by Helen Vera
I receive plenty of texts and emails for my birthday. Some of them are sincere, while others are simply returning the courtesy. I honestly don’t care much for birthdays. I stopped celebrating mine years ago. Sometimes, being with the wrong person makes it hard for you to celebrate anything. Especially if they don’t share your enthusiasm when it comes to certain hobbies and activities. You eventually drift apart and lose the ability to find your way back to each other.
“Hey mama, get your butt over here. Your cake is ready.” His sexy voice calls me and I run to him.
I get up and walk over to the marble island. “Wow. Chef Knight, chef baby cake, you have outdone yourselves. This looks amazing.” I bite my lip to stop from laughing.
The cake looks like a unicorn barfed on it. Jax totally overdid it with the frosting. He also drew weird circles and shapes on the sides. “Is that a p-e-n-i-s?” I spell out so Lucy does not learn yet another inappropriate word.
He smirks and nods. “So, what do you think of my decorating skills?”
I give him thumbs down. “Better luck next time.” I tease.
“Wrong answer.” He says and grabs the frosting covered spatula. He catches me before I can make a run for it and covers my face in icing. Lucy claps and giggles excitedly. I’ve never seen my baby look this happy before.
“No! Not my hair. Jax, I swear if you come near my hair...” My voice trails off as he wipes his icing covered hands on the front of my sweater.
“Oh what the hell.” I grab the piping bag and attack him. He turns around to get away from me and ends up with icing all over the back of his shirt.
“Crap!” He groans. “This is fuc-fudging cold.”
I notice how he says fudge instead of fuck, but the damage is already done.
“Crap! Crap!” Lucy imitates him.
“Jax, I’m going to kill you.”
He smiles apologetically and tries to undo the damage by teaching her a bunch of new words. Thankfully, she quickly forgets the word and we both blow out my birthday candles. Jax snaps pictures of us using my new Polaroid camera. He then helps me cut the cake into slices and we sit at the kitchen table to eat it. It surprisingly tastes better than expected. A little on the floury side, but filled with chocolatey goodness.
“This is delicious. Thank you, baby.” I lean over to kiss his cheek. My compliment inflates his ego as usual and he tells me how he used his so called secret recipe to make my cake.
“Today was fun.” He says. “We are going do this more often.” He looks smitten and sincere.
“Sure. Maybe next time you can bake me an apple pie, Martha Stewart.”
“My mother was a big fan of Martha.” He catches me by surprise by mentioning his mom. We never really discussed his parents. All I know is that his dad was a piece of shit, and his mom died of an overdose. I also know that he has an older brother named Felix. He told me so much about him that I feel like I already know him.
“Baking must be in your genes.”
“Maybe. So, when do I get to lick that frosting off your body?” He saucily suggests.
“Later.” I blush.
“Did you make a wish when you blew out those candles?”
“Yep.” I nod.
“Care to elaborate?”
I move to sit on his lap. He wraps an arm around my waist while I stroke his stubbled cheek.
“I wished you’d stay in our lives forever.”
20
VIVIAN
I hate Mondays.
Even coffee can’t save me from this dreaded visit to CCB Law. I just have a terrible gut feeling about this. I check my reflection in the elevator mirror one more time before I step out onto the thirtieth floor. The view from up here is nauseatingly high. I avoid looking out the full-length windows and walk over to the reception desk.
A busty blond secretary greets me with a fake white smile. She seems to be a new hire judging by her artificial enthusiasm. “Good morning, how may I help you?”
“Hi. I’m here to see Lewis Cooper.”
“You mean Mr. Cooper?”
“Yes. Tell him Vivian Swanson is here to sign the NDA papers.”
She dials the wrong extension, and then she finally gets him on the line and tells him that I’m here. “Please have a seat. He’ll be right with you.”
“Thanks.”
I’m too anxious to sit down, so I pace in front of the large abstract painting near the entrance. It features a gray, cloud like background with a tiny red dot in the center. The more you stare at the dot, the more it gets bigger. I wonder how much it cost the partners to buy such a pretentious piece of art. Probably millions.
“Vivian, how lovely to see you again.” Lewis Cooper greets me warmly. We shake hands and he guides me with a gentle hand on my back and leads me to his grandiose office. He’s one of the warmest people I know. There’s something about him that reminds me of my late father, but I can’t seem to put my finger on it.
We pass by a couple of familiar faces along the way. Most of them are junior lawyers who used to work with Andrew. They come up to me and offer their condolences. I spot two women by the coffee machine staring at me with hatred in their eyes. They’re tall, leggy blonds with big assets and clear blue eyes. They’re definitely Andrew’s type. The bastard must have slept with half the women in the office. My polite smile is barely hanging on my lips by the time we reach Lewis’s office.
“Please sit down. We have much to discuss.”
The older gentleman offers me a cup of tea and sits down on his leather chair. The room is toasty warm, so I take off my Burberry coat and drape it over the back of my seat.
“How is your lovely daughter?”
“Oh, she is in love with the new books you sent her. She spent hours the other day browsing through them.” I fill him in.
He smiles and takes a sip from his own teacup. “Lucy’s a gifted child. She takes after her mother. You are a wonderful human being, Vivian. Never let anyone convince you otherwise.”
“Thank you, Lewis. This means a lot coming from you.”
Our conversation shifts from Lucy to the swarm of reporters camped outside the building. I was chased by a group of them on the way in and the security guard had to intervene. Lewis told me that his lawyers were also constantly harassed with questions about Andrew’s murder.
The reporters were also scaring off their clients, so they were thinking of relocating to another building, far away from Wall Street and its nosy press. “This sounds like a sensible idea to me.”
“Yes. Steven and I are still discussing the logistics.”
There’s a brief knock on the door. Steven Bradshaw walks in with a sour expression on his face. “I officially hate this building.” He remarks.
He looks more like a college professor than a ruthless lawyer, especially in his black-rimmed glasses and tweed sweater. The only thing missing is a briefcase and a laser pointer. He greets me with a nod and then moves to stand in front of the large sunlit windows. “Have you signed the NDA papers?” He asks in a cool, detached tone.
“No. Not yet.”
Steven adjusts his glasses and turns his bald head to look at me. “I heard the police came by your place to ask you questions about Andrew.”
“Yes. They did. Twice so far.” I reply, staring at him suspiciously.
“Andrew was a very ambitious man. Some would say that he was dangerously ambitious.”
Both him and Lewis give me weird looks like I’m supposed to know what they’re talking about.
“What are you hinting at exactly?”
Steven clears his throat. “Andrew’s downfall may have been his latest project where he earned a ridiculous amount of money.”
“How much money are we talking here?” I curiously ask.
“One million dollars.”
I almost drop my teacup in shock. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“One million?” I shake my head in disbelief. “I had no idea he was making t
his much money.”
“Neither did we.” They both admit. “But the police needed access to his client files, so everything your husband was hiding finally came to light.”
Steven fixes me with an unnerving stare. It makes my blood run cold. “We would appreciate it if you can sign this NDA form and avoid talking to the press altogether until we figure out a way to put this whole murder debacle behind us.”
He hands me the papers and shows me where to sign my name. I quickly read the two pages and sign on the dotted line. Lewis thanks me profusely while Steven paces the lush carpet. “So, do you think Andrew was murdered? Because I saw his autopsy report, and it says that he fell from the third floor. What made him go up there in the first place?”
“Well, we know that the company he represented was under fire for using a combination of outdated and unapproved building materials. So maybe he fell victim to an unstable staircase or a faulty floorboard.” Lewis fills me in.
“Rest assured that we are doing the best we can to find out the truth behind the matter,” Steven says. “But the most likely outcome here is that Andrew fell to his death due to irresponsible practices by the construction company. You should really think about filing a wrongful death suit. We’d be more than happy to represent you.”
“Thank you, but filing lawsuits and testifying in court will not help us move on. I honestly want nothing to do with this. I’m done being hounded by the press.”
“Of course. We understand and respect your need for privacy, Vivian.” Lewis reassures me.
“Thank you.” I glance at my watch, eager to get out of here. “I should get going. My morning appointments are about to start.”
I say goodbye to Steven and allow Lewis to escort me to the elevators. “Ignore Steven. He’s been in a bad mood since Christmas. We never asked for this either, you know.”
“I know.”
The elevator arrives. He hugs me and sends his regards to Lucy. I thank him for his support and turn around. I breathe a sigh of relief once the elevator doors slide shut behind me. There is something incredibly fishy about Steven. He always gives off this creepy, stalker vibe whenever he’s around. I honestly find it hard to believe that Andrew went up to the third floor of his own accord. Someone must have forced him to do that. Someone who wanted him dead.
How on earth did he manage to earn one million dollars in one month? I exit the building with so many questions swimming in my mind. The same group of annoying reporters hound me all the way to my Uber. I try my best to ignore them, but they insist on asking me questions about the murder investigation.
“Please, back off.”
I practically dive into the backseat and shut the door behind me.
God. What a nightmare.
I put on my sunglasses to shield my eyes from the flashing cameras and tell the driver to get me out of here as fast as humanly possible.
When will this media circus stop? It’s been months now, yet the story is still making headlines somehow. I pull out my phone and Google the construction company Andrew used to represent. It’s incredibly prestigious with branches in both Paris and London. The negative press must be ruining their reputation big time.
“Oh Andrew, what did you do?”
21
JAX
The weather is perfect today. Not too cold and not too windy either. I decide to take the day off from work and run a few errands. I’m busting my ass off to design my very own rage room in Soho. The concept is easy, but the execution turned out to be harder than I’d initially thought.
Felix was actually open to the idea, offering to finance the project alongside a couple of his buddies. Life is pretty fucking great at the moment. I have my gorgeous Vivian beside me, and a little kid who makes me want to be a better man; a less angry man. Yesterday marked my final day of anger management therapy. I’ve successfully completed my 120 hours with Doctor Schmidt who turned out to be a decent shrink. He was a little eccentric, but fucking cool at the same time.
The look on Judge Adams’ face when he read Schmidt’s final assessment letter was priceless. He signed it reluctantly and asked me where my evil twin was. I laughed and told him that he was safely tucked away in Azkaban. He showed a hint of a smile and told me to get out of his court and never come back. I walked out of there feeling a hundred pounds lighter. Everyone at the office noticed the change in me, but they were too afraid to ask questions. Yeah, I’m no longer a walking active volcano, but I’m still the same old son of a bitch they all love to hate.
Speaking of the office, Alison’s number flashes on my car’s digital screen. I push the button on my steering wheel and answer the call. “This better be urgent.”
“Mr. Knight! I need you to come to the office as soon as possible. There’s an urgent matter you need to attend to.” Her panicked voice greets me on the other end of the line.
Fuck.
“Fine. I’ll be right over.”
She hangs up and I begin to panic. Did Alison somehow discover what I’ve been hiding? She’s always poking her nose into my business. The other day, she heard me talking to Vivian on the phone and suggested I take her out to her cousin’s vegan restaurant in Queens.
Damn it. I never really thought a fucking stupid millennial like her would figure it out. I need more time to untangle this complicated web. I need to figure out my next move. I hate making mistakes, and this was a mistake of epic proportions. I should have been more careful. I should have planned a better strategy. Regret comes knocking on my door and I ignore it. I need to focus on remaining calm. Getting angry will only add fuel to my fucking fire.
The traffic is slow as a turtle, so I sit in my car, wishing this whole thing would just disappear. I was too damn confident that it would never come back to bite me in the ass, but it did. This must be karma for all the times I kicked, punched and insulted people.
Great. More rain.
I honk my horn and urge the guy in the cheap ass Toyota to fucking move. He gives me the finger and keeps driving at a snail’s pace. My grip tightens on the steering wheel, but I practice my breathing exercises and think about Lucy. We had a blast baking that cake the other day, and last night, after I finished reading her bedtime story, she told me she loved me. She’s so fucking smart for her age. At least that’s what Vivian tells me.
Thinking about my girls does the trick, and I find myself gaining control of my anger. I made Vivian a promise to stay out of the tabloids, and I intend on keeping that promise. This mistake, however, threatens to tear down everything I’ve built so far. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.
I speed past the idiot in the Toyota and focus on reaching my destination. I park in my designated space and get out of the car. So much for wanting to take the day off. I unzip my leather jacket and take the elevator up to my floor. I hear loud chatter coming from inside. Everyone seems to be on their coffee break. Even the receptionist seems to be chatting on her private phone. She hides it behind her back the second she sees me. I roll my eyes and storm past her, eager to reach Alison.
I find her sitting at her desk, drinking her morning coffee. “My office. Now!”
She follows me inside and shuts the door. “Mr. Knight. There’s something I need to tell you.”
I lean against my desk and fold my arms across my chest. “Really? I thought you dragged me all the way up here to gossip and get my nails done.”
My sarcasm seems to make her even more nervous. “I am so sorry for calling you on your day off, but I just found out that you forgot to sign off on the Anthony Palucci case. The deadline for submitting the case to the New York State Archives is today.”
Relief washes over me. Jesus Knight, paranoid much?
“Fuck.” I run my fingers through my hair. “Get me the damn file!”
“It’s already on your desk.” She points a finger at the yellow folder to my left. Her mousy face is twitching and she looks like she’s about to cry.
“You’re this close to gett
ing fired, Alison.” I bark, opening the damn folder. “It’s your fucking job to remind me about time sensitive shit like this.”
“I know. It totally slipped my mind. I promise it won’t happen again.” She sniffles.
“Good. Now go finish your coffee before it gets cold.”
She nods and rushes back to her desk. I sit down and go over the files. I hate keeping secrets, but if this secret comes out, lives will be at stake. I try to focus on signing the paperwork but my thoughts keep on drifting back to Vivian and Lucy. We’re supposed to visit the aquarium in the afternoon. I have a long list of errands to run, so I quickly sign the papers and return them to the folder. I glance up and notice Alison standing in the doorway.