided to take my aunt's offer. I had to, really. Selling my house and cars was a move born of desperation, a last resort tactic. And my aunt had offered me a way out. It wasn't a way that I would have chosen if I had had other practical options—but I didn't. I didn't have any other options at this point. I had to do this.
I got in my car around seven, intending to drive to my aunt's place to sign the papers to cement the deal. As I was driving, though, a thought crossed my mind. I had to find out what was going on with Lanie. I just couldn't get her off my mind. We had had such an amazing time together on our date, and I just couldn't understand what might have caused her to cut me off like this.
I was going to stop at her place in person. Yes. Then she would have to tell me exactly what was going on.
I drove over to her place and parked out front. I drew in a deep breath and walked up to the door and knocked on it.
She opened it with a smile—and then saw it was me, and a look of shock flashed across her face. This look soon turned to embarrassment, and she blushed heavily. She was looking gorgeous, and was all dressed up and made up as if she was about to go out somewhere.
“Lanie, hi,” I said, feeling a little awkward myself. “You look absolutely stunning.”
“Thank you Jax,” she murmured. “Or should I say, Ernest J. Cooper IV?” She fired a sudden, accusatory stare into my eyes.
I nodded. “So, you know,” I said.
“Of course, I know. Did you think I wasn't going to find out?”
“No. I was going to tell you, I just—”
“You just thought that it would be better to lie to me instead.”
“No!” I protested. “I wasn't lying. I was—”
“Last time I checked, withholding valuable information is pretty much the same as lying, Jax. Or Ernest. I don't even know what to call you.”
“Jax isn't some made up name. It's not a lie. My middle name is Jackson, so Jax has been my nickname ever since I was a kid. Everyone calls me that, all right? I never use 'Ernest' unless I'm signing official documents and stuff. Look, I'm sorry that I didn't mention my full name earlier, but we were having such a wonderful time getting to know each other, just as two people without the baggage that comes with . . . you know, who I am, and—”
A car horn blaring in the street cut me off, and caused both of us to turn and look out. A red Lamborghini had pulled up out front, and out of it stepped Chad Burton, dressed in a fancy suit.
“You ready to go, Lanie?” he called out. “And what the hell is he doing here?”
“I'm sorry, Jax,” she said, looking away from me and refusing to make eye contact. “I have to go.”
“Lanie, wait, please, we have to talk, we—”
She pushed past me, still not looking at me, locked her door, and then ran down to Chad's car and climbed in.
“She doesn't want to speak to you, Cooper,” said Chad, a smug smile on his face. “So just forget about it and get out of here. She's done with you—so ju
st leave.”
He got into his car, slammed the door shut, and they sped off.
I hung my head with sadness and disappointment, and then trudged over to my car. So, that was that . . . it was over. It was all over. With sadness suffocating me, I drove off in silence.
CHAPTER 19
Lanie
I almost had a heart attack when I opened the door and saw Jax standing there instead of Chad. I was utterly stunned, so taken aback that I could hardly speak. But then we did speak, and while I still felt a tremendously powerful attraction toward him, I also felt that same anger about him withholding the truth from me.
Thankfully, before a full-blown argument could break out between us, Chad showed up to pick me up for our date. When Jax saw Chad standing there, and put two and two together to figure out what was happening, such a look of defeat and sadness and betrayal—yes, there was betrayal too in that look—came across his face that I thought that my heart would just crumble to dust. Suddenly I felt as if I was making a gigantic mistake. I knew, in fact, that I was making a huge mistake . . . But the wheels had been set in motion, and all I wanted to do at this point was to get away from this awful situation.
I pushed past Jax without saying another word to him, hoping that he wouldn't see the tears now running down my cheeks, and ran to Chad's car. I climbed in, and heard Chad yelling out something to Jax, but I was too distraught to pay any attention to what it was that he said.
He got into the car and grinned smugly at me. “You look smokin' hot, wow. I'm a lucky guy to—”
“Just drive, Chad, please, just go. Get me out of here.”
“Your wish is my command, hot stuff,” he said with a grin.
He floored the accelerator and the Lamborghini surged forward with screaming, smoking tires, and I felt myself being pressed into the seat with the force of the acceleration.
“You upset about that chump?” he said, glancing over and noticing the sadness in my eyes and the thin trail of tears that traced their passage over my cheeks.
“Just forget about it, Chad,” I murmured. “I don't want to talk about it.”
“Yeah, well I don't either. He's a loser, and so are you if you think he's worth crying over.”
Wow. That struck me as particularly insensitive, but I could tell from his tone that there was a strong undercurrent of jealousy there as well. He really felt threatened by Jax, didn't he?
I was starting to regret going on this date already. In fact, I could hardly believe that I had agreed to it. It had been a silly thing to do, a ridiculously silly thing to do. I wasn't attracted to this jackass at all! The only reason I’d even done this was because I’d been mad at Jax for not telling me the truth about who he really was. I felt like such a fool.
A message came through on Chad's phone, and as he unlocked the phone to look at the message I happened to notice that his lock-screen pin code was 1777. I didn't mean to take note of it, but he had done it right in front of me, and I had an almost photographic memory when it came to numbers. I knew instantly that I'd probably remember his pin code forever—not that it would be of any use.
We pulled up to the restaurant where Chad had reserved seats, a French restaurant that had been getting rave reviews recently.
We got out at the entrance. Chad gave his keys to the valet to park the car, and then we headed in.
“Great place,” remarked Chad as we walked in. “I love the ambiance.”
“Yeah, it's nice,” I murmured.
A waiter led us to our table, and we took a seat. Chad stared at me for a while, licking his lips subtly.
“Mmm,” he commented, “you look so, so fine! Damn!”
The waiter came over and asked if we wanted any drinks.
“Bring us the most exclusive bottle of dry red wine you have, garçon,” Chad instructed. “And hurry up about it, all right? You aren't getting paid to hang around in the kitchen and screw around on your phone, like all you chumps do.”
This man was really rude to the waiter. Yet another turn-off, and another reason I was regretting coming on this stupid date.
After the waiter left, Chad stood up. “I just need to hit the men's room quickly,” he said. “I'll be back in a sec.”
He walked off, leaving his phone on the table. Just about the time he disappeared into the men's room on the other side of the restaurant, his phone buzzed. A sudden sting of temptation ripped through me. I knew his pin code—I could easily look at the message. I knew that I shouldn't . . . but I couldn’t help wondering if he was as big of an ass all the time and to everyone he communicated with as the man I was seeing. Curiosity got the better of me.
I quickly reached across and grabbed the phone. I hit the pin code—1777—and unlocked it. I felt a rush of guilty heat flood through my body, but a savage little thrill of delight sped through me too as I opened the message. I glanced up toward the men’s bathroom door then looked back to the phone.
It was an email from a guy named Samuel. Nothing unusual about that. It was the subject line that really caught my attention, though. Cooper is going down. So, I opened it and started reading, all while stealing glances toward the restroom to make sure I wouldn’t get caught.
“Hey bro,” it said, “so first we took down E's company, and now you're taking his girl out!?! I gotta say, badass move. You better nail her tonight man. I'll be disappointed if you don't. Cooper is a loser, and you've just about crushed him totally now! And when that old hag, Cara, buys into his company, you and her will be able to take it over with what we've got planned next. I can't wait to see the look on Cooper’s face when he’s tossed out of his own company. Remember though, you owe me big time for what I did. I'm still waiting on that 20k. Just a friendly reminder—but keep me waiting any longer and the next reminder won't be so friendly. You know what I'm capable of.”
My heart began pounding as I realized whom this guy was talking about. The “E” he was referring to had to be Jax! It had to be! I glanced up to see if Chad had come out of the bathroom yet. He hadn't, so I scrolled up, looking through some of the other emails.
My blood went cold as I found one from the same guy sent on the night of Pete's accident.
“I managed to slip the drugs into White's beer. Worked like a charm—he's reeling all over the place and can hardly keep his eyes open. I've challenged him to a race, and in his inebriated state the dumbass accepted. Everything is going according to plan. I guarantee you he’s going down and it’s going to be spectacular.”
The next message was even more chilling. I reached into my purse for my phone as I read.
“He wrapped his car around a tree. It was really too easy. Mission accomplished. You can move on to the next phase of your plan.”
I snapped a picture of each email with my phone. I looked up as I snapped the last one and saw Chad walking out of the restroom. My heart pounded madly in my chest as I tried to mark the most recent email to appear unread. My blood shivered through my veins as I managed to shut down the app and throw my napkin over the phone so I could slide it back to its original spot on the table before Chad could see what I was doing.
I had to let Jax know what was going on right away.
“Well, now that that's taken care of,” Chad said as he sat down, “we should probably—”
I stood up swiftly, slipping my phone back into my clutch purse. “I have to go to the bathroom, too,” I stammered. “Didn’t want to leave the table until you got back,” I forced a smile and then rushed off to the bathroom. I hurried inside, locked myself in a stall and then recorded a Quickchat and sent it to Jax.
“Jax, I'm so, so sorry!” I said. “I just went out with this jerk because I was mad at you, but that's not important right now. What is important is that you do not make a deal with your aunt! I have some evidence that this deal isn’t what you think it is. They’ve been conspiring against you the whole time. Whatever you do, do NOT make a deal with her! And . . . and I'm sorry . . . for all of this.”
I hit the send option and then waited in suspense for a response.
“Come on, Jax, come on,” I whispered. “Please look at the message, please, please.”
A reply came through, and I opened it with shaking fingers. I hoped he had gotten the message before he had signed anything over to his aunt. I opened the Quickchat and watched his video.
“I'm in my aunt's driveway now,” he said, “and I was about to call her to let her know that I was here when your message came through. Are you sure about this evidence? And . . . are you in a bathroom stall?”
I recorded a quick reply. “Yes! I’m in the bathroom. I needed some privacy. But we can talk about that later. I am absolutely sure. If you can come and get me from the restaurant I'm at, I can show you.” I hit send and waited.
He replied right away. “Tell me what restaurant, and I'll be right there.”
I replied with the name of the restaurant and what road it was on. He responded that he could make it there in less than five minutes. I didn't want to face Chad, much less be subjected to anymore of his disgusting behavior, so I decided to just wait out the time in the bathroom instead. After a few minutes had passed I got a message from Jax saying that he had just pulled into a parking space in front of the restaurant.
I walked out of the bathroom and headed straight over to the table. Chad beamed a satisfied grin at me as I approached, but I knew that smug smile of his was about to be wiped right off his face.
When I reached the table, I didn’t sit down. Instead, I announced, “You know, Chad, I’ve given it some thought and this isn’t going to work out.”
A look of total shock spread across his face. “Umm, wh— what? What are you talking about?” he managed to stammer.
“Well, here’s the thing. You’re kind of a douche bag. You’re rude and arrogant for reasons I really don’t understand. Not to mention a few other things I really don’t care to say in a public setting. So, with that said . . . this date is over. Done. Finished. I'm leaving.”
“B— but how the hell do you think you’re getting home?”