by P. Dangelico
Meanwhile, I felt only one thing: rock-bottom horrible.
“You’ve known since December that my old man had cancer?” As the dots began to connect, his anger started to overcome all the rest.
“Yes. He told me not to tell anyone and as his lawyer––”
“Don’t!” His face twisted in disgust. “Don’t say it, don’t fucking make excuses.”
His head tipped all the way back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His hands went to his hips and he sucked in a lungful of air, his chest rising and falling. For a moment, I worried he was going to hyperventilate.
When he finally faced me, it was with a look of undiluted hate. “Start from the beginning. He told you in December that he had cancer. What kind of cancer and why didn’t he seek immediate medical attention?”
I was shaking from head to toe at this point. Even my voice. There was no pretending I wasn’t petrified. He’d peeled away my armor, the callouses I’d developed over the years to guard against such things with his gentle persistence, and this is what remained––a mess.
“Melanoma. He said it was terminal. I begged him to fight it, to fly to MD Anderson, but he wouldn’t listen.”
With each word I spoke Scott’s scorn for me deepened, seeped under his skin and took root in his bones. I could see it on his face. In his posture. It was a worst-case scenario.
“And you didn’t feel the need, the responsibility, to share this news with anybody––like…maybe me!”
I flinched. “Your mother knew.” It was a Hail Mary, a pathetic attempt to deflect all the attention on me, but I would’ve tried anything to stem the flow of resentment coming from him.
He nodded, ominously, slowly. “December…when this entire fucked-up arrangement happened––”
I didn’t think I could feel any worse.
“When he decided to hand the entire company over to you. And you took it willingly, didn’t you? You kept his secret because that meant you got the promotion you wanted.”
“No. No, Scott.” Head shaking, I tried to interrupt. “That’s not how it––”
“Yeah,” he said, talking over me in an eerily calm voice. “It all makes perfect sense now. I’m flying back to New York alone.” He paused, ran a hand through his hair. “I want you out of this house by the time I return.”
He walked out, slammed the door shut with so much force it bounced back open.
A girl could dream. And sometimes those dreams turned into nightmares.
“Philanthropist, real estate magnate, naval officer, prankster…” The crowd overflowing the Central Presbyterian Church on Park Avenue chuckled along with the priest. “…Franklin Marshall Blackstone was many things, but the roles he most cherished were husband…”
There had to be five hundred people in the church and every one of those heads turned toward the first pew where Marjorie sat elegant as ever in a simple black suit, expression stoic, and her hands folded neatly on her lap, her son and daughter flanking her on both sides.
“…father, grandfather. Franklin Marshall Blackstone valued family above all else…”
The priest carried on while I stole glances at the back of Scott’s head and watched John comfort Devyn as she cried in his arms. A portrait of Frank looking majestic rested on an easel next to the shiny maple coffin covered in white flowers. The entire place was covered in white flowers come to think of it.
I loved the man smirking in the portrait more than anything, but I was also angry at him. Angry that he had a hand in destroying the relationship he’d basically forced me into. I wondered if he could hear me cursing him out as I sat amongst the people who were here to genuinely mourn him and the rest that had come to get their picture in the Times and the Post. That said a lot about Frank. Usually the people that read those two papers didn’t mix, but Frank mixed with everyone.
After Scott had left me standing, strike that, after he’d left me crumpled on the floor in tears, I’d texted Drake to come get the dogs. Then I packed all my belongings, every single item in that house, and dropped off the boxes at the FedEx in town.
I’d caught the next flight out without even dropping by Laurel’s place to say goodbye. I cried the entire two-leg trip. Caught an Uber. Cried the entire ride into town. When we hit traffic in the midtown tunnel, I was sure the driver was going to chuck me. I unlocked the front door to my apartment. Burst into tears. I was pretty sure I was all cried out. You never know, though.
Sensing eyes on him, Scott’s head turned a fraction. He scrutinized the mourners behind and to the right of him with cold calculating precision. He’d shaved and his hair was perfect again. He looked unfamiliar, like a stranger I’d once had a dream about.
Somehow, he found me in the crowd. Our eyes locked for a brief moment, and his expression turned downright arctic. I wasn’t sure which was worse his hot temper or his cold disdain.
“What the fuck’s with him? What’s with the serial-killer look he just gave me?” Miller whispered on my right.
It had taken me a good ten minutes of heavy breathing out on the sidewalk to gather the courage to walk up to them. Marjorie had given me a faint, sympathetic smile that gave me hope, but one eviscerating glance from Scott told me to find someplace else to sit. If I was ever considered family before, it was abundantly clear I was now persona non grata. Which was why I was sitting elsewhere, on the opposite side of the aisle from the family, next to Miller.
And earning speculative stares from everyone wondering why I wasn’t sitting with my husband.
“That was meant for me,” I whispered back. “I think he may have even blocked me.”
An elderly woman wearing a Chanel suit, a snow-white bob, and a look of superiority seated in the pew directly ahead of us shushed us.
Miller leaned into me. “Give him some time to cool off…he’ll get over it.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
I didn’t voice out loud my fear that when Scott finally did get around to speaking to me it would be to tell me he wanted a divorce.
I wanted to believe Miller, though. I was down, but I wasn’t out yet.
“What can I do?” Miller asked for the millionth time this week.
Picking my eyes up off the screen of my desktop computer, I stopped typing and aimed a flat stare at my one and only friend these days.
“Put a pillow over my face and smother me?”
Miller placed the hard copies of the contracts I’d asked for on my desk. “What about a few cocktails instead?”
The clock read 7:30 p.m. and I still hadn’t finished going through all the deals Frank had initiated before he’d passed away. My career was the only thing keeping me propped up, which was why I poured everything I had into it. I was fairly certain that, if I stopped moving, I would die of a broken heart. With one stone I’d lost the two men I loved most. With the exception of Mr. Smith.
“Can’t. I’ll be working late for the next few weeks until I’m officially named CEO.”
The will had apparently been read and the board made aware of Frank’s wishes. Because of this, the process was pretty cut and dry. The only complication was Scott who hadn’t returned to Wyoming as I’d expected. Instead, he was here, at Blackstone Holdings every single day holed up in Frank’s office going over Frank’s files. The atmosphere in the office was tense and everybody was feeling it.
“Give it a rest for an hour, at least.”
My eyes went right back to the ROI figures on a commercial property in the Cayman Islands.
“Can’t.”
He gave it a moment before speaking again. “Have you spoken to him?”
There was only one him.
“He won’t speak to me. I ran into him in the break room and he looked right through me…it’s like he blames me for Frank dying. He’s not thinking rationally.”
Miller nodded in understanding. “Let me tell you about the male ego, Syd––”
“Yes, yes, I know––delicate thing. You look at it the wrong way and i
t goes soft.”
Miller made a face. “Are we still talking about ego?”
“Mostly?” I answered, somewhat confused myself.
“My point is, you made him look bad. His ego took a direct shot and it needs time to heal. He’ll come around eventually.”
All I could do was keep hope alive.
Miller left shortly after, and half an hour later I powered off my computer, gathered my bag and my jacket, and headed for the elevators.
The entire floor was empty save for the cleaning staff. The fluorescent lights casting a singular shadow on the carpeted floor. At the elevators, the bell chimed and the doors directly in front of me slid open. The next thing I knew I found myself on my butt being trampled by two hairy beasts, their enthusiasm infectious. I laughed for the first time in weeks.
Whining and crying, Romeo nuzzled me with his wet nose, leaving damp streaks on my white silk blouse while Juliet’s tongue was all over my face.
A pair of Italian handmade lace-up boots came into view. My eyes followed the dark denim-clad legs up to a black leather motorcycle jacket and a dispassionate expression. He looked so handsome and unapproachable I wanted to cry.
“Off, c’mon,” he said to the dogs pulling on their collars.
Slowly and ungracefully, because I was wearing a pencil skirt with an uncompromising hem, I picked myself up off the ground and faced him, making it a point to hold his opaque, unblinking gaze. He made no move to help me, the jerk.
“I forgot my keys…” His voice faded to silence as he stared at me.
The dogs continued to nuzzle my hands and I bent to kiss them on the head. God, I missed them. Not as much as I missed the man I loved, though.
“How’s your mother?” I asked, forcing myself to stand tall in the face of his palpable resentment. I could literally feel it coming off of him in waves.
“Coping…we all are.”
I nodded, looked away for a beat. “Scott, I––”
“I was going to call you,” his gaze dipped down, “but, um, since you’re here––” Knowing he wanted to talk made my heart ache in relief. I was about to reach out and touch him when he spoke again. “I’m filing for divorce.”
My heart no longer ached because it ceased working altogether. I was on the verge of tears again. I could feel them coming up along with the bile in my throat.
Divorce. Divorce. Divorce. It went on and on in my head as a hollow echo.
“Can’t we just talk before you decide?” I begged. I had no pride left. This was it. Negotiating was my thing and I instinctually knew when the other party was ready to concede as well as I knew when they were getting ready to walk away from a deal. When they’d determined that the cost-to-benefit ratio had tipped in the wrong direction. Scott had the look of a man ready to cut his losses.
“What about? How you lied to me for months?” he calmly retorted. “You must’ve had a real good chuckle at my expense––”
“No,” I cut in. “No, I felt terrible––”
“––what I did to you pales in comparison. Were you waiting for the right moment to stick it to me? Was that the plan?”
“Your father insisted I not tell you!” I shouted, unable to control myself anymore. “I asked him over and over and he kept saying––soon. He said his doctors had given him twelve months. I’m sorry he’s not here to explain it himself. I’m sorry he did that to you, but I couldn’t betray his trust. Frank gave me everything, everything, Scott…I…I couldn’t do that to him.”
Heat infused his cheeks. Color high, eyes hard, he started to walk away, passing me by.
“Scott!”
“Get a lawyer,” he said turning, “and don’t get your hopes up. I’d rather burn it all to the ground than see you walk away with any of this.” Walking backwards, he raised his arms to indicate the office, the dogs jogging after him.
“I don’t want any of it…” I brushed away the tears running down my cheeks as I fought to keep my voice steady. This was my one and only chance, and I was going for broke. “I love you…all I want is you.”
He stopped short. His jaw pulsed, his eyes flashing with barely pent-up fury. “Really? You could’ve fooled me. Oh wait, you did––you did fool me.”
He turned then. Walked away. Never looked back.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sydney
I had nothing left. I was down and out, going through the motions of my life with no taste for it. All that remained was a shell of a person. For the first time ever, my work gave me no satisfaction, no pleasure. He’d taken that from me too.
Without invitation, my nemesis waltzed into my office the following day. He headed straight to the wall of windows that overlooked Fifth Avenue and took a seat in the armchair with his knees splayed apart like he owned the place. This was not new behavior for Hastings, and I bore it as I did every other time––with the patience of a saint who desperately wanted to roll her eyes but refrained.
“Something on your mind?” I said without taking my eyes off the spreadsheets on my computer screen. “I mean, besides being grossly disappointed that you weren’t named CEO.”
In the periphery of my vision, I watched his lips quiver. “From a lesser man, I would’ve taken that as an insult.”
That prodded a smile out of me. Chin tucked, my attention lazily moved over to him. Damon was handsome by anyone’s definition. He was black with light brown skin, sharp cheekbones, a strong chin, and piercing almond-shaped eyes that made you think twice about crossing him.
I just never warmed to him because he’d never warmed to me. Your basic case of one top dog recognizing the other. Frank fostered that kind of atmosphere, pitting employees against each other. He loved that shit. He was convinced it made everyone work better.
“I’ve never liked you, Evans,” he casually admitted, his New York accent barely discernible.
I snorted, on the verge of outright chuckling. “I’m glad we got that cleared up.”
Glancing at his gold Rolex, he sighed. With his thick muscles and brute swagger, he wasn’t at all the company type. He was, however, an excellent lawyer. One of the best. The story was that Hastings, on behalf of his client, outmaneuvered Frank on a Fifth Avenue townhouse he was purchasing for himself. Upon realizing he’d been had, Frank hired him on the spot. Which was why I knew this visit was not without purpose. Damon was a master strategist.
“Say what you came to say or get out. Some of us have a company to run.”
“Always playing teacher’s pet…” he mused out loud. “For years, I thought you were fucking Frank––”
Now that got my full attention. My head snapped up at his sheer freaking audacity. I’d heard the rumors too and figured time would eventually put them to bed (figuratively speaking) when everyone finally realized there was nothing to them. But no one had the balls to say it to my face. No one but Damon.
“Are you trying to get me to fire you?”
“––until I realized how good you are at your job…Remember the building in Dubai, back in 2011?”
I nodded, recalling the details. “They changed the zoning laws the last day of escrow.”
“No one else caught it. There were five of us working that deal and you were the only one to check before the funds were wired.”
“As much as I appreciate this stroll down memory lane––is there a point you’re trying to make?”
“I’ve never liked you, Evans, but I’ve always thought you deserved to be general counsel. You earned the job.”
I was too wrapped up in ascertaining where he was going with the conversation to correct his use of my maiden name for the second time.
“Am I happy Frank left you in charge? Nah––I’m far from thrilled.” Shaking his head, he leveled a flat stare on me. “But you’re a fuck load better than Scott and ten times more qualified.”
Standing, he adjusted the cuffs of his custom-made shirt. “Watch your six. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I know you’re bare
ly speaking and I have a feeling Scott’s working to have you removed as acting CEO.”
The news slammed into me. Damon was a strategist, but he wasn’t shady, or full of it. He wouldn’t be telling me this if it wasn’t more than a hunch. Scott, on the other hand…I wasn’t certain what Scott was capable of anymore, what lengths he’d go to punish me. I wasn’t sure I could trust my own husband anymore.
“What…makes you say that?”
“Solid intel from a reliable source.”
Which, for Damon, meant he was sleeping with the source.
I kept my composure, measured my breathing. Always in control. I thought I’d retired that crutch for good, that I’d gotten beyond it, and yet it came roaring back with a vengeance under the slightest provocation. Which was a real bummer.
“I don’t have time for drama, Hastings. Either explain or drop it.”
He gave me a cryptic look. “Don’t let him muscle you out.”
I desperately wanted to doubt him, and yet I knew there was a very good chance he was right. That after everything Scott and I had shared, we were right back where we started––as adversaries.
Hastings walked out in a lazy stride, hands tucked in the pockets of his suit pants like he was going for a leisurely stroll.
“Damon…”
Glancing over his shoulder, he gave me a questioning look. An understanding passed between us. Then he nodded and left.
Frank always did have an eye for talent.
The following day I barely had time to step into my office when Michelle, my secretary, greeted me with the news that Scott wanted to see me in the conference room for a meeting. This was met with a mixed bag of feelings.
First and foremost, resentment for being summoned. I wasn’t his employee or at his beck and call, but I wasn’t going to allow him to bait me into a reaction. We’d already played this game once before. He could do his worst. Eventually he’d either tire of the antics or his anger would cool––whichever came first was fine with me. Then we could have a rational discussion about what had happened and he’d see that I had no choice. That I couldn’t betray Frank’s trust. That it hadn’t been my call to make.