Forbidden Fix (Executive Toy Book 6)

by Cleo Peitsche

  The woman and kids come out of the bathroom and head toward the food court. Dread fills me as I watch them leave. Notice that something’s wrong, I implore the woman silently.

  But she’s so busy with her kids, the rest of the world probably doesn’t exist for her.

  Grandfather runs a hand through his chestnut hair and smiles, his teeth white beneath his mustache. “I asked myself, now why the hell has little Layla been in such a good mood the last few days?” he says. “Then my friends at the airport called to say that a certain private plane was back. I went to the airport thinking to find you. Instead, I discovered betrayal.”

  “Layla’s an adult, free to do as she pleases,” I point out.

  “Perhaps, but my plane is waiting, and they’ll be taking three people back. You’re coming home with me.”

  I smile and shake my head. “There’s no way in hell my bosses are going to let you march me out of here.” My gaze dips to where his wrists disappear into his pockets.

  This makes him grin, and my blood chills. He’s got an angle, and whatever it is, he thinks it’s good.

  Which means it almost certainly is.

  “Dear girl, you’re going to willingly walk out of here with me. I’ll even allow you to say goodbye to your friends rather than sneaking you out the back of the food court.” He leans forward. “Because if you don’t…”

  The door opens and Layla comes out. She’s screwing the top back onto a small tube of hand moisturizer. When she looks up and sees us, she comes to an abrupt halt.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks. She tries on a smile, but it doesn’t fit.

  She’s not like me, not like her grandfather. She isn’t used to lying and manipulating, so she just stands there, that awkward smile plastered on her face. “Did you follow me?”

  “I did,” Grandfather says. The very sound of his voice makes me want to scream. I glance down the corridor. Where are my bosses? Surely Hawthorne at least must be feeling antsy.

  Of all the times for him to turn patient and levelheaded…

  “Why?” Layla is asking Grandfather. She’s annoyed, I can see that, but she’s trying to hide it, and I realize that while he might not have blatantly mistreated her, the years of living under the same roof with him have taken a toll. She’s not clueless about who and what he is.

  I left her behind.

  Even if I give her every cent of Hawthorne’s money, every cent of my inheritance, it won’t begin to make amends.

  “Let’s go chat where it’s a bit more open,” Grandfather says. “After you, ladies.”

  Chapter 15

  As we walk toward the food court, Layla casts a bewildered glance over her shoulder. “I am so confused right now, you have no idea,” she says.

  She isn’t the only one, but I don’t say that. In fact, I’m not saying anything. I’m poised to grab Layla and run as soon as Romeo, Hawthorne, and Slade are in sight.

  And there they are, coming toward us.

  To the side, I catch a glimpse of Kidnapper Joe, and this time there’s no doubt. The air chokes out of my chest… Grandfather brought backup.

  Before my eyes, Hawthorne’s irritation becomes rage. Romeo seems to grow in size, and Slade looks like he’s ready to flay Grandfather alive.

  Before I can move toward them, Grandfather says loudly, “Lindsay wants to come home with us.”

  Layla grabs my arm, just as she did countless times when we were kids and I was trying to ditch her to go hang out with girls my own age. “You do?” she asks, a breathless wisp of hope in her voice. “Really?”

  “She does.” Grandfather jams his hand deeper in his pocket, and now I can distinguish the outline of a gun barrel.

  But he’s not pointing it at me.

  I jerk free from Layla’s grasp and move in front of her, shoving her back with my body. Maybe I’m too rough, but keeping her safe is the only thing that matters.

  In my peripheral vision, my bosses stop short, and that, at least, is a relief.

  Grandfather scoffs. “You’re overreacting,” he says.

  “Am I?”

  He grins, revealing those perfect, too-white teeth. “If you don’t want to come back, we’ll have this conversation here.”

  He pauses a moment to let his words sink in.

  And they do. I don’t know exactly what he’s going to say next, but I already have the gist of it.

  “There are things that you and I need to discuss, as adults,” he says. “Layla doesn’t have to be part of it.” His eyes are hard.

  “Ok,” I say quickly, and even though the fight has drained out of me, I manage to hold myself straight, to meet his eyes. I want him to know that even though he’s won this round, he’ll need to sleep with one eye open. “I’ll go back with you.”

  “No,” Hawthorne growls.

  “He’s right,” I say. “We have things to discuss. I’ll be fine.”

  “Absolutely not. We’re not playing this fucking game.” Slade’s face is twisted with rage. I’ve never seen him like this before.

  “It’s not your choice,” Grandfather says. “If Lindsay doesn’t want to come back, then we’ll have a nice little family discussion about the naughty things that kids do—”

  Romeo pushes past Hawthorne.

  In a flash his hands are over Grandfather’s mouth. Covering his nose, too, though I don’t know if that’s intentional or if it’s just because Romeo’s so large.

  Grandfather’s entire body jerks, and his eyes are wide in shock. He pulls his hands out of his pockets, or he tries to.

  One hand comes free.

  The other gets tangled in the pocket. Panicked, he jerks his arm.

  It happens in slow motion.

  An explosive roll of thunder, the sound of an entire universe disappearing, and a new one expanding so fast, erasing everything.

  Then, total silence.

  An eternity of nothingness, and every possibility flashing before my eyes.

  ~ ~ ~

  Time can best be understood as before and after. Those are the only measurements that matter. It’s a lesson I learned the day my parents died.

  I didn’t know I could learn it again.

  Someone shouts, then there are screams.

  The background noises recede as the stream of red running down Romeo’s side grows into a puddle at his feet.

  Layla sinks into a heap on the floor, her hands over her mouth, her face white.

  Hawthorne and Slade are moving toward my grandfather, and the clones are there, too.

  Romeo falls to his knees, and I’m immediately beside him, my fingers slippery with wet heat, my arms wrapping around him, trying to support his weight.

  “Please, no, Romeo, please stay.” I’ve never begged like I’m begging now. “I love you. I can’t live without you.”

  Pain in his eyes, he looks up at me and smiles. He’s trying to say something, but the words aren’t coming out, and then his eyes go unfocused.

  “Romeo,” I plead.

  He goes limp, and he’s so heavy that the only thing I can do is slow his inevitable crash to the floor.

  Blood gushes out of him.

  Then, even worse—

  It stops.

  Chapter 16

  At the funeral home, I tuck a stray blonde hair into my bun and adjust the black hat perched jauntily atop my head.

  The veil over my face is flattering, I think as I eye myself in the mirror.

  Smoothing my palms down the front of my dress, I turn to the side, then face front again. Shock put me on a crash diet, and I’m a little too thin, a little gaunt. The dress turns my angles back into curves.

  I think Romeo would have approved. It’s sexy but tasteful.

  Layla comes into the small room set aside for family members, and when I see her red-rimmed eyes, I instantly feel bad. While I’ve been primping, she’s been genuinely mourning the loss of our grandfather.

  She practically collapses onto a beige sofa. “I can’t believe h
e’s gone,” she says, her voice trembling.

  I sit next to her and take one of her hands in mine. Our hands are eerily similar, and it’s like I’ve got three of them.

  The situation seems ripe for playing a gag on someone… Coordinate nail polish, one of us hides under the table…

  I know, I know. It’s an inappropriate thought for a funeral. But how, exactly, am I supposed to feel about the demise of the man who murdered my parents and ruined my life?

  One of the clones killed him in the food court—self-defense—but the guy doesn’t seem to be at all disturbed by it. Yet another reason I’m glad the clones are gone.

  Pulling a few tissues out of the box, I make a soothing noise to calm my sister. “He loved you very much,” I say, though I have no idea if it’s true, if he was capable of loving anyone but himself.

  She takes one of the tissues from me and blows her nose. “This must be weird for you,” she says. “Being here. Thank you.”

  Very perceptive of her. I haven’t admitted that I’m only attending the funeral to support her, and I don’t want her to feel guilty, so I say, “He was my grandfather, too.”

  “Not really,” she says. “You weren’t close. Have you ever talked to your real dad’s family?”

  “David was my real dad,” I say, and it comes out a little testy.

  Layla’s eyes go wide. “Yes, I know,” she says quickly, her cheeks staining pink. “I meant your biological father.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I realize you didn’t mean that.”

  It’s her turn to squeeze my hand. “You’ve been dealing with some heavy stuff,” she says. A little hiccup noise escapes her throat, and I realize she’s choking back tears.

  “He had a long and happy life,” I say, though I have no idea if our grandfather was ever truly happy. Maybe when he was making someone else miserable?

  Layla shakes her head. “Not that. It’s… Romeo. If not for me, he never would have gotten shot—”

  “It’s not your fault,” I say firmly, and even though there seems to be something blocking my throat, too, I can’t deny how profoundly grateful and relieved I am that Layla hasn’t found out the truth about the day our parents died. She’s strong, but she’s very sensitive. That kind of knowledge would ruin her life.

  Hell, if I’d been the one messing around with the seat controls, it probably would have ruined my life, and I’m not nearly as tenderhearted as Layla.

  I wonder what Grandfather planned to do with that gun.

  I’ll never know, of course. Maybe it’s better that way.

  There’s a polite knock at the door, then the middle-aged man who owns the funeral home enters.

  “If you’re ready, now’s a good time,” he says.

  In other words, time for me to prepare my face one last time, one final lie to the world.

  Together, arms linked, Layla and I go to meet the other mourners, and I tell myself I won’t try to figure out if there’s a single person, besides Layla, who’s sad that Grandfather is dead.

  ~ ~ ~

  The funeral begins, and at some point I find myself shedding real tears. Not because of the loss of him, but because his life was, in my opinion, a waste.

  It’s a shame he wasn’t a better man, that he wasn’t more interested in building up than destroying.

  We bury him. Layla and I toss handfuls of dirt onto his coffin and return to the house where a buffet of food waits. The household staff returned immediately after the funeral—even though they knew they were allowed to take off as much time as they wanted. I hope Layla doesn’t think too hard about that.

  When the last mourners have left, I kick off my shoes. It’s not enough, though. I’m back at home, where I was a tomboy, so I borrow a pair of Layla’s terrycloth shorts and a faded T-shirt.

  They’re the ultimate in comfort.

  “I’m going to lie down,” Layla says. She’s clearly sad, but she’s hardly devastated. One day we’ll have to talk frankly about what happened over the last seven years.

  The moment Layla goes into her bedroom and closes the door, I head directly to Grandfather’s office, a box of trash bags under my arm.

  Pulling out the files from all the old lawsuits and throwing them into a heap on the floor is beyond satisfying.

  When I come across the paperwork related to the SUV accident, I don’t throw it away.

  I put it through the shredder. All of it.

  After two hours, I feel like I’ve been reborn. I know the house is mine, that it’s in my name even after all this time. My bosses had their lawyers go through everything.

  I don’t care about the house, and while I’m thrilled, of course, to be able to access my trusts, the money is a distant second to having my freedom back.

  Miss Susan comes into the office. If she’s shocked by what I’m doing, she hides it well. “Mr. Tarraget is here to see you,” she says.

  “Hawthorne’s here?”

  Smiling, she nods, and I follow her out.

  Hawthorne turns as Miss Susan and I descend the stairs. He’s wearing an impeccable suit, but the tie is missing and the top button of his shirt is unfastened.

  The look on his face… like he can’t believe he’s seeing me, and he’s worried, and he’s happy… all at once.

  Before I even get all the way down the steps, he rushes up toward me, captures me in his arms and holds me close to him.

  “Romeo insisted I join you,” he says, “so no complaining.”

  “You must have me confused with someone else,” I say. “I never complain.” And as long as he doesn’t let me go, I never will.

  ~ ~ ~

  A week after Grandfather’s funeral, I return to work. Layla is doing… exceptionally well. She’s enrolled full-time in school again, and we make plans to meet every weekend, alternating between Milford Crossing and the city.

  Nights, Slade and Hawthorne take turns sleeping with me. Sometimes we all fall asleep in the same bed, spent from lovemaking or fucking—depending on the mood of the evening. I sleep best of all when I’m sandwiched between the men.

  But that doesn’t stop me from missing Romeo.

  I’m not even allowed to see him in the hospital. At first it was the “family only” crap, but soon it became clear that I was getting the runaround.

  It makes me wonder if his injuries are worse than what I was told. The bullet didn’t penetrate his heart, but it nicked an artery. He’s had surgery and lots of transfusions.

  Slade and Hawthorne claim he’s doing fine, but clearly he isn’t or they wouldn’t be hiding him from me.

  I think often about what Romeo said, about how love is infinite. I believed him at the time, but I didn’t know it in my soul.

  Now I know it in my soul. The feelings I have for him, for Slade, for Hawthorne… The better I know them, the more time I spend with them, the more I love them.

  It’s as simple as that.

  And so I wait for Romeo to come back to us. I send elaborate care packages. I donate blood. I make bargains with the universe.

  One week turns into two. Then three. Romeo does call a couple of times but doesn’t talk long.

  Slade begins taking him work at the hospital, but I’m still not allowed to see him.

  I revert to my previous way of dressing: sexy silhouettes and high heels. Slade and Hawthorne don’t complain. I think they understand that I need something to cling to.

  Chapter 17

  I’m at my desk, trying to concentrate on work.

  It’s not so easy when my every thought is with Romeo.

  It’s been over three weeks, and I miss him so much that it physically aches, a burning, twisting guilt. If Hawthorne and Slade weren’t forcing me to eat at least one big meal a day, I’d probably be starving away to nothing.

  I find myself staring at the wall, thinking of the first time I met Romeo. How I caught a glimpse of him in his perfect suit, a delicate champagne flute in his large hands. I thought he was a Samoan wrestler. He was so
big, so masculine… and so sophisticated.

  If not for me, he’d be at work.

  I know it’s ridiculous to blame myself when I spend at least an hour on the phone every day with Layla, partially to make sure she doesn’t blame herself. But it’s different.

  My phone rings, and I gratefully reach for it.

  “Ready for lunch?” Hawthorne wants to know.

  I groan. Food is the last thing on my mind.

  “Come again?” Hawthorne says, a note of warning in his voice.

  Oh, he’s in boss mode. “You tell me if I’m ready for lunch,” I say. “That’s what I meant.”

  “Conference room A,” he says, and he hangs up.

  After shuffling my papers into a messy stack, I slip my feet into my stilettos and stand. Smoothing my hands down my pencil skirt, I wiggle my hips a bit to get it into place.

  My purse is on my desk. I zip it closed, pull it onto my shoulder, and head for the conference room.

  I wonder if Slade will be there, too. Probably not. Without Romeo around, we’re all working harder than ever. When he gets released from the hospital, if he finds out that we neglected the company, it’ll probably send him right back to the emergency room.

  Therefore: no morning training sessions. No long lunches. No visits to the secret room accessible via secret key inserted into the secret elevator.

  The conference room is open, and I see I’m the first to arrive.

  I drop my purse onto a chair and pour myself a glass of ice water from the pitcher in the middle of the table. There must have been a meeting in the morning.

  The door closes behind me.

  “If you’re pouring, I’ll take one as well.” The voice is even deeper than I remember, and I think, It can’t be, it can’t…

  My breath hitches in my chest as I turn. I put down the glass, nearly missing the table.

  Romeo is standing there.

  He’s got a polished wood cane with a silver handle. That he has a cane surprises me because he was shot in the chest, only inches from his heart.