Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
Zane
M el goes over the plan...again. I grit my teeth, but this is her way of feeling better about what’s going to happen. My engagement party is invitation only, and Mel and Stella can’t be there.
I asked Ash to invite King’s Crossing’s mayor, Vance Huxley, and he accepted. I can picture the fat man’s jowls quivering with excitement. Ash’s invitations are worth more than their weight in gold. Inclusion into his circle is priceless.
I want Huxley to see Nathalie on my arm, but we have something else in store for him as well.
Mel’s afraid Nathalie’s going to crack under the pressure, but she’s been in the business for a long time. I have to trust she has the guts to pull this off. Reluctantly, Mel lets me go, biting her lip. It won’t matter how many times we go over it if Nathalie can’t handle it like she fears.
During the past few weeks, I’ve started driving myself places. I like the freedom, the power of the steering wheel under my palms. September in Minnesota is just as warm as August, and despite the air conditioner set to its highest setting, sweat soaks my shirt.
I listened to a million of Mel’s last-minute tips and kissed Stella’s frosty lips goodbye. While Mel prepped me, Nathalie’s spending the afternoon at the spa getting ready for tonight. She hasn’t been happy these past couple of weeks, but I don’t know what will appease her besides promises of a life I can’t, and don’t want, to give her. You’d think she’d be happy she doesn’t have to earn a paycheck on her back anymore, but she doesn’t act like I’m doing her a favor. She certainly doesn’t act like I saved her from a bleak future under Ash’s thumb. Stupid woman.
I won’t need nearly as long to dress for the party, and the rest of the day looms empty in front of me. I can’t spend all my time at the hotel, but if I’m not there, I feel skittish and uneasy. Douglas asked if I needed him tonight, but I told him he could have the evening off. We’ve all been under a lot of pressure, and he needs to relax and unwind, though he’ll probably do that at the Crowne, where I’d rather be. Thank God he forgave me for letting him think Stella was dead.
Zarah and Max continue to spend time together, and though she’s still on a lot of medication, she’s surrounded by people who care about her and she’s blossoming. Conversation. Affection. Laughter. Healthy meals and hours lying by the pool or reading in the sunroom. Dr. Reagan visited her and they talked in the lobby, the manager and Max keeping protective watch, much to the doctor’s quiet and appreciative amusement. Her progress in such a short amount of time pleased him immensely. Afterward, he took me aside and shared he was secretly investigating Quiet Meadows. He also told me something I didn’t know, but it didn’t surprise me considering all that’s already come to light. Ash handpicked the psychiatrist who treated Zarah—a psychiatrist the Board of Psychiatry has investigated. That disturbed him, and Dr. Reagan is researching the legalities of what the doctors and nurses are doing at the sanatorium.
I’m sick with shame. I let that happen. Didn’t suspect it. Didn’t see it. Didn’t stop it.
I do a little work in my office and sip on a glass of scotch to loosen up. Denton and I still haven’t spoken, but that’s not all my fault. He avoids me like I could give him the plague, even if I were standing a mile away. I’d entertained the idea of asking him to come back to Maddox Industries, but I doubt he would accept my offer.
It’s expecting a lot to ask so many people to put the past five years behind them.
The end of the day comes and goes, and the twenty-fifth floor takes on that abandoned feeling when everyone is gone. Peggy pokes her head into my office and wishes me a good night, just like she always does. She’s not put off by my surly attitude, and I appreciate it. I nod and tell her to do the same, and she scurries off, eager to begin her weekend. It’s not like watching Stella walk away, but I have more focus now.
I can’t believe I was that dumb and had sex with her without protection.
I’m not sure what I’ll do if she’s carrying my child and she chooses not to stay. I could sue her for custody and win, but what would be the point in that? She’d be a better parent than I would be. I’d have to let her go and give her everything she and the baby needed. Then I’d live my life hoping one day she’d come back. It’d be a lonely existence, but nothing different than how I lived when Ash stole her from me.
I don’t want to stay on the executive floor alone, and I go up to the penthouse.
Nathalie’s upstairs, and Adele is blaring. It strikes me that I don’t know what kind of music Stella likes or where she would want to go on vacation. Or whether she wants the baby that might be growing inside her.
I need to stop fucking up. I can’t stop thinking about myself, and I’m still hurting the people I love.
Though she doesn’t need it, Nat’s primping in the bathroom. The spa did her hair, makeup, and nails, and lotion shimmers on her skin. I know the kind she’s wearing. My mother liked wearing it in the summer—she said it showed off her tan. It shows off Nathalie’s, too. For the past two weeks all she’s done is lie by the rooftop pool. Her skin is a gorgeous bronze, and every time I look at her, I can see why Clayton chose her and why she’s Vance Huxley’s favorite, but she’s fake under the beauty and charm. I hadn’t noticed because I hadn’t cared.
“You look lovely,” I say, and sincerity rings in my voice because it’s true. I wonder how much money Ash is losing now that Nat’s no longer on his payroll. More than the two million I paid him.
She meets my eyes in the mirror. “Thank you. That spa is divine.”
“I’m glad.” I turn to go, but she rests a hand on my arm. Her heels put us at eye level, and she touches her lips to mine, her tongue running over the seam of my mouth, asking me to let her in.
I place my hand on her lower back and part my lips. I let her kiss me, and a surprised moan vibrates from the back of her throat. I cup her cheek in my palm, and she leans into me and wraps her arms around my neck. I tolerate it for just a moment. I might be a despicable son of a bitch for leading her on, but I need her in the right frame of mind tonight. We can’t look like we’ve been fighting or no one will believe we’re a happy, engaged couple.
She rubs my dick hoping for what we used to have. I would always be all in, never turning down the chance to take out my misery on her willing body, but tonight I’m soft. She doesn’t turn me on anymore, and I don’t need it. I had Stella this morning, warm and pliant in my arms. Wet and so ready to accept me. I sink into her, and I can pretend nothing’s wrong. Especially when she says she loves me.
Fantasizing about Stella in the middle of Nathalie’s kiss is even worse, and I turn my head and step back. She sighs in annoyance and disappointment. Adele wails along, accentuating the mood.
“I’m sorry. I’m a bit on edge,” I lie.
“It’s fine.” She focuses on her reflection in the mirror and adds another layer of lip gloss to her already glistening mouth.
“I’ll go dress.”
“Yeah.”
I made her mad after all.
In pure Ash fashion, this is a black-tie party held at one of the hotels he owns along the river. It’s not far from the Crowne, actually, but on the opposite bank. His hotel doesn’t have a rooftop pool, rather a glassed-in ballroom, and that’s where the party is being held tonight.
I drive, and Nathalie molds into the leather seat of the Aston Martin. The car hums along the road, the tires gripping the pavement, and it’s a shame to waste such power on clogged city streets. The girl was made for wide open spaces, much like Stella is.
If I asked if she would rather live somewhere other than King’s Crossing, I wonder if she would say yes. I can picture her frolicking on an ocean beach, the water lapping at her feet. I can hear our children laughing, running after the seagulls, carrying pails and shovels.
My sweet dream fades and the thrum of my blood rushes in my ears. I can’t see anything now but an empty penthouse and hear the echoes of Stella’s voice telling me I hurt her too badly for us to have a relationship.
“It’s green,” Nathalie says, irritated, poking her sharp fingernail painfully into my leg. Clearing my throat, I punch the gas. I have to stop thinking about Stella tonight. I don’t need the distraction.
The valet parks the car, and offering my arm, I escort Nathalie through the elegant black and silver lobby to the elevator.
We chat with another couple in the lift, and the woman studies Nat, her eyes full of jealousy. Nathalie looks expensive, and she’s engaged to a man who can keep her that way.
I pat my pocket, double checking the engagement ring I picked out is still tucked away. I haven’t asked Nat to marry me because it’s all a sham, but she doesn’t have a ring and I had to fix that. Getting down on one knee will be romantic, and people will gossip about it for months. I didn’t talk to Mel about this part—especially not in front of Stella—but I don’t see how it could do any harm. She was mostly concerned about me talking to Clayton, and I’ll have to be careful there. He’s been at this for a lot longer than I have.
The elevator doors open, and the woman offers Nat an icy smile. Her husband urges her into the elegant corridor and shoots me an apologetic grimace. I smile wryly, accepting the apology. She shouldn’t have anything to complain about. Besides the foundation gala Ash’s PR people are already promoting to build buzz, she possesses the social status and wealth to be invited to the biggest event of the year. No need to be envious of my fake fiancée.
Standing alone and watching his guests mingle and suck down booze, Ash is leaning against the bar, his ankles crossed. Though this is a happy occasion, he gives off a chilly, threatening vibe. We immediately head in his direction, and I request a scotch and a flute of champagne for Nathalie.
“Zane, good to see you. You’re looking well, though a little soft,” he says, jabbing quick and sharp at my gut. “I need to get you onto the squash court more often.” He’s supposedly teasing, but it sounds like he’s not, and it looks like he’s not, his hard eyes raking my body.
I stiffen. I don’t look any different than I have any other time he’s seen me, even my cheek healed well enough the scabs turned into a muted pink under my whiskers. He’s trying to put me on edge, and I don’t like it.
“Nathalie, you’re beautiful as always. The time off is doing you some good I see,” he says, kissing the back of her hand. A tiny purse dangles from her arm by a thin silver strap.
“Oh, I don’t know. You were always catching me lying down on the job,” she says lightly.
Ash huffs a laugh and throws a quick glance my way. It must be difficult to keep so many balls in the air without letting any of them drop.
“I didn’t mind,” he drawls. “You still earned your keep. Isn’t that right, Zane?”
To anyone else this would be harmless banter, but I can’t help but take it personally. I put my arm around her shoulders and kiss her temple. “She doesn’t have to worry about that anymore.”
“Of course,” Ash says smoothly. “Let me borrow him for a moment, will you?” he asks, but it’s not a request.
Nat nods because there isn’t anything else she can do, but she isn’t alone for long. Everyone wants a piece of the soon-to-be Mrs. Maddox, and they’re desperate to be on her good side, wanting all the perks her friendship will give them. In this crowd, she won’t find anyone who wants to be friends simply to be friends. Not like Zarah and Stella’s friendship. She drains her glass and asks the bartender for another. I can’t blame her, but I hope she lightens up.
“Zane, I’m sorry I didn’t make it to dinner at Luna Blanc,” Clayton says, approaching Ash and me. He slaps me on the back, the force sloshing the scotch over the rim of my glass.
“Clayton,” I say, holding out my hand and grasping his long and hard, “thanks for this. It was very thoughtful of you.”
He either ignores it or doesn’t notice, yanking his hand away when I don’t let go. “It wasn’t a problem. You got yourself a good one there. She won’t disappear with an Italian prince after the main course.”
“No, I don’t believe she will,” I say, and I drain what’s left in my glass. “Stella chose poorly and look where that got her.”
Clayton nods. The tux doesn’t soften his hawk-like appearance, the cut of his jacket sharpening the rigid line of his shoulders even more than usual. At fifty-five, he still oozes vitality, his skin a healthy tan from all the hours he spends playing tennis and golf. My father should be standing where he is, and this party should be for Stella and me. I clench my teeth. Forget about that now.
“Shot down in the street by a mugger.” He tsks. “I can’t say I’m surprised, but I know at one point you cared about her, so I’ll say I’m sorry and we can drop the whole mess.”
“Thank you. That means a lot, and I think I can say the past is finally in the past. Stella’s death gave me the closure I needed to move on, and I realized I needed to keep Nathalie by my side for the rest of my life. She helped me heal after Stella betrayed me, and I thank Ash from the bottom of my heart for introducing us. He changed my life.”
“Anything for a friend,” Ash says absently, his eyes traveling around the room.
Guests are filling the ballroom, and their chatter is a dull hum that will only grow louder as they drink to the bottom of their glasses.
Fashionably late, Vance Huxley arrives and eagerly steps into the room. His eyes search for, and find, Nathalie right away, and Ash involuntarily steps toward our overly-excited mayor.
I use all my willpower to push back a satisfied smile. Games are definitely more fun when you control what the rules are.
Clayton seems to be in a good mood, willing to talk, sipping a beer directly out of the bottle. Very uncharacteristic of him, but he can’t keep the grin off his face, and he rocks on his heels taking in the crowd.
“When will you tie the knot?” I ask Ash to continue the conversation.
“Now that Zarah’s recovering, perhaps sooner than I thought. I had the top doctors working with her at Quiet Meadows. I thought if anyone could cure her it would be them, but you tell me she’s responding better at home. I have to say, I never would’ve expected that. I’d love to see her.”
I bet you would, you son of a bitch. I tighten my hand around my empty glass.
Clayton stiffens. “I thought those were rumors. What possessed you to discharge her, Zane? Ash was paying top dollar for quality care.”
“The problem,” I say, biting back a spurt of rage, “is that you can’t buy love. Zarah needs her family. She wasn’t loved at Quiet Meadows and she needs to be at home.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Clayton sips his beer, narrowing his eyes.
“I do.” I refuse to let the Blacks steamroll me like they have in the past claiming my best interests at heart. Now I know they’re looking out for anything but my wellbeing, or my sister’s. “But if Ash is waiting on Zarah’s recovery to marry her, I suggest he move on like I have.” I place my hand on his shoulder. “I certainly don’t want you to miss out on the prime years of your life. Brother to brother, you should look to the future and choose a different path.” My fingertips dig into the material of his jacket.
“I appreciate your concern,” Ash says. “All I want is what’s best for Zarah.”
I lower my voice. “Then you should leave her alone.”
He jerks his shoulder out my grasp, and Clayton’s mouth thins into a tight line. He’s not in such a good mood anymore.
“I did hear something interesting,” I say, pretending the hostility rolling off Ash isn’t there. He hates being told what to do, but even more, what he can’t do. I need to tell the Crowne’s manager to tighten security. It would be like Ash to try to see my sister. So far, we’ve managed to keep her whereabouts to ourselves, but I wouldn’t put it past Ash to watch my building and realize Dr. Reagan doesn’t visit her there.
“And what’s that?” Ash asks.
“That you bought Quiet Meadows after Zarah was admitted.”
“We had a hand in that, yes. I wanted her to have access to the best care possible. That means being in control.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He scoffs. “When? When you were catatonic with grief after Stella betrayed you? Or when you would visit Zarah and then lock yourself in your office and drink yourself into a stupor because she was scared of you? Or when you were blowing me off because you were working? Or when you were fucking Nathalie? I get you wanted to bury the pain, but I couldn’t hold a conversation with you for months. When was I going to tell you that I was doing my best to prioritize your sister’s care because you couldn’t?”
The problem is, all of that’s true. I was distraught to the point of non-functioning and it’s why Ash managed to trick me into signing over power of attorney. If Nigel Wagner and I weren’t dragging my father’s company out of the pit of neglect I’d let it fall into, I spent a lot of my time drunk off my ass, and yeah, holed up in my room with Nathalie. I thought God sent Stella to me in exchange for my parents, only, He took her and my sister away from me, too. I dealt with it the only way I knew how.
Booze.
Lots of booze.
And sex.
Just like I did when my parents died.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for Zarah and me,” I say, pushing the words out of my mouth, “it just would have been nice to know.”
“It didn’t seem important.”
“What is important is that facility is a for-profit institution, and believe me, that place is a real moneymaker. We made back what we paid in little under a year. I had no idea healthcare could be so lucrative,” Clayton interjects, nodding appreciatively.
It’s like them to pray on families who need the services Quiet Meadows provides. Why was I so blind to the kind of people the Blacks are?
My God.
“I’m glad you found the sanatorium has its uses,” I say dryly. “Maybe you should also look into correctional facilities. I hear there’s good money to be made investing in incarceration.”
Clayton nods. “I’ve had my people research that, but there’s too much liability.”
Of course. Drugging people up so they lose the capacity to think and make decisions is much safer.
I glance around the room. Nathalie’s holding court, the women who want to be her friend pawing at her, and the crabby woman who was in the elevator with us is among them. Nat’s happy, glowing and talking adamantly, like she fits in. If I didn’t know her history, I would have had no trouble pegging her as one of us.
Maybe that’s another reason I prefer Stella. I don’t want to be “one of us” anymore, and I don’t want to be with a woman who does.
Clayton’s not in any hurry to mingle, standing loosely by my side, his beer bottle dangling from his fingers. I wonder if he’s waiting to say something to me.
Vance Huxley is slowly inching his way toward Nat, and she’s watching him out of the corners of her eyes. We’ll have to move on to that portion of the evening sooner than I thought. I can practically see the drool glistening on his chin.
“By the way,” I say casually, like the idea just occurred to me, rather than me planning for weeks to have this conversation, “that private investigator you put me in touch with? The one who was looking into my parents’ plane crash? He finally hit pay dirt. He found a snitch at the NTSB’s offices. It cost me a lot of money to get him to talk. They found the black box years ago, and they’ve kept it buried all this time.” I shake my head, as if incredulous, and Clayton’s face turns a deathly white.
“What?” Ash barks in place of his father’s speechlessness.
“That’s what I said, too. Why would they keep it a secret? What could be on the CVR they don’t want anyone to know? Now I can finally find out what caused the crash.”
“What PI did you say this was? He’s been working on it all this time?” Clayton asks, his voice rough.
I nod. “Since we spoke at my party. I’ve been paying his fee for years. I thought he was charging me so he could fuck around on a beach somewhere, drink, and smoke weed, but the son of a bitch finally found something. Although,” I continue nonchalantly, “the FBI would have offered me the information eventually.” I’m not a na?ve kid anymore. The FBI never would have told me a goddamned thing.
“Yes, of course,” Clayton agrees, sweat glistening along his forehead. “But the PI?”
“Stan?” I muse. “Is that right?”
I actually have no fucking idea. He worked the case for six months, then I fired him. I have no tolerance for people who can’t do their jobs. I paid invoice after invoice. A plane ticket to France, bribe money, hotels, more bribe money, and the man had nothing new to give me. It was only after talking to Mel about his ineptness that she speculated Clayton ordered him not to look for anything at all, and after hearing that, I finally understood the lack of progress.
The same holds true for the PI Ash recommended to help me find Stella when all Mel had to do was turn on the TV. The son of a bitch wasn’t looking for her for me. He was looking for her for Ash.
My trust in the Blacks hurt me in ways I would never have comprehended.
It’s crazy how clear things become when someone who’s on the outside explains things to you. I should have listened to Stella the minute she told me Ash didn’t like her. I attributed that to Ash’s snobbery—I had no idea he knew how badly she would shake things up.
Somehow, he had, and I still wonder how he did. How he had the foresight to make her disappear.
“I don’t think that’s his name,” Clayton chokes out.
“Well, I’ve had other things on my mind,” I say good-naturedly. “He never gave me any updates, only sent in his bills, and those weren’t paid by me personally. I’m happy to say the money and patience has paid off. Obviously, I’m going to meet with my contact at the FBI as soon as I can. I want to know why this information hasn’t been shared with me.”
“Excuse me,” Clayton says, shoving his beer bottle at a passing waiter and striding toward the ballroom’s doors.
He might be going to the restroom to throw up.
I chuckle.
“Excuse me as well,” I say to Ash. “I need a refill.”
I leave him standing alone near the floor-to-ceiling windows, blinking, his hand gripping his glass so hard his knuckles are white.
Clayton’s having a difficult time escaping, our guests constantly stopping him to chat and gossip. I keep him in my peripheral vision and snag a new drink from the busy bartender.
Nodding at the party guests and accepting congratulations as I casually amble along, Clayton impatiently disentangles himself from a couple who trapped him, and I follow him out of the ballroom and watch him round a corner. The hallway’s empty, and I find cover near a large potted tree.
“This is Black,” he whispers furiously. He’s on the phone, but I don’t peer around the corner like I want to. I don’t want to risk him seeing me. “What have you done?”
There’s silence, then he snarls, “What do you mean, ‘What did I do?’ I’m talking about Maddox. I told you not to do any investigating into that plane crash—”
Pause.
“You must have done something. He knows the fucking NTSB found the black box.”
The sound of sputtering drifts toward me.
“If you didn’t tell him, who the fuck did?”
Pause.
“Fucking figure it out.”
They’ll try to determine who told me the black box isn’t still at the bottom of the ocean. The FBI is in the clear. No one there would betray Clayton Black and speak to me. The NTSB will sniff for leaks, but they gave up possession of the box five years ago, and the snitch I said the PI found doesn’t exist. There will only be dead ends.
Clayton’s tux rustles, and I duck into a fire exit, holding the door ajar and preventing it from clicking shut. He huffs by me and doesn’t notice the door’s cracked.
That’s one plan down, two more to go.
The night drags on.
Clayton’s stomping around the ballroom, pulling at his collar, and our guests give him a wide berth. Ash took my advice, and a tipsy blonde I’ve never met hangs on his arm, his hand molded to her tight ass.
Vance Huxley’s standing in the center of Nathalie’s group, and holding a fresh drink, I join them.
“Mayor Huxley,” I say, holding out my hand. “A pleasure to see you outside City Hall.”
There’s no love lost between Maddox Industries and Mayor Huxley, and now I know why. Every time I wanted zoning approval to build, modify, or renovate, City Hall blocked my requests or made my attorneys jump through more flaming hoops than a tiger in a circus to get what I wanted. I thought it was just the King’s Crossing’s beautification committee trying to keep the city in the 1800s, but now I understand it was Clayton holding me back.
“Maddox,” Huxley says, dislike dripping from his greeting. I always thought him a self-important, disgusting asshole, and that was before I knew what he was doing to Nathalie. If what she says is true, he could be looking at child molestation charges on top of prostitution. There’s no way he’s kept his hands off his daughter if he has to bang Nathalie to satisfy his desire. The sick fuck. I bet his wife or one of his housekeeping staff caught him, and he had to stop visiting his daughter in the middle of the night.
“Congratulations on your engagement,” he says, but he couldn’t sound any less sincere.
“Thank you.” I raise an eyebrow. “Nathalie’s a very special woman.”
“Indeed.”
It turns my stomach there were times I called Nathalie and she might have been in the middle of fucking this greasy prick. How many times have I been sloppy seconds to this guy? Or to other men? I’m hardly one to judge, but Jesus Christ, my skin’s crawling, and I shudder.
Huxley licks his lips and sips his whiskey or scotch, or whatever it is he’s been liberally drinking from the free bar as he eyes Nathalie’s cleavage.
She and I discussed what I needed her to do with him tonight. She knows what the plan is, but now that Huxley’s behaving himself, there’s no hurry to carry it out. Appetizers still haven’t been served—the open bar and gossip are keeping everyone happy.
In an out-of-the-way corner, I stand in the shadows and check my phone. No one at the Crowne has messaged me, but people here at the party are taking pictures and they’re starting to pop up on social media. There’s one of me and Nat someone posted just a few seconds ago. I have my arm around her and I’m whispering into her ear. I’m telling her to slow her drinking down, not that it matters.
My heart aches for Stella and what she’s having to deal with while we carry out our plans.
I order a new drink, paste a smile on my face, and rejoin Nathalie’s fan club. The mundane conversation floats around me, and I wonder what Stella’s doing.
I’m always wondering what Stella’s doing when I’m not with her. Always wondering if, when I get back, she won’t be there.