Seems like a sign of insecurity to me if you feel like you have to plaster your name over everything.
Get it over with. Stop stalling.
My feet stay rooted in place.
There’s only one thought that finally gets me moving: for Daphne.
I force my arms to my side and push through the revolving doors.
I take it as a great sign when the security guard reaches for his Taser the second I walk in. He’s a big bastard, I’ll give him that. Tall, with a shaved head, and muscles that strain his uniform, Adam obviously got this guy for actual security and not just some ex-mall-cop looking for an easy pension.
I pause in the doorway, holding my hands up. “I come in peace. I just want to see Mr. Archer. Junior,” I clarify. I think Adam’s dad still has offices in the building even though he only works part-time now after passing off most responsibilities to Adam the past few years.
“He’ll want to take the meeting.” I have no doubt that Adam will relish in the opportunity to see me eat crow.
The security guard doesn’t move his hand off his Taser. What, do they have me on a watchlist here or something? Or is it just my face that has this guy so damn Taser happy?
I tamp down my temper that rises at the thought. This isn’t about me. I’ll just have to keep reminding myself of that over and over as I wait as patiently as I’m able while the security guard calls upstairs.
I can’t hear what he’s saying, since he’s stepped behind a partition, but he glances my way often as the conversation goes on for some time before the security guard finally buzzes me through.
He’s glaring at me as he hands me a visitor’s pass. “Straight to the top floor. Don’t make any detours or you’ll be escorted from the building immediately.”
I grin at him, making sure to turn the mangled left side of my face towards him as I do. “Whatever you say, boss.”
He glowers and looks like he’s about to yank the pass back, but I’m already halfway toward the elevator banks.
Far too quickly, I’m at Adam’s office door. His assistant rushes me right in. Before I’m ready, frankly.
Then I’m standing in front of him. My arch enemy. The man who almost fucking killed me. And I’m here to ask him a favor.
My gut roils but I stand my ground and hold my shoulders straight. “Adam.” I incline my head in greeting.
He stands as well, but makes no move to come around from behind his desk. Instead he crosses his arms. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“We finally did it. We found a cure. For Battleman’s.”
Adam doesn’t so much as twitch. It’s as if I didn’t even speak. The bastard is going to make me work for it.
“Daphne’s life can be saved now. It doesn’t have to be like it was for her mom. Do you get what I’m saying?” I ask when he still doesn’t respond.
Finally, he arches an eyebrow. “What’s any of this got to do with me?”
Furious fire burns in my gut but I bite it down. Of course he’s going to play games. It’s the only way he knows. If I’m going to get anywhere with him, I have to play it and outmatch him. All the while letting him think he’s winning.
“I own all the patents. But you know that since you’ve acquired Belladonna. Belladonna doesn’t own any of the proprietary research—it’s all mine. But I’ll sign it all back to you.”
He barks out a merciless laugh. “And why would you do that?”
“Because, you idiot, I would do anything, give up anything, to save Daphne’s life.” I can’t help my stoic mask slipping and some of my anger bubbles out.
“Ah, there he is,” Adam says, smiling in satisfaction. “There’s the snarling beast I’m used to.”
“You know what, fuck it,” I say. “We hate each other’s guts. If we had the opportunity, maybe we’d even kill each other.”
He smiles at that and his eyes go disturbingly dark. Oh, this fucker wants to kill me, there’s no doubt about that. Truth is, if I could get away with it, or even if I couldn’t and there was no Daphne, I just might…
But there is Daphne.
“But I’m gambling on the chance that you love money more than you hate me. And there’s a shit ton of money in this for you. We need a lab to synthesize the new drug.”
“But it won’t be applicable just for Battleman’s,” I hurriedly continue. “What we are developing will be the new face of the fight against cancer. This is a gold mine and you can have all the profits. We just need the lab.”
Adam eyes me quizzically, his hand going to his chin. He is quiet a long while before finally asking, “And Daphne will die without this?”
His question shouldn’t annoy me but it does. Does he still have feelings for her after all? But again, I swallow my pride. “She might be able to survive this latest relapse, but considering her family history…” I close my eyes and nod, finally telling the truth that I haven’t even admitted to myself. “Yes, she will eventually die without this. If not this time, then the next.”
Adam swears under his breath. At least I’m finally getting through to him.
I look up to find him staring out the window. “So you’ll help? We can make a deal? My patents for your laboratories?”
For another long moment, Adam’s silent.
When he finally does start to speak, it’s not the simple yes I’m expecting.
“Do you know when I first met you, I liked you a lot,” he says. “I thought you were ‘of the earth.’ That was the gracious term my mother used for people like you. The unfortunate poor.”
I grind my teeth. You need him. You can put up with his elitist bullshit meanderings for a few minutes and then you’ll be out of here.
“But then I got to know you. And that’s when I realized you didn’t know your place. You were too big for your own britches.” My fists clench but I stay quiet as he continues. “We could have been a team from the beginning. Unstoppable. Your research skills. My charisma and connections.”
He finally turns from the window and looks at me. “But you just wouldn’t play ball, would you? It was your arrogance. You just had to have your name on everything. You had to have all the praise and adulation.”
Is he fucking serious? This is literally the guy who plasters his name on every single fucking thing he can. He can’t blame it on his dad, either. I know it’s been him who’s pushed to have the Civic Center renamed the Adam Archer Civic Center after donating fifty million to have it renovated.
You need the labs. It’s Daphne’s life.
So I stay quiet in spite of my seething anger. I knew this wouldn’t be easy. But does this asshole have to make it so damn hard?
“Making me look like a fool in front of Dr. Laurel all the time. Even in front of that dumb, scrawny little kid of his.” Adam shakes his head and walks over to a cabinet. Why am I not shocked when he opens it to display a hidden liquor cabinet. “But he’s gone now.”
He pours some expensive looking bourbon and then downs it.
“I tried getting rid of you.” He shakes his head. “But they always say the roaches will survive the apocalypse. I guess street rats are the same.” He pours himself more bourbon and smiles my direction, holding up the glass in cheers.
“And now, well, if there is a disease that’s going to rid the world of that little bitch, Daphne, what can I say?” Adam shrugs his shoulders dramatically. “It’s just natural selection at work, man.”
I’m going to fucking kill him.
I’m across the room with my hands around his neck before I’m fully aware of what I’m doing. Two seconds later, an alarm is going off and security guards are charging into the room and pulling me off him.
“You’re dead!” I shout at him. “If you come near her, I’ll—”
But a blow by the huge security guard from downstairs cuts off my words.
Pain explodes across my face, and then the world goes dark.
Fourteen
Daphne
I didn’t think anythin
g of it when Logan said he was going out. He doesn’t go out often, but sometimes we need groceries or the like. And he said he’d be right back.
I was a little worried when I didn’t hear from him after a few hours. He usually texts or calls if he’s running late. So when I finally heard my cell ring, the anxiety I had been feeling finally calms.
Until I saw it was Armand calling, not Logan. Only to pick up the call and find it was Armand calling about Logan.
Because Logan was in jail!
I push my wheelchair to maximum speed as Armand holds open the door to the County Sheriff’s office.
I race my chair right up to the counter. “I’m here for Logan Wulfe.”
Sitting in the chair, I can barely see over the counter to make out the face of the woman attending the front desk.
I start to wobbly climb out of the chair when Armand puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Can she go see my client while I work out the details of his release?”
“You a lawyer?” the woman asks.
Armand leans in and smiles coyly. “Something like that.”
The woman, who looks to be in her early fifties, and has a face that reminds me of a bulldog, immediately softens under Armand’s charms. “All right, but it’s a hell of an expensive bail. Quarter mill.”
Armand doesn’t flinch. “Money is no object for my client.”
The woman’s eyes brighten and I want to gag. “Where is Logan? Can I see him now?”
“Marv!” the woman rears back and yells. Even Armand winces at her ear-splitting volume, though he smiles through it.
An older Hispanic man in uniform ambles around the corner. “Take this one back for visiting hours with the new one. With the—” the woman makes a face and gestures at her left cheek. Like she has any room to comment on someone’s appearance. Besides, Logan’s gorgeous. If this stupid cow can’t look past a little scarring to see that, then she’s—
“This way, Miss,” Marv says, gesturing me to follow behind him.
He leads me to a large room with empty tables that reminds me of a hospital cafeteria. It’s empty apart from Marv and me.
But about five minutes later, the door cracks open and then an attendant leads Logan in. His hands are cuffed behind his back and I can’t hide the noise of distress that comes from the back of my throat.
I reach for the controls of my wheelchair to go to him, but Marv puts a hand out to stay my action. “No contact,” he says kindly. “Otherwise they’ll send him back.”
I yank my hand back from my controls. I can’t stand the thought of getting this close to him and them sending him away again.
“Are you okay?” I call.
His eyes are stormy as he gets closer. “You shouldn’t be here. What are you doing out of the house? You aren’t strong enough—”
“Don’t you dare tell me what I’m strong enough for, Logan Wulfe. Now tell me right this second what’s going on. How did you get here? What happened?”
He sinks down heavily in the chair across from me. The attendant undoes the cuffs at his back but warns again about no contact.
When Logan’s eyes come to me, they are so full of remorse.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, sounding broken. “I failed you.”
Oh my gosh, he’s killing me. “Logan, tell me what’s going on, right this second. I’m freaking out.”
So he does. He tells me all of it. About how we have to synthesize the drug for it to really be an effective solution for me. About how we needed Belladonna’s labs. How we needed Adam.
And how Adam wouldn’t help.
How Adam sees this as his final act of revenge…
Me dying.
Logan didn’t put it that way, but I can finally read between the lines. I can finally see Adam for the monster Logan always said he was.
Logan’s no fool. He can see what I’ve just figured out.
“But we’re not going to let that happen,” he says adamantly. “We’ll find another way. There’s always something else we can do. We’ll find a way to manufacture enough doses for you, even if we can’t synthesize it on a large scale in the beginning, I swear I’ll save you—”
I reach for his hand across the table before I remember it’s forbidden and pull back.
“Oh Logan. You should’ve talked to me first.”
He just shrugs and I know that if he had to do it over, he wouldn’t have changed a thing about what he did if there was even the smallest chance it might’ve worked. Logan will never see any other way. Like my father, he’ll fight this until my dying day.
But unlike a month ago, that doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t make me want to run away.
For the first time, maybe ever in my whole life, I’m looking the truth in the face.
I might die.
Maybe this year. Maybe next. Maybe I survived this relapse and it comes again for me in three years, or five.
This was always my destiny.
Maybe my problem is that I’ve been fighting it.
But what if I stop fighting? What if I stop worrying about tomorrow, something I obviously have zero control over?
What if I decide to just live the fuck out of today, come what may?
I look at the man across the table from me, and so much emotion and love wells up in my chest. “Ask me again.”
Logan’s so dejected, I’m not sure he hears me at first. “What?”
“Ask me again,” I whisper, excitement brimming in my voice.
Logan gulps, understanding finally coming into his confused eyes. He doesn’t look like he believes what I’m saying, but he’s a smart man. “Will you marry—”
“Yes!”
He leaps out of his chair, much to the consternation of the two guards standing at the door. It doesn’t stop Logan, though. He comes and throws his arms around me, kissing me hard.
I laugh, tears pouring from my eyes even as I push on his chest, urging him back. “The guards,” I laugh through his kisses.
Logan pulls back and holds his hands up right as they are about to grab him. “We just got engaged,” he says. “Give a guy a break.”
The guard just glares at him. “You know this means you have to get another full cavity search.”
Logan just grins at him. “I won’t enjoy it too much if you don’t.”
I laugh out loud and Logan winks at me, the entire atmosphere of the room turned on its head from five minutes ago.
The guards make Logan put his hands on his head before cuffing him again, but he’s grinning the whole time.
“Armand’s working to get you out on bail,” I call.
“Perfect,” Logan says over his shoulder, struggling to see me while being dragged away by the guards. “Because I’m marrying your gorgeous ass as soon as physically possible. You can plan it while they do the paperwork.”
I laugh again, a gut laugh from deep in my stomach, because I doubt that Logan is kidding or exaggerating at all.
Looks like I’m getting married. Soon.
Fifteen
Daphne
I stare at the mirror image of a woman in white. She has a bloom on her cheeks and roses in her hair. Yes, she’s in a wheelchair, but she looks healthy, strong. There’s a glow about her, along with a restless energy that comes from nervousness. But underneath it all, there’s strength.
The woman is me. And today is my wedding day. My real one.
Outside, the staff Armand hired is putting the final touches on the bridal walkway. When I asked for a simple ceremony, Armand gave me a big grin.
“Simple and classic,” he promised, and then added, “For the ages.”
His statement didn’t reassure me at all.
“I’m getting married,” I whisper to the woman in the mirror, and her lips curve in a Mona Lisa smile. My hair and make up are done, and I’m in the most gorgeous dress I’ve ever worn. The frothy skirt is tailored to look good whether I stand or sit in a wheelchair. The beaded bodice hugs my curves.
&nb
sp; “Darling! You look fabulous,” Armand breezes in and air kisses me as if he’s been gone an age instead of a half hour. He personally oversaw my hair and makeup, keeping me smiling with his quips and antics. Then he gave me a moment of quiet, while he checked on everything else.
“Thanks,” I grin up at him. “I know an excellent hairdresser.”
“Don’t you just?” The way he fusses over my hair for another minute tells me he’s stalling.
“Armand, it’s already perfect.” I bat his hand away. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Well… there’s good news and bad news.”
“Of course there is.” I blow out a breath. The fact that this wedding is happening at all defies the gods. As soon as I think it, I shove the thought away and give Armand a little smile. “Bad news first.”
“It’s raining. Not hard. Just a light rain. We’re keeping the guests in the reception tent until it passes—which should be soon. And you know what they say!” Armand holds up a finger and recites. “A wet knot is not easily untied.”
I realize I’m fiddling with a bead on my dress’s bodice and fold my hands in my lap. “Do they really say that?”
“Oh yes, honey.” He raises his hand as if he’s being sworn in to testify.
“Okay,” I can’t help but smile at his sincerity. “And the good news?”
“The good news is we covered the area for the ceremony with a hanging garden, and it’s keeping that area mostly dry.”
My jaw drifts to the floor. “I’m sorry...did you say ‘hanging garden’?”
“Mmmhmmm. I wanted them over the dance floor, but we’d already done the floor. And a garden above and below is just overkill.”
“Overkill,” I repeat. “What do you mean? What did you do to the floor?”
“Oh, you will love it. It’s a see through platform—a glass case, actually—and inside is a bed of flowers—roses of course—and ferns. You’ll be dancing over a garden all night.”
“Oh, wow,” is all I can say.
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