It’s his baby after all.
“We don’t want the same things,” Evan tells me.
“I don’t know if we ever wanted the same things,” he adds.
Should I tell him my opinion has changed?
What do I want?
This baby changes everything!
Not that I didn’t want something more with Evan before.
I did.
But, it was so much easier to push him away without the complication of a child between us.
The fact that I’m pregnant threatens to burst from my lips, but now isn’t the time.
I will not force this man to be with me, just because we are about to have a baby together.
I know for a fact that if Evan knew I was pregnant, he would do everything he could to make it work.
That’s not what I want; I want him to make this work despite everything that’s happened.
“I don’t know either,” I lie to him.
We always wanted the same things, I was just too afraid to admit it.
And now?
I glance at my watch, and it’s just shy of two in the morning.
“I’ll call,” he sighs.
Then, Evan gets out and opens the door when the car stops at my building.
We hug goodbye, and I walk up to the elevator utterly alone.
20
Evan
January 1, 2018
I check my messages the second I get home, and Ava is in labor.
Great.
Two more people are about to be in this world, and I am no closer to getting Dominic Ventretti off all our backs.
Lucius is God-knows-where, my mother has threatened me, again, and Aidan is dead drunk, passed out on the couch.
The useless lot of them!
Something occurs to me as I reach for my phone to call my father back, to let him know I am on my way to the hospital.
My mother mentioned Leigha.
I’ve got a couple missed calls from her, but other than that I haven’t spoken to her since Christmas.
That probably makes me a shitty friend, and most people don’t call at three in the morning, but if I know anything, at all, about Leigha, she will be awake.
She answers on the second ring.
“Hi,” she says, her voice choked with emotion.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I immediately soften at the sound of her sniffles.
“Oh, God! Evan! Why didn’t you call me back?” she scolds.
“Sorry, it’s been a shit show lately. I’m back in the city, though,” I tell her.
“Evan, you need to meet me, now!” Leigha urges.
The clock reads three-thirty, but that doesn’t stop me.
“I’ll be over in a few,” I tell her.
Instead of the car, I go down to the garage and get in my Porsche 911 Turbo.
The engine roars to life, and I cruise over to her place in SoHo as fast as humanly possible.
I’m certain I blew past at least one patrol car, and I know for sure I ran six red lights.
Leigha’s SoHo loft is on the edgier side of town.
She’s soft and feminine, while her loft is full of clean lines, sharp edges, and black lacquer furniture; quite the opposite of Leigha in real life.
She buzzes me up immediately and waits at the door for me.
Even down the hallway, I can see that she’s near tears again.
Leigha must’ve been crying, because her wide grey eyes, with a blue tinge, are swollen and red.
“Oh Evan, I hate to do this to you,” she says.
She locks the door firmly behind both of us.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“They took everything. They raided our office, said that we had ties to some Sheik or something, and until the investigation was complete, we’re finished!” she tells me.
Then Leigha’s eyes water again, and I rub her back.
“Who exactly?” I try to confirm with her.
“The FBI,” she weeps.
“The FBI?” I stare at her.
“Are you sure?” It’s a stupid question.
She gives me an incredulous look.
“What the fuck Evan, do you really think I don’t know the difference between the FBI and… and random strangers off the street? They burst into our office wearing FBI emblazoned all over the back of their bulletproof vests. Idiot!” she yells, as she rages at me.
Then, she smacks me over the back of the head.
“Holy shit!” I finally say.
I need to take a breath, and Leigha pours us both a whiskey from a half-empty bottle.
“And, you’ve been drinking?” I ask.
“Heavily,” she nods.
“What else am I supposed to do? My career is damn well over. No one is ever going to hire the CEO of a major corporation that’s not only been framed for terrorism but didn’t even know her company was under investigation until it was ripped out from under her,” she snarls.
“Terrorism?”
“Sheik? Middle East? You know?” she tries to point out what’s already gone over my head.
I nod slowly.
“Shit,” I say.
I take the drink from her and swallow the whole thing.
“You don’t get what this means, do you?” she asks.
She hands me the bottle.
I pour myself another drink and shake my head.
“Your father’s company is about to go down the tubes, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. You offered the IPO, Evan. Your company is tied to mine because of that,” she’s already deduced what I couldn’t.
Leigha always was a brain.
Her father’s IQ is out of this world; I would expect nothing less from her.
“Goddamn it, you’re right!” I say.
“Drink up, buttercup, you’re gonna need it,” Leigha sings in response.
She flops down on the couch beside me, and takes a swig straight from the bottle of whiskey.
It’s not even good whiskey, I muse.
I take the bottle from her and take a swig myself.
“This won’t help,” I tell her.
“Yeah, but, it feels good right now. Nothing has felt right for days. This makes me feel slightly better than when my entire life blew up right before my eyes, and I didn’t know a thing about it,” she mourns.
“My mother did,” I swallow hard.
“Evan!” Leigha scolds me.
“Your mother?” her tone changes suddenly.
“Like, your mother, mother?” she asks.
“Yes, my mother, mother. It’s a long story, but she apologized for what was about to happen to my dad’s company, like she even meant it,” I scoff.
“Well, show her it was a mistake,” Leigha concludes.
“My father was arrested, they’re going to hold him for questioning until they’re satisfied. I’m going to bet a million that the same thing is about to happen to Noah,” Leigha says.
“They just got engaged,” I mutter under my breath.
“Sucks,” Leigha declares.
“Too bad your Uncle can’t do anything,” Leigha says out of nowhere.
“You mean Jude?” I ask.
“Well, isn’t he like, a Lord or a Knight or something?” Leigha guesses.
I watch her lay flat against the couch and press her legs up against the wall, so her head is upside down.
“He’s a Duke! I remember now!” she declares.
“Yeah. Remember the running joke when we were in school together, that all the girls only wanted to hook up with me because I was related to royalty?” I ask.
“They did want to hook up with you because you’re related to royalty,” Leigha replies.
“You’re so stupid, sometimes,” she adds.
“Stupid or not, it got me laid,” I say defensively.
“Wait,” I say.
“What if he can do something? I need your phone,” I tell her.
“I’m a fucking genius. Over there,”
she says.
She points about ten feet over from where her phone is.
I pick up the cordless and dial my Uncle’s number.
“Stone residence,” the housekeeper picks up.
“It’s Evan, I need Jude,” I tell her immediately.
“No time for pleasantries,” she clicks her tongue.
“Hold on Evan, I’ll get him,” she says.
While I wait on the line, I do quick math in my head to determine that no, I have not made this call at an odd time in London.
“Isn’t it four in the morning over there?” Jude announces crudely over the line.
I cringe.
“It’s an emergency. Hi, Uncle Jude,” I say.
“Of course, it is boy. How are you? How’s that father of yours? Always getting into trouble I take it,” he replies, insisting on small talk.
“More trouble than usual. I’m sure you’ve heard about my mother by now,” I tell him.
“Everyone’s heard about that,” he says, which confirms my suspicions.
“My father’s about to be investigated by the FBI. I think they’re about to arrest him, I need to do something, but there’s nothing I can do,” I explain.
Jude just stays quiet on the phone for a moment.
“Well, what do you expect me to do about the old bastard? Hm?” he asks.
“Anything,” I admit to my Uncle.
“Well,” he sighs.
“Duke Whittaker owes me a favor. Although I’d rather not call this favor in for your father, it’s probably pertinent that we save the family from another disaster. Don’t you agree?” Jude asks.
“Probably,” I concur with him.
My Uncle sighs heavily.
It’s not enough that my father had him take over the Dukedom when he had no intention of doing so; now he’s got to save our asses.
His policy has always been strictly laissez-faire when it comes to my father.
Leave it alone, it’ll balance itself out.
That’s probably not about to work this time, and we both know it.
“Is there anything I can do?” I ask.
I’m pretty sure I know the answer.
“No,” Jude says snidely.
“You and your father have done enough,” he adds.
“Fucking, fuck!” I swear.
“No need to lose hope yet, there may still be a way to keep your father out of prison,” he tells me.
He promptly hangs up the phone, and I just assume he will call me.
“This is too much,” I tell Leigha.
“At least you might be able to keep your father out of prison,” she says, still upside down.
“Maybe,” I tell her.
“In the meantime, I’ve got Dominic Ventretti on my ass,” I tell her.
Leigha whistles at me.
“Ev, what the fuck did you do?” she asks.
She struggles to get upright, swinging her body around, and falls off the couch.
“C’mere,” I tell her.
I pick her up off the cold floor.
“We should get you to bed,” I sigh.
“I’m only going to oblige you because I think that’s probably a correct hypothesis because I’m fairly drunk,” she tells me.
“Also, the world is starting to spin, on its axis,” she says.
“All the blood is rushing to your head,” I say.
“Nothing is spinning,” I add.
“Actually…” she begins to correct me.
I shut her up when I lift her off the ground in my arms and carry her off to the bedroom to deposit her on the bed.
Leigha curls up into a ball, and I wait a few minutes until I’m sure she’s okay before I stroll back into the living room.
That’s when I notice the newspapers.
Damn.
I’ve been away too long.
It’s all over the newspapers, how Alexander Technical Institute is currently under investigation for ties to terrorism.
Nothing is definite, but all of ATI’s assets have been frozen.
A few of the articles even mention NLS and the initial public offering.
This is, somehow, my fault.
I fucked up without even knowing it.
Deep down, I know that I can’t blame myself, but what other choice do I have?
My dad is probably going to blame me, somehow, anyway.
Unless I can fix this.
But other than my Uncle’s hand, I can’t stop the FBI.
Neither can Uncle Jude, but he can hold them off at least.
Maybe not indefinitely, but it’ll keep my father out of prison.
I know, really, I should get the hospital and warn my dad, but the thought of letting him down again is just so damn depressing that I can’t force myself to move.
My laser focus is on the article in front of me.
The words ‘NLS Financials’ glare at me like they know what I did.
I let my father down, again.
“Fuck this,” I say to myself.
I pour myself another drink and wonder if I would’ve been better off on another tour with the military.
At least I could’ve gotten into less trouble there, stayed out of my dad’s hair and possibly not led him into a fucking disaster.
When Uncle Jude doesn’t call back within a couple hours, the bottle is gone, it’s near six in the morning, and I hold out for doom.
That’s when it occurs to me that Uncle Jude might be calling my office, or any matter of numbers.
My cell phone is down in the car.
But I’m too drunk to stumble down into my 911 to grab it.
Instead, I pick up Leigha’s phone off the coffee table and shove some of the whiskey-soaked newspapers aside to dial.
“Evan, where the hell have you been!” Jude scolds me.
“I’ve called you, multiple times,” he continues.
“I’m not at home,” I reply, trying to do my best not to slur.
He doesn’t even notice.
Jude, as my father says, doesn’t notice anything unless he wants to.
“That bastard nephew of mine,” Jude swears.
“You and your father, are going straight to hell, you know that?” he shouts.
His accent is thick.
“Probably,” I say.
I shrug even though no one is in the room.
“Geoffrey Whittaker is on his way, so you’d best be at your office when he arrives,” Jude tells me.
“Whittaker?” I slur.
“Were you not the same blasted boy I spoke with just a few hours ago? Duke Whittaker, cousin to the Queen, the man I called in a favor with to spare your father from jail?” my uncle reminds me.
Or great Uncle.
I was never one hundred percent sure on that.
Jude is way older than my father, and his sons are about my father’s age.
I find myself off on a tangent to figure out who is my Uncle, Jude or his sons?
His sons are closer to my dad’s age…
“Evan!” Jude yells.
“Yeah,” I sober up slightly for him.
“Be at your office, please. I do not want an international incident on my hands,” he insists.
“Alright, alright, when’s his plane coming in?” I sigh.
“He’ll be in by this evening,” Jude reports.
“Time difference and all,” he explains further.
“Okay, then I can sober up,” I say.
“You damn well better Evan, you damn well better!” Jude screams at me.
I hear the phone slam down on the other end.
I click my tongue, disgusted with my Uncle for some reason, and shuffle into Leigha’s kitchen where I manage to work the coffee machine, after sticking the coffee pod in multiple times.
The coffee is just finished brewing when Leigha appears in the doorway.
“What are you doing, clanging around in here, goddamnit Evan!” Leigha says with a glare.
“Coffee,” I
sing to her.
“You’re drunk,” she sighs.
“I think I’m still drunk,” Leigha adds.
She swipes the cup of coffee from me and sticks another pod in the machine.
“Did you figure out what’s going on, or are you going to go down drowning like I did?” she asks.
I watch her hop up on the counter to reach into one of the top cabinets.
Leigha tosses a bottle of heavy duty aspirin at me.
“The cousin to the Queen apparently owes my Uncle Jude a favor, and since he can’t do anything, I have to sober up and meet this guy,” I try to explain.
“You have to meet the cousin of the Queen?” Leigha stares at me.
I just nod.
“When?” she asks.
“He’ll be in tonight,” I say.
I take the coffee cup from her and take a sip to swallow the aspirin before I hand it back.
“You’d better sober the fuck up then,” she tells me.
“Or get more loaded,” I suggest.
“That’s not grammatically correct,” she scolds me.
“I don’t care,” I shoot back.
“Come on Ev, if I taught you anything in school, it’s how to form a proper sentence when you’ve had too much to drink. How many times did I have to sneak you back into your dorm or make excuses for you? You would’ve graduated if you hadn’t sold the goddamn SAT answers,” she says.
I just shrug at her.
“Who cares?” I say.
“What happens now?” she says.
“If your dad’s company goes under, and they freeze all his assets, I assume that would include your trust,” she says.
“If this thing with the Duke of Whittaker, or whatever, works out, we’ll still have our assets in London,” I try to explain.
“Or England, or whatever,” I add.
“I’m calling a cab,” Leigha sighs.
“For what?” I ask.
“I need to get you home because you need to sleep, and your suit is wrinkled, and you’re not going to go meet the Queen’s cousin in the shape you’re in Evan,” she tells me.
I just shrug.
21
Victoire
January 1, 2018
I am desperate to get a hold of Evan, but his phone goes straight to voicemail.
What are we going to do about Ventretti?
His suggestion to trick Ventretti only makes me worry about him more.
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