“Oh, Scarlett, I know you love Gregory, it’s written all over that pretty little face every time I see you but if you need some space, if you want to get away, you can stay with me. Or if you don’t want to stay at Lara’s house I can stay at home with you...at our old home.”
“I’m fine. I’m being silly. I’m going to go and finish my work. I’m glad you’re okay. I really am sorry, Sandy.”
“Now you listen to me, missy, you’re not to blame for all this. You’ve gotten yourself mixed up in something...someone—” She stops herself before she says what I know she’s thinking. I know because everyone will be thinking it. Amanda has said as much. And however idiotic it might seem, I can’t stand people thinking bad of Gregory.
“He’s a good man, Sandy. This isn’t his fault.”
“I wasn’t going to say—”
“Yes you were or at least you were thinking it. I get it, I do. But there was nothing we could do. Maybe he made a mistake taking over that company and maybe I made an even bigger mistake helping him.” I offload with an odd sense of relief, finally articulating what’s been eating me up. “If I’d walked away, he might’ve never gone through with it. But I understand why he needed to. That deal was his revenge, Sandy, and I...I...with Dad, when he...I can understand how desperately he needed to take revenge.” I’m close, too close, to telling her everything. This is Sandy, Sandy who’d stand by me no matter what, probably the only person in the world who would. “Sandy...I know because that night I wanted revenge too. I hate Kevin Pearson for everything he did to Gregory and Lara and for what he did to Dad. Sandy, Gregory...he isn’t to blame for all this.”
“Neither of you are to blame for that man trying to kill you all, Scarlett.” Her words are louder, almost shouting, cutting me off.
“Sandy—”
“Enough! Young lady, what if he hadn’t been shot? What then? Geoffrey was already hurt. That man would’ve killed him and I’m sure he would’ve killed you too. So stop! Just stop it!”
“Sandy, it wasn’t Gregory, it was—”
“Stop it now! I won’t listen.”
My eyes are on fire, my hand clamping my open mouth shut. The line is silent but for Sandy’s breathing and I realise mine has stopped but my heart is thudding in my chest. My lungs fill on a gasp. “You already know Gregory didn’t take that shot. You know.”
“I have to go, Scarlett.” The call beeps to an end.
I don’t go back to the Shard. I sit in my desk chair as I’ve done all day and lean back, my head turned to one side, staring at the orange lights flicking on and off in the high-rise buildings nearby. Sandy knows our dirty little secret. She knows and now she has to lie too.
* * *
Jackson kicks open the door and a gun fires. He falls to the floor, blood immediately pooling around his leg. A scream lingers in the back of my throat but fails to make it to my mouth. Frantic and with shaking fingers, I attempt to tie a tourniquet around his punctured thigh.
Gregory and Pearson crash out of the bathroom, bashing against the walls, growling, snarling. They’re trying to kill each other. They fall into the gym room and I’m staring helplessly when they burst back through the door, eyes wild, raging, as they thrash around the floor. Pearson pulls a chain tight around Gregory’s neck, causing the skin beneath it to flame red. He’s struggling to breathe. The chain is killing him and all I can do is watch in horror.
Jackson shouts, screams at me to retrieve the gun he dropped to the floor. I can hear him but my limbs refuse to move. He tells me the safety is off, to use two hands and only fire if I have a clear shot. I pick up the gun but Gregory’s broken free and Pearson’s body lies lifeless on the floor. Gregory slumps back against the wall to catch his breath then forces himself up to make sure Jackson’s okay.
Pearson moves in the background. I’m sure of it. My feet carry me towards him. Then his arm is raised, the gun aimed directly at Gregory.
I pull the trigger, the bullet bursting through Pearson’s skull almost instantaneously with the bang of the gun and the reverberations through my arms.
I’m sitting on the sofa, staring into darkness, the distinct smell of lilies invades my nose. There’re voices behind me, numerous male voices, mumblings at first but the sound sharpens.
“Greg, we can clean this up. Don’t be fucking stupid!”
“I said no. This is my past and I’ll fucking kill myself before it haunts her. Call the police, Jackson.”
“Mother fucker! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Jackson, look at her. For Christ’s sake! She’s not like us. She’s better than us, better than both of us.”
“That might be so, kid, but she can be better than us without anyone going to fucking prison.”
“No one’s going to prison. It was self-defence. I shot him in self-defence.”
“You’re crazy. I’m not gonna help you ruin your fucking life!”
“Jackson, if we don’t do this her life will be ruined and I’ll have another fucking life on my conscience. The only way she’ll get through this is if we do it through the police and she realises that what she did wasn’t wrong. I’ll be cleared. This will end and she can leave me if she wants to, she can move on knowing she did the right thing.”
“Then I’ll make damn fucking sure you’re cleared, you crazy bastard.”
“Right. But it has to be the police.”
“You’ve known her two minutes, kid.”
“Enough! No matter what happens, she can walk away if she wants to but this way, she won’t have to wonder every fucking day for the rest of her life whether she should’ve done it. I know what it’s like to live with a shadow, Jackson, and she doesn’t deserve that.”
Jackson’s exhale is long and considered. “Wipe down her hands in case they check for powder residue.”
My head flies up from the desk. The cleaner is tapping and opening the door to my office cautiously.
“Can I empty your bin, Miss?”
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Yes. Of course. What time is it?”
“Just before seven, Miss.”
Shit!
My iPhone screen is full. Twelve missed calls, three voicemails and a stream of text messages. He’s been awake all night.
Double shit!
Firing off a text message to tell him I worked through the night and fell asleep is not going to cut it but I send the message anyway. The phone rings almost immediately. I’m not ready to talk to him. My brain still hasn’t processed yesterday’s developments and now it has to decipher what’s real and what’s fiction from my nightmare. They can’t be real memories. I don’t remember any conversation about police, I only remember Gregory telling me what I had to say to them, making me repeat his version of my statement verbatim. The ringing cuts off then starts up again. With shaking fingers, I type a message.
I’m fine. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I just need some space.
They’re there again, those words, lingering. She can move on.
I drop my phone into my handbag and pull on my coat. I want to leave the office before people start turning up but Gregory won’t have left the apartment yet. Unlocking my laptop from the docking station, I slip it into my carry case and head to Caffe Nero.
The barista brings a large latte with two extra shots and an almond croissant to my table and I mutter my thanks. I tear a couple of bite-size chunks from the pastry then push them around the plate.
I keep coming back to the same conclusion. He’s doing this for me. He’s putting himself through the uncertainty, the stress, because he doesn’t want me to live in a world where I feel trapped like he does. This isn’t about him wishing he’d killed his father or about him wanting to punish himself because he brought this on me. This is about him making sure that I can move on, without the we
ight of my conscience, without wondering if I did the wrong thing. Is that different to me moving on from him, leaving him? She can leave me if she wants to. Does that mean he won’t leave me?
My wandering mind snaps back to real time. He’s in my face, speaking through his teeth.
“Never. Do. That. To. Me. Again. Do you understand? Anything could have happened to you. For fuck’s sake, Scarlett, I’ve had Jackson driving around the city, I’ve been to your office block. It was fucking irresponsible and selfish!”
My chair scrapes against the tiled floor as I stand, my eyes wide, my mind working on stringing together a pissed off retort. My skin heats under the eyes of impatient suits queuing to be served, irritated baristas and the handful of seated coffee drinkers.
“Why didn’t you call or text? Sandy said... Christ, it doesn’t matter what she said. You should’ve come home.”
“So now you’re conspiring with Sandy too. What did she say?”
“She said you didn’t want to come home. God, I thought. If you’d have done anything stupid, if you’d harmed yourself, I don’t know what I would’ve done.” He’s shaking his head, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Gregory, stop being ridiculous. I can’t believe you think I’d...what? Kill myself?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know either way if you don’t call?”
I fold my arms across my body instinctively as I cast my eyes around the coffee shop. “Could you please stop being neurotic?” The words grate through my gritted teeth.
He sighs, his shoulders sag. “Things have been hard but...but I thought that as long as you and I were okay we’d get through it. It broke my heart to think you wouldn’t come home to me, Scarlett.”
And the look in your eyes just broke mine.
“I feel suffocated, Gregory. There’s so much going on and I don’t know how to deal with it. I don’t want to...I want to be strong for you. I know everything is worse for you, even though I don’t want you to you’re taking the blame. I just need space to think. Away from it all.”
The question of Dubai pricks my mind again.
He steps towards me, the feeling of his warm palms on my cheeks soothing me. “Baby, I’d rather you were honest with me. I’d rather see you messed up and be able to take care of you than not see you.”
I look up and find two apprehensive browns questioning me. “That’s just it. I don’t want you to have to take care of me. I don’t want to be another burden for you.” I look away from him, internally cursing the tears spiking the backs of my eyes.
“Look at me.”
I don’t.
“Baby, look at me, please.”
Swallowing away the impending rush of tears, I look at him.
“I need to ask you something,” I say.
“Anything.”
“That night. When it happened. Were you thinking about not calling the police?”
His gentle fingertips stroke an imaginary strand from my brow. “Where’s this come from?”
“I had a dream and you were talking to Jackson, shouting at him, telling him you had to call the police because it was the only way I could move on. Did that happen?”
“Yes.”
His arms move to my back, preventing me from stepping away from him. “Why? Why would you put yourself through all of this if you could’ve cleaned it up and forgotten about it?”
“Do you really need me to answer that?”
“I think I do.”
He sighs as he finally takes a seat in the dark wood chair opposite mine and pulls my chair to the side of the table next to his. I sit down, letting my knee graze his as he unbuttons his dark-grey blazer. He picks up my hand and entwines my fingers in his.
“I’ve lived my whole life carrying around regrets and what ifs. I’ve told you before, my world is dark. I’ve screwed up, I’ve failed people. But you, you’re like this bright light. You’re smart, you’re sassy, you’re too damn gorgeous for your own good. You live in a different world to mine and I’m not going to mess up your life too. I refuse to let that happen.”
“But it would mess up my life if I couldn’t be with you.” I mumble the words, watching his fingers draw shapes around mine.
He stops drawing and grips my hand. “Don’t say things like that, Scarlett. You’d be fine without me. You’d be better off without me. But I know that night is eating you up inside. I can see it. I know what it looks like to turn black from the inside out. You need confirmation that you did the right thing.” He lifts my hand, pressing my fingertips against his lips, then he looks me in the eye. “You did the right thing, Scarlett, and when this is cleaned up, the right way, you’ll see that. I promise you’ll be able to move on.”
“It sounds like you’re breaking up with me and you just can’t say it straight.” A shiver runs the length of my spine. His Adam’s apple moves slowly up and down his taut throat. My stomach falls and I hold my breath.
“That’s not what’s happening, Scarlett. I’ve told you before, you’d be wise to walk away from me but I’m too selfish to tell you to go. I wish I wasn’t, I wish I could find the strength to let you find someone right for you. But I can’t let you go.”
“I don’t ever want you to do that.”
His eyes are fixed on mine as he retrieves his dancing Blackberry from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Sydney, what now? Which one? Fuck integrity. Give them more. However much it takes, just fix it.”
The Blackberry is pushed with bitterness back into his suit jacket. He reaches for a piece of my uneaten pastry and pops it in his mouth, sucking the tip of his index finger then his thumb as he stands. “Let’s go.”
I pull on my coat and gather my things. “I need to go home for a shower,” I say, following his back as he navigates the tables of Caffe Nero.
He turns his head back over his shoulder to deliver a sexy half smile and twinkling eyes. “I was counting on it.”
“You’re coming with me?”
“I most certainly am, Miss Heath.” He holds open the door and gestures for me to step onto the now bustling street before him.
“So you listened to me when I said I needed space then?”
He suddenly grabs me, pushing my back against the Mercedes. My squeal has yet more people tuning in to this morning’s Gregory Show. He leans into my neck, with no regard for his surroundings, his breath hot on my skin. I close my eyes and breathe him in, his familiar scent making me melt against him. “I listen to your body language. We established a long time ago that what you say and do often don’t tally.”
I smile, remembering our first night together. How he drove me insane with desire in our own private box at the theatre. A torturous three hour performance. Then, my biggest conflict was whether I let myself get close to a client. Now, there are so many conflicts torturing me I’ve lost my grip on life. And as much as I hate myself for it, I can’t stop the thought lingering that this all started with Gregory, the man I love. He thinks he’s screwed up. I don’t even think MI5 could solve the mixed up puzzle in my head right now.
“You’ll work from home today. As will I. And I’ll fuck you whenever I please because I have pent up tension. I didn’t run this morning and you weren’t there to relieve me. I need my morning fuck.”
No space and no recognition that maybe his moods and his confusing body and words might be the reason I didn’t want to go home.
He steps back, the exposure to the cold air reminding me of our position in the street. Subtly adjusting his blazer to cover himself, he inclines his head, gesturing for me to climb into the backseat before he slides in next to me.
“Change of plan, Jackson. Back to the Shard.”
“Sure thing.” He flicks an eye to me through the rear view mirror and shakes his head on a smirk when I huffily cross my arms. Whether it’s int
uition or the silent understanding between these men, Jackson rolls up the partition screen.
Once the screen hits the roof, Gregory moves a hand under my arse. “Get here,” he says. I fight it at first. “Lady, do not anger me more than you already have.”
“Me anger you?”
He lifts me to his lap and hitches up my dress so I can slip my knees either side of his legs and rest down onto his lap.
His smouldering eyes have been replaced with big brown teddy bear eyes and he strokes my hair behind my ear in that way he does. “Don’t ever be afraid to come home to me, baby, please.” His voice is genuinely pleading. “You have to always talk to me. Do you understand?”
I decide against pointing out the irony of that statement, instead nodding my head, leaning into his palm.
“Say you understand.”
I turn my lips to the warm skin of his hand. “I understand.”
“Good girl. Now, not only did you terrify me last night by going missing—”
“Oh, Gregory, get real, I was at the office for Christ’s sake.”
“Angel, your attitude is going to get you into even more trouble than you’re already in. Are you trying to piss me off?”
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
“Fuck, Scarlett, no one can make me as angry as you can.” He yanks my hair at the nape, pulling hard, jerking my head back, and lets out a primal growl as he bites the plump flesh of my breast over my dress.
I lunge forward, dragging my fingers just as hard into his hair, and crash my lips against his. God, I love and hate this man all at once. He meets my attack lick for lick, suck for suck. He pulls my arse further onto his hips so I can feel his cock knocking at my throbbing door. He’s ready to fuck me just as hard as I need to fuck him. A battle of wills, a fight of love and war, the deepest darkness and the most profound light going into the ring together.
“You’re so confusing,” I snarl.
He slides his hands up my body over my dress then cups my breasts in his palms circling the tender mounds. I want him to take it off, to rip it off. I groan, thinking about him touching my naked flesh, moving inside me. He pushes his hips up, letting me feel his erection harder against my sex. My fingers grab at his thick, dark locks, pulling his head to my throat. I yank in frustration. How can something so good be so difficult and fucked up? Why can’t we just be together, happy, normal?
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