The Billionaire's Gamble

Chapter 20

“Are you really gonna tell him?”

Mickey’s voice is hushed, whispered over the divide between our two desks as if even on the other side of the office Nick might still be able to hear her.

“I have to,” I whisper back. I’m not taking any chances either.

“Do you?”

“It’s the professional thing to do.”

Mickey makes a face that suggests no amount of professionalism is worth sticking my head directly into the lion’s mouth merely a week after I deliberately stepped on his tail. But by now she knows better than to argue with me once I’ve made up my mind about something. It’s a quality I share with Nick.

Another reason we never would have worked.

Exactly seven days ago I left Nick alone in his ruined apartment, tears streaming down my cheeks before I even made it to the elevator. One long, miserable week where I wanted to just lie in bed and eat a pound of chocolate an hour and watch the great classics of romantic cinema — She’s All That, While You Were Sleeping, 10 Things I Hate About You. Unfortunately I have a job to do, one that I’d gotten to play hooky from for far too long in Europe.

One that reminds me of Nick at every turn.

How could it not? I’m essentially sitting in his front room. Everywhere I look I see his face; the moment I enter the lobby I can smell him on the air.

Of course, I actually haven’t gotten to see the man himself since that fateful day.

I don’t know if I’m annoyed or grateful that Nick hasn’t come to work since we broke up. After all, I have to, and it’s only fair that he should have to suck it up and come in miserable as well. But then I guess that’s the beauty of being the boss.

What I hadn’t expected was for his absence to send a shock wave through the office. Rumors had swirled all week, and his sudden appearance today has only stirred them up again.

Was he in legal trouble? Depressed over the Seafarer? Sick with a terminal illness? None of these were deemed important enough, as apparently Nick had never once missed a day of work in the history of the company. Business trips were one thing, even our trip with Kara which severely stretched the definition of the term. But for him to be in the city and not come in? Unthinkable.

He’d arrived at the office early this morning, before anyone else had come in. Nobody’s seen or heard from him; the only sign of his presence is that the glass wall separating his office from ours is tinted. He must be behind it somewhere. Nobody else would have dared go in there.

The office is on edge and not a lot of work is being done. A horrible comment, drifting over from the water cooler: “What if he’s dead in there?” The response? “If he is, he’s gonna be bones before anyone works up the nerve to knock.”

Little did they know that one person here does have the nerve. Though she is still trying to fully work it up.

Yes, I have some business with Nick. Business that I want to get over with as soon as possible. Something that doesn’t feel right saying in an email.

I’m leaving New York at the end of the week. Dan is sending someone new to replace me. Mickey will stay. And even though it tears my heart apart, I need to go and tell Nick in person.

I owe him that much.

My resignation shouldn’t come as a surprise. I knew it was inevitable even as I was traveling down in Nick’s elevator. How could we keep working together? When I know how he feels about me? When I know how he feels inside me?

When I’ve seen just how cruel he can be.

Because as awful as this week as been, I have no regrets about taking a stand in his apartment. What Nick had said to his brother had been absolutely horrible. I’d held my tongue in the past when Brent and Cheryl and others in my life had lambasted or degraded others. But no longer. I won’t put up with that kind of behavior from the people I love.

If Nick would have apologized instead of trying to excuse it, I might have stayed. But he’s a stubborn man, and it’s both the reason he’s found so much success and the reason he’s so alone. This is the man who proudly said apologies are weakness. He can’t admit when he’s wrong, and that’s just not the recipe for a sustainable future.

Like it or not, one horrible fight exposed significant cracks in our relationship. And it spelled the end for us.

Now there’s just one last step I need to take. I need to stand up, walk through those glass doors, down that long aisle like I’d done so many weeks ago, and tell Nick Madison that we won’t be seeing each other again. I told Mickey it was professional, but I doubt she was fooled. We both know this is deeply personal. I’m not quitting on a boss; I’m saying goodbye to a lover. And for all his flaws, or maybe because of them, I did fall in love with him.

But even the most promising paths in life can lead to nowhere. Dreams are meant to be woken from.

“Okay,” I say, more to myself than to Mickey. I rise and walk with determination toward the great glass doors. I can feel every eye in the office on me.

I stop in front of Alyssa, Nick’s secretary. When I speak I’m surprised by how blasé I sound.

“Is Mr. Madison in?”

Alyssa stares at me like, No shit, bitch. What do you think everyone’s been talking about all day? But she’s professional enough not to say it aloud.

“He’s busy,” she says.

“I’d like to speak to him.”

“I don’t?—”

“Let him know I’m here.” I nod at the intercom.

Alyssa looks at the button like she’d rather go to her own mother’s funeral. Then she looks at me, again asking with her eyes, Are you really going to make me do this?

I raise my eyebrows.

Alyssa inhales, holds it, presses the button, and says, “Evie Davis to see you, Mr. Madison.”

The office is so quiet you could hear a gnat cough.

I hadn’t considered that he might just ignore her. But then, finally, he says, “I’m busy.” He sounds muffled, like he’s speaking from underwater.

“It’s important,” I tell Alyssa.

She hesitates but then presses the button and says, “She says it’s urgent.”

“And I said I’m busy,” Nick snaps.

Alyssa looks up at me and shrugs.

A spark of irritation fires through me. He’s not busy, obviously, and I already worked up the courage to go talk to him. I’m honestly not sure I can again.

A crazy impulse takes ahold of me. Alyssa sees the determination on my face, and her eyes widen. She starts to stand, a warning rising in her throat. But it’s too late.

I stride with purpose toward those huge glass doors, fling one open, and step inside Nick’s office.

It shuts with a bang behind me, instantly cutting me off from help. I’ve stepped into the lion’s den. And he has no reason to show me mercy.

Somehow I manage to walk with purpose. I stride down the center aisle, and just like the first time I walked down this long, long carpet, I get more and more irritated with every step. All I want to do is quit and get it over with! I just want to move on, goddammit!

Nick is sitting the same way he was when I’d met him in this office the first time. Facing away, looking out the window across the Hudson. Now I know him well enough to know exactly what he’s looking at.

I stand in front of the desk and tap my heeled foot.

“I said I was busy,” Nick says again. The sound of his voice stabs a needle into my heart, but I power through.

“And I said it was urgent.”

“I doubt that,” Nick replies. His tone is icy, cold as steel and just as unbending.

I swallow.

When I don’t answer right away, Nick asks, “So what is it? A new perception poll? Kara’s ass on a Facebook ad?”

“I’m leaving.”

Nick stiffens. He turns around. The man usually in control of all of his emotions stares at me with his heart spray-painted across his face. Our eyes lock, an entire conversation passing between them.

And then Nick sits back, pulls control across his features. “What the hell are you talking about?” he snaps. “You can’t leave. I hired you for a job.”

“You hired my company,” I say. “And they can pull me back to Boston whenever they want.”

“Not unless I threaten to fire them,” Nick shoots back.

I’m about to throw a barbed word back at him but then I stop, take him in. He’s trying to hold himself together but for the first time in all the time I’ve known him, Nick looks like shit. His hair is tousled and sticking up in places. His suit looks like he spent the night in it. Dark shadows beneath his eyes make them look thick as mud.

He’s taking this breakup much harder than I thought he would.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He scowls, turns halfway but then stops, as though he was going to hide his face and then thought better of it.

“I’m fine,” he mutters.

I chew my bottom lip and then shake my head. How Nick processes our breakup isn’t my problem. That’s for him and the therapist he hopefully gets.

“Look, you can’t hold me hostage here out of spite,” I say. “I’m perfectly in my right to leave.”

“No, you’re not,” Nick says. “And it wouldn’t be spite. This campaign is yours. Your design, your conception. How am I supposed to trust some random person to pull it off? It’s too much information in not enough time.”

This, of course, had already been discussed at my weekly meeting with Dan. “I’ve gone over the details with my boss,” I say. “He’s certain another associate can pick up the reins. Plus Mickey will be here to help them get acclimated.” I won’t bother warning my poor replacement that there’s going to be no getting used to his new prickly, demanding boss.

Nick stands suddenly, like he couldn’t stay seated if he tried. He paces behind his desk, hands clasped behind him, occasionally shooting glares my way. Then he stops, shakes his head. “No,” he says finally. “It has to be you.”

I sigh heavily. “Look—” I almost say his name, pivot to ‘Mr. Madison’, and finally abandon addressing him altogether. “Look,” I start again. “Things didn’t work out. I’m upset about it too. But that’s life. I just think it’ll be a good thing for us to have some space.”

Nick scoffs. “That’s why you’re quitting?” he demands.

“I hardly think ‘quit’ is?—”

“You’re leaving a job half finished. That’s quitting. It’s irresponsible and I thought better of you.”

We glare at each other. The nerve of this guy… I should bite my tongue, but he started it.

“At least I’ve been coming to work,” I shoot back. “You know this place shuts down if you’re not here to make any decisions, right? So you’re the last person to lecture me about responsibility.”

Nick’s face twists suddenly in anger and then the very last thing I expect happens: Nick slumps. He collapses into his chair. He looks utterly spent, miserable.

“You’re right,” he says softly.

I am?

“I am?”

“I don’t know shit about responsibility,” he says.

I’m at a loss for words, not a clue what to say or what caused this abrupt shift.

But then Nick clears it all up. “Jack is missing,” he says. He doesn’t meet my eyes.

I inhale sharply. “For how long?” I ask stupidly.

Now he looks up at me. “You know how long,” he says.

I do.

And now I can see why the past week has taken such a toll on him. It’s not about me, or at least not entirely. It’s about Jack.

“Have you talked to the police?” I ask.

Nick scoffs, shakes his head. “Are you kidding? Jack’s eighteen. A legal adult who stormed out after a fight? They wouldn’t waste time tracking him down.”

“How about a PI?”

“I’ve tried but I didn’t have shit to give him. Where does he hang out? Who are his friends? Where would he go? I couldn’t answer a single question.” Nick looks at me searchingly. “How did I fuck this up so badly?” he asks.

“You just had a fight,” I say. Having to comfort Nick was the absolute last thing I expected to happen in this meeting but even though we’re not together anymore, I still care about him. My heart still breaks at the raw pain on his face.

“No, it’s more than that,” he says. “We’ve had too many fights. I was so wrapped up in work, and then I met you just when he came back into town. I didn’t make any time for him. Couldn’t even suck it up and go visit our father when he asked me to. And now…” He trails off, clearing his throat and shaking his head.

“But he’s fine,” I say. “You know that, right?”

“I don’t know what I know.”

I hesitate and then walk around Nick’s desk. It’s an invasion, crossing one more thick wall he keeps between himself and the world. Nick stiffens when he sees what I’m about to do, but he doesn’t stop me. I lean against it, looking down at him.

“Nick,” I say softly. “He’s just upset. He’s staying with friends. He’s not homeless. He’s not in any danger.”

He looks up at me, his eyes flashing. “You don’t know that!” he insists. “Those people he hangs around… They’re bad news. What if he’s… I don’t know… Trying heroin?”

“I doubt he’s trying heroin,” I say.

Nick rubs his eyes, head bowed. “He’s upset and alone and self-destructive enough as it is,” he says. “I wouldn’t put anything past him. God, I’m a terrible brother.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” he says. “And don’t try to make me feel better about it. I’m a terrible brother. And I’d be a terrible father. A terrible partner.”

I watch him for a long moment. I’ve never seen Nick act like this before. It’s like the foundations of his walls have been nuked and now it’s all falling to the ground. All the emotion he’s never allowed himself is spilling through the cracks. How the hell do I shake him out of this?

The answer comes to me, and it’s a risky one. But it’s better than nothing.

I cross my arms. “I never thought I’d see the day that Nick Madison threw himself a pity party.”

His head jerks up, disbelief shocking the pain off his face. Then he scowls. “I’m not throwing a pity party.”

“I don’t know what else you’d call this,” I say with a shrug. “But it’s pretty pitiable. Bad brother. Bad partner. Would be a bad father. Why don’t you just add in there you suck at your job? You’ve missed enough work recently for that to qualify.”

I hold my breath as he stares up at me, incredulous at my insolence. A weaker man would fold under my words, fall deeper down the well of misery. But Nick?

He stands. “That’s enough,” he growls. “You think just because we’ve fucked I won’t have security throw you right out of this office?”

“Hey I’m just repeating what you said,” I say, raising my hands.

Nick works his jaw, puts his hands on his hips. “I’m not bad at my job,” he mutters.

“Okay fine, but boy, as a partner? The worst. I’m absolutely not devastated at all that we didn’t work out.”

His eyes flash to mine and I lift the corner of my mouth in the smallest of smiles. He fights to suppress one of his own, shaking his head.

“I’ve never let anyone talk to me the way I let you,” he says.

“And I’ve never had to boot my own boss off his ass,” I say. “Look, sitting around here moping isn’t going to do shit. You want to apologize and be better? You need to get out there and find him.”

“I’ve been trying,” he says. “I’ve done everything.”

I bite my lip, nervous to imply it. But I’ve come this far. I power through. “There isn’t one person you know who he might have told?”

“I don’t know any of his friends,” Nick says.

“I’m not talking about his friends,” I say.

He stares at me, head cocked. Then his features freeze when he realizes who I’m talking about.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Jack might have told him,” I say.

Nick turns away from me and walks to the window, pressing his forehead against it and looking down to the street below. I wait, giving him the time he needs.

Finally he says, not moving from the window, “Will you come with me?”

I pause. On one hand, it’s about as far from professional as you can get. But ultimately it wouldn’t change anything, right? I’m still leaving, and it’s the least I can do. I want to part on good terms. I do still care deeply about him.

I nod. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d be happy to,” I add.

Nick laughs ruefully. “You’ll regret saying that,” he says. “Dad hates women.”

There have beenfew times in my life that I’ve been more nervous than I am sitting next to Nick in the prison visiting area, waiting for his father to come out.

The process of entering the prison alone was enough to set my teeth on edge. We’d been searched, gone through metal detectors, gotten sniffed by dogs. One woman was turned away for wearing a shirt that was deemed “too revealing”. All our belongings had to be stored in lockers lest we try to smuggle in contraband.

The entire time Nick’s jaw had been stiff, his eyes far away. He was barely there.

Nick had given me very little warning of what to expect with his dad other than “not much”. Also “don’t take anything he says personally”. What exactly he’s going to say remains a mystery. I’ve worn my hair conservatively, dressed professionally, worn a minimal amount of makeup. But then misogynists tend to not need much to get them going.

Funnily enough, I have the same amount of nerves meeting Nick’s father that I had meeting Brent’s parents. On that memorable visit we’d gone to an expensive restaurant on the Boston Harbor, and I’d been grilled about my future plans and intentions for two incredibly uncomfortable hours. I’d caught Brent’s father looking at my tits twice.

So Nick’s dad doesn’t have a lot to live up to there.

Of course, you’re not here as his girlfriend,I remind myself for the billionth time. I’m his work friend now, at best. Just here for some friendly support after a completely amicable split.

Is it possible to be friends when you know what each other tastes like? A question for Cosmo.

“Visitors for Remnick Madison?” a guard calls through the room.

Nick raises his hand.

Nick and his father share a name? And it’s Remnick? I have no time to further contemplate this new fact when Remnick Madison, Senior, is led out to take a seat in the metal chair across from us.

The family resemblance is uncanny, like if in an alternate reality Nick had a pack-a-day smoking habit, drank a pint every night, and let his dark hair grow out to hang loose and graying around his shoulders.

Remnick has the same dark eyes that Nick and Jack share. They squint, hard as steel, at Nick and then linger on me. The gaze is not friendly at all, but at least he doesn’t look at my tits.

“Son,” he says. “And guest,” he adds pointedly.

“Dad, this is Evie Davis. A work friend. Evie, my father, Remy”

I shake his hand. It’s freezing cold, like one belonging to a corpse fresh from a refrigerator.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say.

Remy just grunts. “She’s pretty,” he says to Nick.

Nick glares at his father with completely undisguised dislike. “I didn’t ask for your opinion,” he says.

“He never does,” Remy says to me.

“Because you always offer it anyway.”

“No, he’d rather listen to just about anyone else,” Remy continues, as if he hadn’t heard Nick speak at all. “I’ll bet he bends over backward to hear what you have to say.” The way he says it does not imply a compliment to any superior reasoning I might possess.

“We’re not here for a visit,” Nick says abruptly.

“Oh I know you’re not,” Remy says. “You want something, huh?” He uses his thumbnail to pry grime from beneath his pointer finger.

“I want to know where Jack is.”

Remy’s attention whips to Nick. At first I think he’s concerned; then he laughs. It’s gleeful and hacking, overflowing with spite.

“Lost him, huh? Well, well. Turns out it’s not so easy, now is it?”

Nick doesn’t rise to the bait. “I just want to know if he told you were he’s been staying recently,” Nick says. His calm is amazing, complete.

Remy ignores Nick and says to me, “I’m sure you’ve heard nothing but whining from this one about me,” he says. “Good of you to come and hear the other side of the story.” Thankfully, he doesn’t give me a chance to respond. “Nothing but notes about the way he was raised. But he doesn’t seem to have turned out too badly. Did you, boy?”

Nick says nothing.

“Of course, that’s as much a surprise to me as anyone.” Remy sits back in his chair, smiling now, toying with Nick and pleased to do it. “Why? Well, in much the same way I’m surprised to see you here,” he adds, nodding at me.

“Dad,” Nick says. A warning, one Remy ignores.

“See when he was a kid he was always buried in a book. Never out playing with the other kids. Not a lot of interest in sports. So it’s good to see at least he hasn’t turned out… funny.”

“Dad,” Nick says again sharply.

“Or at least not all the way anyway.”

Nick’s admirable calm has disappeared. His hands are clenched, knuckles white. If it weren’t for the guards, I’d worry he might dive across the table and throttle the old man with his bare hands.

I put my hand on his leg beneath the table. His thigh is tight and straining, but at my touch it relaxes. His fists unclench.

Remy frowns, his eyes somehow getting squintier and harder. It’s clear he loves getting a reaction out of his oldest son, and he’s not having the easiest time of it.

“No, you’re lucky you had a dad like me. All I ever gave you was a kick in the ass or two. Another man would have beat that shit out of you. And then you might be one cell over.” He pauses, considers. “Of course, there’s still plenty of time for that.”

I squeeze Nick’s leg, gently, willing my support to flow through my hand and into his body. Letting him know that I’m here. I have his back.

Nick inhales slowly and exhales at the same speed. Then he asks, without a quiver in his tone, “Are you going to tell me where Jack is or not?”

“There’s time for that,” Remy says, unconcerned. “Now stop interrupting me. I’m sure the young lady wants to hear about how you became the man you are.”

“We’re not playing your games,” Nick says. “Tell me. Now. Or we’re leaving.”

“If you won’t indulge a lonely old man for an hour, it doesn’t sound like you really care about finding Jackie after all,” Remy says.

Nick shakes his head. “No, you don’t know anything,” he says. “You were surprised when you heard what I wanted. Besides, Jack doesn’t even come to see you.”

“He came a couple weeks ago,” Remy counters. “And you can check the visitor log if you don’t believe me. Came right in crying all about you. About how much he misses me. Misses the bar. Misses his friends. About what a hardass you are. Wouldn’t even come visit with him. No, Big Boy Nicky had to suddenly go off to Europe.” He snorts. “Sure you were just crying tears of sorrow about that.

“And besides, he calls me. See, when you take the time to listen to a kid, then they can tell you actually care about them.”

To me, again, “Here, girl. I’ll give you a warning now. Nicky never did quite know how to love someone. Everything had a dollar sign with him, even as a kid, even when he didn’t have shit. And then once he did have money, you think any of it came back to his poor old dad? Not a damn penny. And maybe I wouldn’t be in here if it did. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to hustle my whole damn life.”

“You stole your whole damn life,” Nick shoots back. “That’s why you’re in here. Not because of anything I had to do with it. Or could have done. I could have given you a billion dollars and you’d still be asking for a dollar more.”

The glee disappears from Remy’s face. He sits up, sneering. Nick has apparently hit a sore spot. “I wouldn’t have taken a single dollar of your money,” he spits. “I might have stole but I’m a criminal with some morals. I only stole from the government. You businessmen steal from the common people. You’re worse than scum and the only reason you’re not in here is because you can pay the right people off.”

“You never had a problem paying people off,” Nick says. “And I pay my taxes. I run everything above board. I always have because there is no chance in hell I’m running the risk of ending up anything like you, you old pathetic excuse for a man.”

Remy leans forward, and for a terrible moment I think father and son are about to dive across the table and beat the crap out of each other despite the guards.

But then the old man sits back and laughs. “Ah, I’m sure you think that, boy. But I’ve known you my whole life and I know better. Everything you touch turns to shit. And it’s only a matter of time before this business of yours does too.”

To me, he adds, “And I’d keep that in mind for the rest of the time you’re fucking him. Ain’t no use in getting too attached. He’ll only mess it up.”

We sitside by side in the back of the car, not speaking.

I’d only spoken once the entire time in the prison. I felt like I had been watching a particularly disturbing episode of a reality television show. One where the central characters moved in startlingly high definition and kept trying to drag me into the mud-slinging.

Nick had warned me. Inside I had known. Or at least I thought I had. But how could I really? I’d been raised behind a white picket fence, and it had shielded me from an ugly reality many people face: that there is no law that says you need to love your children.

In the face of this titanic dysfunction, I can’t help but wonder how the hell Nick had ended up so normal.

I keep glancing sideways at him, but every time I do, he’s looking away. As we’d left the prison he had been focused on getting outside as if he were afraid that someone might stop him. Now he stares out the darkened window of his private car. His large hands lie boneless on his lap.

It’s devastating to see him look like this. The powerful, commanding presence that I fell in love with has been sucked out of him.

I can picture what he must have looked like as a child. Being called names, mocked for his reading, his desire to grow up to be anything other than the man he had to live with.

I search for something to say to break the ice. Pity would only be treated with contempt.

So instead, after it’s been a long twenty minutes of driving, I say, “Nick?”

He turns slightly at his name but doesn’t meet my eye.

“Hey,” I say and those deep and beautiful brown eyes meet mine. They’re so similar and yet so completely different from the callous, cruel flints glaring from his father’s skull.

“Yeah?” he asks. He sounds tired more than anything.

I put one hand on his and say, as serious as I can, “It’s okay if you’re gay.”

We stare at each other for a beat.

Then I can’t hold back my laughter, and it only takes my spreading grin for mirth to rip across his features as well. We laugh together, for a long time, way longer than the joke warranted, almost hysterically, one of us only needing to look at the other for the peals to break out again.

Sometimes all you can do is laugh.

Finally we compose ourselves. Nick wipes sweat from his forehead. I dab tears from my eyes.

“My god,” he says, “I never heard the end of that one growing up. He couldn’t comprehend that a straight guy might not give a shit about football or strippers. I almost wish I had been gay, just to piss him off.”

“If you had,” I say, “the women of the world would have been denied a lot.”

“But the men of the world would be thrilled,” he reminds me with a cocky grin.

“Men have enough,” I say. “I’m glad we get you.”

His smile fades until it’s just held in his eyes. The moment has shifted, turned a corner into something else. He’s looking at me like he never wants to tear his eyes away, and I know instantly that I feel the exact same way.

If we never see each other again, this is the Nick I want to remember. Paris had been a fantasy. Our fight had been a nightmare. But now? This? This is real life. Messy and chaotic and cruel and hilarious. And at the center of that storm there’s Nick, bowed but not broken. Proud and strong and pulsing with life and looking at me like he never should have let me go.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“I was happy to,” I reply.

“Are you still going to go back to Boston?”

The frankness of the question combined with the sincerity in his eyes throws me. What happened to friends? Had I really believed that would work?

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Don’t,” he says. Then, “I want you to stay.”

I just gaze back at him, torn.

Nick leans toward me and I don’t pull away. He kisses me haltingly. Like he’s shocked by my taste, by the fact that we’re not over, that it’s not finished just yet. That maybe it’s only yet to begin.

As for me, all I can feel is relief.

Then Nick pulls away from the kiss. He rests his forehead against mine, those kind brown eyes staring straight into mine, seeing every part of me.

“This is a bad idea,” he says.

My relief cringes, but then he clarifies: “I need to apologize to Jack first. I need to make things right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I say. “I understand completely.”

“Will you help me look for him?”

“Of course. We’ll find him.” And I’ll be right by your side until we do.

Nick smiles softly, and then leans in, presses his lips to my cheek. “Thank you,” he says, sitting back. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that if you weren’t there.”

“Yes, you would have,” I say simply. “You understand responsibility.”