Handle with Care

by Hunting, Helena

  “Knowing something seems like it would be better than knowing nothing.” Lincoln crosses through the living room and opens another closed door. This one leads to an office. It’s a gorgeous space with built-in bookshelves, floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of Manhattan’s skyline. Based on the setup and the top-of-the-line computer, this office was used regularly.

  “I didn’t come in here last time.” Lincoln walks the perimeter of the room until he reaches the desk. He drops down in the leather executive chair and runs his hands across the smooth wood surface.

  I have no idea what he’s thinking about, but I know where my mind has gone. This office says more about the relationship than any other room in this penthouse. It says that he spent time here, that this wasn’t just a place to sneak away for sex. There was an emotional connection, at least on some level, and it took him away from his family, dividing him between them.

  Lincoln opens drawer after drawer, riffling through the contents. He finds a set of keys taped in the back of one of the drawers, which unlocks the filing cabinet. He pulls out several folders, so I round the desk to stand beside him, uncertain what he needs from me. He flips through phone bills, heating bills, laundry and dry cleaning bills, and receipts for takeout, fetish websites, expensive lingerie, and dress stores.

  “He had an entire life I didn’t know about,” Lincoln says, voice low and rough.

  “Do you think your mother knew?”

  “I don’t know how she couldn’t.”

  “What about Penelope?”

  “If she knew, she would’ve told me. At least I think she would.” He spins in the chair and spreads his legs wide. Pulling me closer, he rests his forehead against my stomach and wraps his arms around me. There’s nothing sexual in his actions or mine. It’s comfort sought and given.

  “The only way to find out is to ask.”

  “I just want to understand why.”

  “I know.”

  He lifts his head, and my heart aches at the sadness in his eyes. At the what-ifs probably going through his head. How maybe things would’ve been different, how his life might’ve been different if this didn’t exist. It was exactly how I felt when I found the paperwork that told me the father I’d grown up believing was mine, wasn’t.

  I’d gone through all the what-ifs. It all came down to one single truth: I would never know anything different because this was the path my parents took, and there was no way to produce a different outcome than the one that already was.

  It didn’t stop me from wanting answers, though. So when Lincoln packs up the contents of the filing cabinet and spends most of the night poring through them, I’m right by his side.

  And when we fall into bed in the wee hours of the morning, exhausted and bleary-eyed, no closer to an answer than we were before, I don’t deny him the escape he seeks in me. Because it brings us closer together in ways he can’t understand yet. And because I’m what he needs.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, I’m dragging. I have enough caffeine in my system to fuel a plane, and I’m so jittery, I don’t think I could take a steady picture if my life depended on it. So when Gwendolyn calls me into her office for a chat, I immediately break into nervous sweats.

  “Have a seat.” She motions to the chair opposite her desk, face expressionless—which isn’t unusual, but today it’s putting me on edge.

  I feel like I’ve been pulled into the principal’s office and I’m about to get handed a month of detention.

  She steeples her fingers and tips her head while she inspects me for a few very long seconds. “I need your help with something important.”

  “Of course.” I clasp my hands in my lap and cross my fingers it doesn’t have to do with Armstrong. It’s been nice not dealing with him as often.

  “You and Lincoln are sleeping together, am I correct?” It’s less question and more statement, which is unnerving on so many levels. I thought we’d done an excellent job of remaining professional in the office and when people are watching us.

  “I … uh … I don’t think that’s—”

  She waves an impatient hand in the air. “I know my son, and how he’s behaving is atypical, which means one of two things, he’s either developed a problem with hard drugs or he’s getting laid regularly. Based on the way you’re blushing and sputtering, I’m going with option two.” She taps on the desk. “Now I may not like it, or approve, or think you’re a good choice for Lincoln, but I can’t control where he decides to unload his stress, and he could certainly do worse.”

  I’m about to say something I’ll definitely regret, but she raises a hand to stop me.

  “I’m being candid, Wren, something you should appreciate. Since you’re holding my son’s balls in your hand, I need your help with this situation.” She pushes a folder toward me. “Do you recognize this?”

  I flip it open and try to keep my eyes from flaring. My tone is intentionally placid. “Should I?”

  I think she may be narrowing her eyes at me, but I can’t be 100 percent on that. “I know Lincoln was at the penthouse in Lower Manhattan, and I know you were with him, so there’s no point in pretending.” She pauses for effect. It works. “He needs to stop looking into it.”

  I sit back in my chair, confused. “You know about the penthouse?”

  She makes an exasperated sound. “Of course I know. I’m not stupid, and my knowledge is irrelevant. What’s important is you persuading Lincoln it’s not worth looking into any more than he already has.”

  “But—”

  “This is not a but situation, Wren. This is the kind where you follow my direction and do as you’re told. Now, I understand your loyalty to Lincoln, especially considering what’s going on between you; however, you’d do well to remember that your contract is up in a few months. Actually, Lincoln adapted quite well, better than I anticipated, so you may very well be able to finish out your contract early.” She stares coldly at me, a sneer distorting her upper lip. “Not that it matters either way. Lincoln will likely go back to whatever impoverished country he feels would benefit from his altruism, and you’ll want to move on, which will be exceedingly difficult with a bad reference, won’t it?”

  This seems a lot like blackmail. “With all due respect, Gwendolyn, I can’t tell Lincoln what he can and can’t do.”

  A slow, creepy smile wavers on her lips. “Now, Wren, as a woman, I’m sure you know that’s untrue. There’s a lot you can do to distract Lincoln. So that’s what you’re going to do. Distract him however you can. Keep him from digging any deeper than he already has. The legacy of the Moorehead family is counting on you.”

  She leans back in her chair, wearing a calculated, malevolent expression. I see so much of Armstrong in her in that moment. “In a few months, you’ll walk away with quite a hefty amount of money, and as I promised, a glowing recommendation. I’ll honor my promise to you, but in exchange, I expect you to do this for me. Everyone has a dirty secret or two, don’t they, Wren?”

  A shiver fights its way down my spine at what sounds very much like a threat. I can’t imagine my mother confiding such personal, shameful information to her.

  Gwendolyn doesn’t give me a chance to respond, not that I know what to say to that since I’m beginning to think trusting her is a very bad idea. “It would serve you well to protect Fredrick’s secrets if you’d like me to protect yours.”

  “You can’t blackmail me with money and a recommendation, Gwendolyn. I don’t need either of those things from you—”

  She pushes up out of her chair and rounds the desk. “You’re not understanding me, Wren, if you think all that’s at stake here is your paycheck and a recommendation.” She leans in close, gripping my elbow to keep me from stepping away. “One little mistake can ruin an entire family, can’t it, Wren? How would that look on your father’s campaign if it came out that the ‘Family First’ politician has a daughter who’s a product of an affair and he’s kept it a secret for years? Such a pitiful scandal, isn�
�t it? Especially since he lost his real daughter before he even had a chance to love her.”

  My stomach drops as the threat settles around us. “But you can’t—”

  “Imagine how quickly the public will lose faith in your father if they find out his whore of a wife cheated on him while he was starting his career. You of all the media must know how quick people are to pounce on scandal. Your father’s career will end very quickly, and then what will you have other than your family’s shameful past smeared all over your father’s ‘Family First’ campaign? He is running for governor next election, isn’t he?”

  Panic sets in, and I try to find a way to get myself out of this without someone I care about getting hurt in the end. “You can’t do this to my family—”

  “Oh, but I can. And I will expose your family for the frauds they are if you don’t do what I ask. Don’t even think about telling Lincoln about this conversation, or I’ll drop an exposé on your father so fast your head will spin.” She steers me toward the door. “You know, I didn’t understand your fascination with neonatal charities at first, but it all makes sense now, doesn’t it? You’re the bastard survivor, and your poor little defective sister was the punishment for your mother’s infidelity. It’s amazing how the balance is set no matter what our choices are, isn’t it?” Her smile is far from sympathetic. “The truth doesn’t always set you free, Wren. Sometimes it becomes the noose around your neck. You’d be wise to remember that.”

  CHAPTER 19

  NOT MY BED, BUT I’M LYING IN IT

  WREN

  My stomach rolls and knots as I leave work that afternoon alone. I cut out while Lincoln is in the middle of a conference call, like a coward, and head straight for Dani’s. We’d already planned to hang out tonight, but normally I’d wait until Lincoln was finished with his call. We’d debrief, look at tomorrow’s schedule, and he’d persuade me to come to his place instead of going to mine when Dani and I are done talking about how great he is in bed.

  I need space and some time to think before I can talk to him. I don’t know how to get myself out of this situation without someone I care about getting hurt. I may have a great poker face, but Linc and I have been spending a lot of time together. Enough that he’s learned how to read my facial expressions and body language. I won’t be able to keep this from him, and while I certainly trust him with my family’s sordid secret, I don’t know that I’ll be able to lie about his mother threatening me by exposing my father and my family.

  I need perspective. The kind I can only get from Dani.

  She opens the door and her smile drops. “Uh-oh, what’s wrong?”

  “Pretty much everything.” I drop my purse on the floor and cross over to the fridge. I’m relieved to find she has something other than beer, even if it is one of those horrible sugary drinks I normally avoid because they give me the worst hangovers.

  I pop the top and chug half the bottle. It’s like drinking liquid sugar, but I don’t care, I need to take the edge off.

  Dani grabs the bottle from me. “That’s not alcohol, you loon, it’s black current syrup.” She holds it up so I can see the label.

  “Awesome, so I consumed enough sugar to send myself into a coma.” I can’t even get drunk properly.

  She turns me toward the living room and gives me a push. “Go sit. Let me get you a water and maybe a glass of wine.”

  “The whole bottle would be better.” I throw myself on her couch and run my hands down my face. I’ve probably smeared my eyebrows down to my chin, but whatever.

  Dani returns a minute later with a glass of water and a carafe of wine with a straw. I’m sure it’s meant as a joke, but I take the carafe and leave the water. Dani takes the cushion beside me. “Did something happen with Lincoln?”

  “No. Yes. Sort of. Not directly with him, but it involves him.”

  She motions for me to go on, but I hesitate, the damn NDA I signed taunting me. While I have some leeway with Dani since she’s a PI and I’ve used her on past occasions to help sort out some of Armstrong’s less-than-savory situations, this would be a direct breach. I figure I could do worse things than break an NDA, considering I’m now being blackmailed by the person who wrote it.

  So I explain the trip to the penthouse last night and how Gwendolyn pulled me into her office this afternoon. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “My mother must have told her about the affair. I mean, that’s the only logical way Gwendolyn could’ve found out, isn’t it?” My parents have been very careful to cover all the necessary tracks, not because my father is unwilling to admit I’m not his, at least not in the biological sense, but to protect me and my mother. “Why would she do that? Why tell someone something so private and shameful?”

  Dani blows out a breath. “Well, based on what you’ve told me about Gwendolyn, she seems to be pretty good at manipulating, so I can only assume that’s what she did to your mom. Maybe she was looking for leverage?”

  “Leverage for what, though?”

  “Think about it, Wren. You have all this sensitive information about her family, particularly Armstrong. Gwendolyn and Fredrick covered everything he did up by paying people off, which tells you a lot about who they are and how they conduct business. They need dirt on you, so you don’t expose the dirt you have on them. Gwendolyn was looking for a way to get something on you, so she could hold it over you if she needed to. And now she’s found something big enough to do a lot of damage to the people you love.”

  I tap my lips, anxiety making my stomach twist. Or maybe it’s the half bottle of syrup I drank. Until recently, I didn’t see Gwendolyn as a potential threat, but obviously she was prepared to treat me as one. “How am I going to convince Lincoln not to look any deeper? I’d want answers if I were him. I wanted to know when I was him.” I sip the wine, considering how bad my hangover will likely be if I drink this whole thing after that syrup. I’m not sure I actually care. “Maybe I need to break it off with him.”

  “How is that going to help anything?”

  I rub my temples, working it out in my head. “There’s no winning here, Dani. Not for me. If I don’t get Lincoln to stop looking into this, Gwendolyn is going to ruin my father’s career and potentially have me blacklisted from charity organizations in this city. If I tell Lincoln his mother is blackmailing me, she’s going to expose my father anyway. No matter what I do, someone I love is going to get hurt. How awful will it look for the senator who prides himself on ‘Family First’ to have raised his wife’s illegitimate child from an affair and have kept it a secret for years? I can see exactly how Gwendolyn would spin this so it would have the most devastating impact, Dani. It’ll be a nightmare. He’ll know something is wrong the second he sees me. There’s no good way out.”

  “And you think breaking it off with him is going to make it somehow better?”

  I stare up at the ceiling, spinning my wheels, trying to figure out how I can get through this with the least amount of damage possible. “I don’t know. There’s no answer I like, Dani. I don’t want to drag him into this. Gwendolyn will destroy my family either way, and she’ll turn Lincoln into a martyr. The public will eat it up, and Lincoln will be right in the middle of the mayhem. And all for what? Because he wants to look into a damn penthouse with a fetish room? It doesn’t make any sense. None of this does.”

  “Okay, let’s put feelings and emotions aside for a second, which I get is hard since you’re clearly in love with the guy—”

  I immediately go on the defensive. “I’m not—” I can’t finish the sentence because she’s right. Somewhere along the way, I fell for Lincoln, for his cynical attitude, for his unapologetic lack of fucks given when it comes to status, for his altruism and his generosity. I drop my head in my hands. “I’m so screwed right now.”

  “Let’s not panic, yet. We need to look at the facts and assess them with logic.”

  “Easy for you to say, your life isn’t a billion shades of messed up right now.”

  “I think the Moorehea
ds’ penchant for drama is rubbing off you.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Dani.”

  “I’m not trying to be funny. Just hear me out. Gwendolyn knew about the penthouse, and probably has for some time. So there are two possibilities we’re working with. Either she’s the one with the fetish, or she knew about the mistress. Regardless, she has something to hide. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be trying to stop Lincoln from looking for answers.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “You find out what she’s hiding and blackmail her right back.”

  “I can’t blackmail my boyfriend’s mother.”

  “I’m not sure you have another option, Wren. Not if you don’t want Gwendolyn to blow the lid off your family’s secret.”

  “I can’t let that happen.” I take an extra-big gulp from the carafe. “God, what if my mother didn’t say anything?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if Gwendolyn tapped my phone? What if she’s been listening in on all my calls? Maybe that’s how she knew about me and Lincoln. Oh my God! What if there are cameras in Griffin’s penthouse? What if they’re in mine? What if she’s seen what we do behind closed doors?” The thought alone is terrifying, and actually a whole lot gross.

  “Honestly, Wren, stop freaking out. All anyone has to do is look at the pictures of you and Lincoln together, and they can guess what’s going on. He looks at you like you’re the beginning and the end of his world. You would have to be legitimately blind not to notice how enamored he is with you.”