Chapter 44
44
AGE 20
“ F ollow me,” a tall, thin man with cropped gray hair says after the cops release me into his care at the station.
“Who are you?” I’m not budging an inch until he explains who he is and why exactly he’s here.
Removing a business card from inside his suit jacket, he hands it to me. “Gregory Lucas. I’m a colleague of Carson Park.”
Flipping the card between my fingers without looking at it, I stare blankly at him, having no clue who that is.
“Mr. Park is Mr. Lancaster’s attorney. Carson is out of state on business, so he asked me to look after this situation on his behalf.”
Figures my sperm donor would send the hired help to deal with me. Not sure why that makes me so mad. It’s not like I ever want to see that prick again. “What’s the plan?” I’m not going anywhere until I understand how this will play out.
“I have a car outside. We’ll go to my office to sign the paperwork. My assistant is booking your flight home as we speak. She’s also smoothed things over at the hotel, paid the bill, and covered the damages. The cops won’t press charges against you, and all record of your arrest has been wiped as if it never happened.”
A shudder works its way through me. I always assumed Simon Lancaster was powerful, but the fact he can do all this tells me I was right not to challenge him. To let his offer sit until I needed it for leverage. I refuse to be grateful to the asshole, but I’m relieved my fuckup won’t impact Toxic Gods’ future. Right now, that’s all I’ve got in my life, and I need it.
“Okay.”
He arches a brow, but if he expects me to thank him, he can think again. He’s being paid to do this, and I’m selling my soul in exchange for making this go away.
I’m thanking no one for shit.
The ride to the prestigious office building in downtown L.A. is long only because traffic is at a virtual standstill. I don’t know how anyone lives in this city, though I expect I’m about to find out. My mind is tossing ideas about how to use the five million and how to explain it when I return home. I’m purposely not thinking about Viv because it’ll only piss me off all over again. Betrayal is like a dagger gliding between my ribs, embedding deep inside, the blade piercing my heart, causing me to slowly bleed out. As I stare out the window, suffocating inside, I try to round up all my feelings for Vivien Grace Mills, toss them in a lockbox, and throw away the key.
At the office, I accept the offer of coffee and settle down to read the contract pushed across the desk to me. “You are free to seek your own counsel,” Mr. Lucas says. “In fact, I highly advise it. While the paperwork has been drafted with your specifications in mind and it’s a standard NDA in all other regards, it’s wise to have a legal professional review them on your behalf. I can recommend a couple of people if you like.”
It's probably smart, but I’d be an idiot to take his recommendation. No doubt the people he’s referring to are friends, and they won’t be acting in my best interests. I could find someone myself with a bit of internet research, but it’ll delay things, and I want to get the fuck out of here ASAP. I’m desperate to get home so I can lick my wounds in private. “I appreciate the advice, but I’ll pass. I want time to read this thoroughly.” I’m no legal expert, but I’m not a dumbass. I’m not signing shit without reading it fully.
“Of course. Take as much time as you need. Let me know if you have any questions.”
He works away on his desktop computer as I take my time reading over the document. A lot of it is legal jargon, but with the help of Google, I decipher it. Everything I’ve asked for is included, but there’s one thing I hadn’t thought to specify. “This needs to come out.” With my finger, I underline a part at the end of the document. “I didn’t agree to never step foot in L.A., and it’s not something I can concede.”
He schools his face into a neutral expression as he looks at it. “I’m not authorized to make changes. I’ll need to contact Mr. Park.”
“Then contact him.”
His pretty assistant escorts me out of his office and into a small meeting room, flashing me flirty looks the whole time. “Can I get you anything, Mr. O’Donoghue?” Licking her lips and eye fucking me from head to toe, she’s not disguising her interest.
“Another coffee would be good.”
“Are you sure that’s all?” Her eyes zoom in on my mouth, and wow, are all the women in L.A. this forthright?
I quirk a brow and stare at her without replying.
“I can order some food for you if you’re hungry.” She’s quick to backtrack at the expression on my face.
Briefly, I consider locking the door, slamming her up against the wall, and fucking her. There’s nothing stopping me now. It sure as fuck didn’t hold Vivien back. Maybe I should bang this slut to get over the bitch who has taken a sledgehammer to my heart. But even the thought of touching anyone else makes my skin crawl and my stomach twist into painful knots.
“I’m not hungry.” I can’t stomach food either. “For food or anything else,” I add when she still lingers.
Her cheeks stain red, but I don’t give a fuck if she’s embarrassed. She should be. Isn’t she supposed to be a professional? Does she hit on every young guy who comes into the office? She looks young too. Probably only a couple years older than me. Fresh out of college is my guess. I doubt she’ll last long in the legal profession if this is how she plans to conduct herself.
“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind,” she says, deliberately sashaying her hips as she walks out the door.
She’s got balls. I’ll give her that.
I bark out a laugh, thinking of how Ro hit the nail on the head about Hollywood women that first time Viv came to Sunday dinner when we were all discussing it. My mood instantly sours as images of Viv flood my mind without invitation. We had our first kiss that day out in the orchard. Swallowing thickly, I lean my head back and close my eyes. Pain accosts me like a battering ram, pummeling me from all sides. The ache in my chest is so severe it feels like I can’t breathe.
Burying my head in my hands, I try to bat all thoughts of Vivien and Reeve from my mind, but it’s impossible. The image of him cradling her naked body on that balcony burns behind my eyes. I doubt I’ll ever be able to dig it out of my mind. How could she do it? How could she run straight from my arms into his?
I know I was a shithead in the pub. I was deliberately cruel and vindictive, but she knows me. Vivien knows how I operate. She knows I didn’t mean it. That I was lashing out in pain. So, how could she do this to me? Was she playing me all along? Did she know who I was from the start and my initial thoughts were spot-on? Was Simon behind all of this? He is getting what he wants, after all, and it’s my Hollywood who has driven me to this point. If I accept that’s the truth, it means everything was a lie. That she was acting the whole time, and I don’t think she’s that good of an actress despite who her mother is.
Ugh, round and round it goes in my head, attempting to drive me crazy.
After the flirty secretary returns with my coffee, I drink it slowly in a daze, fighting a losing inner battle. Right now, I wish I could click my fingers and be home. I want to crawl under my covers and sink into oblivion. Resting my head on my arms on the table, I wish I could rip my shredded heart from my chest so I don’t feel this gut-wrenching ache any more. I have never felt pain as excruciating as this before, though the way I felt after Ash tried to kill herself comes close.
Hurt spears me on the inside, and I want to curl into a ball and slowly die. I wonder if this is how Ash felt after what Cillian did. For the first time, I understand fully how she wanted it to stop. I’m only living with this torment a short while, and it’s already unbearable. Not that I’d ever contemplate ending my life. I would never give the Lancasters the satisfaction or ever put my family through something like that again, but I have a greater understanding of how Ash came to do it now I’m experiencing similar heartbreak.
Eventually, I’m escorted back to Mr. Lucas’s office. The older man holds out the phone to me. “Mr. Lancaster would like to speak with you.”
A muscle clenches in my jaw as I take the phone. “What?” I snap.
“Watch your tone,” he grits out. “Or the deal is off.”
“Fine by me. There are other easy ways of making five mil in L.A.”
My threat lingers in the air as silence greets me for a few beats. “That clause is nonnegotiable.” His cold tone forces the temperature in the room to plummet even through the phone.
“Then the deal is off.” I raise his cold tone with a glacial one. “I’m signing papers which forbid me from ever approaching Reeve or talking about the Lancasters. I’m aware of the consequences if I break it. Whether I’m in L.A. or Dublin doesn’t make a blind bit of difference. I can’t, and won’t, go near your precious son. My signature ensures it, so you don’t need that clause.”
“Why is it so important?”
I ain’t telling him jack shit about the band or our plans. I don’t trust he won’t try to fuck things up. “I won’t have my movements restricted. I’m signing away enough. You want me to stay away from you and Reeve, and you’ve got it.”
Mr. Lucas’s neutral exterior cracks for a split second. Compassion splays across his face, mixed with a little anger, and I decide I like him.
The sperm donor releases a frustrated sigh before conceding. “You sign that contract now, boy. No delays and it’s a deal.”
It feels good to have backed him into a corner. To have safeguarded Toxic Gods’ future. “When will I get my money?”
“The funds will be transferred to your bank account as soon as you sign on the dotted line.”
“Fine.” Handing the phone back to Mr. Lucas, I lift the pen and scribble my signature in all the places he has marked with a sticky note. He talks in a hushed tone to the prick before hanging up. Then I watch as he transfers the money via an online banking portal.
Business concluded, I grab my duffel bag and stand.
“Here’s your passport, boarding pass’ and some cash for the airport,” he says, handing over the documents. “I have a car outside waiting to take you to LAX.”
“Thank you.” I thought I’d feel lighter finally drawing a line under the Lancaster drama, but my heart feels like it’s been dragged through my body like a sinking ship.
“There’s no need.” He clamps a hand on my shoulder. “Good luck to you, Dillon.”
As I wait in the business class line to board the plane, I send a link to a newspaper article about Vivien and Reeve to Ash and tap out a quick message before turning off my phone.
Wasted trip. I’m coming home.