Chapter 9 #3
He’s seen people who fit my profile before. Worked for a lot of them in his previous job. Technique Group does security for very wealthy clients, and you don’t get wealthy without having some of the same character flaws—quirks—that I have.
And considering Rhys’s mother founded the company, he’s likely been adjacent to my world his entire life.
Which means he probably knows there’s more to a lot of us than a bloodthirsty desire for more, more, more.
“And now that you know my side of the story, you have two minutes to tell me what you want before I have my protection agent take care of you for me,” I tell him.
“If I disappear, I have an email scheduled to go to Decker telling him who you are.”
I lift a shoulder and feign indifference like the idea of having to face Decker and Lucky and Jack this soon with my truth doesn’t send fear slithering through my chest.
I haven’t proven to them yet that I’m a good enough person. That I’m worthy of being someone they call a sister.
Hell, I haven’t proven to myself yet that I’m a good enough person. “I’ll deal. Are we negotiating or not?”
“You know half their friends are almost as filthy rich as you are. They’re not going to blink at who you are or how much money you have.”
“Friends aren’t the same as secret family.
And how much longer will the triplets be able to protect their dad when they’re carrying around the secret that they’re related to the Merriweather-Browns?
Lucky said the story he’s told himself is that their parents found out their dad’s swimmers didn’t work, so they used a sperm donor and didn’t want to talk about it.
I can promise you, my father wouldn’t have ever donated to a sperm bank, and for all of his faults, I don’t think he would’ve forced himself on a woman either.
I’m doing them just as much of a favor right now as I’m doing for myself. One minute, Rhys. What do you want?”
My favorite part of any negotiation is that moment when I know I’ve won.
And this is that moment.
I have the upper hand.
He cares about Decker. Doesn’t want to hurt him.
Hell, I don’t want to hurt him either. I don’t want to hurt any of them.
The idea of hurting them—that’s the worst.
But the seconds are ticking down and he’s glowering at me, and I suddenly don’t know that I’ve won.
That Rhys might not actually have a price for his silence.
That this was all in vain.
That he’s going to tell them anyway because he’s a truth is always right person.
Fuck.
This isn’t how I wanted the triplets to find out.
It’s truly not.
“You’ll do whatever I ask?” he finally says, low and slow.
“If it’s not the wrong kind of illegal.”
He snorts, clearly disgusted. “Fucking rich people.”
“Illegal is still occasionally ethical and moral, and my sister has an arrest record to prove it. What do you want?”
He holds my gaze, swallowing and making his Adam’s apple bob.
There is something he wants.
Something big.
I wonder if I’ll be building a center for veterans. An arboretum in his mother’s name. She died when he was in his early teens. Cyril found the obituary.
A string of curses rolls through my mind as another angle he might be after pops into my head.
What if he wants his ex back? What if he wants my help with that? I don’t know how or why I could help with that, but I don’t know who she is.
Maybe she knows people in my circles. Maybe she’d listen to them.
I’ve decided I’ve made a tactical error when he finally speaks, his voice low and gravelly and hesitant. “Hire me.”
“What?” That is not what I expected him to say.
There’s something haunted in his eyes that says he wants something more than a job.
“You only have one man here.”
I blink at him. “Do I?”
Better question—how long has he known who I am that he’s been able to figure out I’m operating with only one security agent?
“You do. Let me be his backup. I want to start my own security firm, and an endorsement from someone like you would go a long way to getting me up and running.”
I fold my arms, a clearer picture forming in my mind as I piece together what I know about his background.
His unemployment for the past year.
The lawsuits between him and Technique Group.
Him not being involved in the company his mother founded anymore but still wanting to work in the industry.
“That’s not what you want,” I say softly.
His brows lift just enough to make the fading dye streaks on his forehead wrinkle, but it’s the haunted look in his eyes that convinces me I’m right.
“You’re an expert on what I want now?” he says.
I stare at him.
He stares back.
There’s definitely something else that he wants.
Something he’s not asking for.
And if it’s what I think it is—if it’s what I’d want to ask for—my respect for him is honestly growing.
It takes character of the kind that I’ll never have, no matter how much I try to be a good person, to have an opportunity to ask for revenge and not take it.
“You already have a security job,” I say. “With people like Jonas Rutherford to endorse you.”
“Resort security isn’t the same as executive protection.”
“You have all of the connections to get hired on Jonas’s personal team.”
He flinches.
Just barely, but enough that it’s noticeable.
So either he already asked and they said no, or he didn’t ask at all for some reason.
“What are your qualifications?” I ask.
“Experience and proximity.”
“Experience didn’t stop me from taking you down the night you got here.”
“I wasn’t on the clock.” He gives me a flat stare. “And normal people don’t hang bags of hair dye and rig flour explosions inside their front doors. Or have the strength to manhandle a cast-iron skillet as a weapon.”
I barely suppress a smile. “Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. It worked, didn’t it?”
He grunts an acknowledgment.
And is that a modicum of respect shining in his eyes?
I do believe it is.
Dammit.
Yes, dammit.
His respect for my methods makes me like the man more.
Much like my respect for his balls in attempting to blackmail me makes me like him more too.
I’m complicated like that.
“Why did you leave your last job in private security?” I ask.
“Personal reasons.”
“I don’t hire people without checking references, and I’ve dug enough to know it wasn’t that simple. So why don’t you spare both of us the trouble of me having to go the roundabout way of finding out what you don’t want to talk about?”
His jaw tics. “You already know my stepfather runs it, or else your team is shit.”
“Paper tells a different story from the human angle that’s always an element. Did he fire you, or did you quit?”
His jaw works back and forth for a moment. “Both.”
I can actually believe that. “Your stepbrother works there?”
“Both of them.”
Well.
That’s awkward.
Can’t imagine it would’ve been comfortable to stay and work at a place with the guy who stole his bride.
“Was the part where they fired you when you quit performance-related?”
“That’s the story they’ll tell you.”
I’m getting a very clear picture of what he’s likely been through in the past year.
And honestly, I have very little to lose if I give him a chance and this fails. “So you want my endorsement when you start a competing firm in exchange for your silence about who I am?”
His eyes flicker with something that speaks to the bloodthirsty parts of my soul. “Yep.”
“And that’s all you want?”
“For now.”
There it is.
I almost smile again, but this one’s different. It’s not joy and pride at rigging a damn good human mousetrap. It’s bone-deep appreciation for what my gut is telling me about this man.
I’m not the only one in this room who wants to see justice done.
Who knew one of my unexpected half brothers would have a friend that I could relate to so very, very much? “Your stepfather raised you after your mother died?”
He flinches. “Off-limits.”
Good lord.
I’m here faking Cinderella, but he’s the one with the evil stepfamily. “Any other skeletons I should know about before I put my people to investigating you thoroughly?”
“No.”
“And what are you going to tell Decker when he finds out you lied to him in exchange for a job with me?”
“He’ll understand.”
“Will he?”
“That you blackmailed me into silence? Yep.”
The unspoken other half of that message is clear.
He’ll believe me because he trusts me, whereas he has all the reason in the world to not trust you.
He’s not wrong.
My research on Decker revealed that he left the Marines when his third book came out, though I missed the part where his most popular early character was based on Rhys. That little detail came from the conversation I overheard this afternoon.
Decker had been self-publishing for fun, but then suddenly, his books were making him more than his military salary.
But his career has hit a new level of success lately that I suspect makes new personal relationships hard for him. And a broke-ass, previously unknown half sister showing up right as he’s first hitting bestseller lists and getting mentions in national publications?
Yeah.
He should be suspicious of me.
“How’d you make me?” I ask. He mentioned the Hoteliers Association when I saved Imogen Carter from my father, but that event is typically in the fall, so it’s likely been around a year.
Maybe more.
Long time to remember someone.
He gestures to his face. “You have a distinct way of squinting at people.”
I catch myself narrowing my eyes. What the fuck is he talking about? “That’s a very specific thing to notice about a person.”
Is it my imagination, or are his cheeks going pink? Not the way the rest of his skin’s been fading from the pink that suggests his shower was scalding hot either. “It was a very specific look when your father wasn’t aware you were making faces behind his back.”
“Quite the memory for one night.”
He scowls. “You also helped the staff member. With the seizure.”
Oh.
That night.
“You resent me for that?”
“I liked you for that. Thought you were some rando personal assistant. Not the big girl boss who’s lying to my friend.”
It’s like he flipped through a card deck of what’s the most terrible thing I could say to Margot right now? and found whatever’s worse than worst.
I saw you for who you want to be and I liked that about you, but now I hate you since I know who you actually are.
I swallow hard. “Good thing you realized you hate women.” And then I lift my phone and open my texts to the message thread with Cyril.
“Please interview my roommate to be your backup for the duration of our stay in Snaggletooth Creek,” I dictate after noting he’s mentioned once more that there’s nothing in the woods around the house.
“Can I put some clothes on first?” Rhys says.
“No.”
“You gonna stay and watch?”
“Also no. My turn for the shower, and then I have a date with my brothers. I hear they’re fun.”
“If you hurt them—”
“I told you. I don’t want to hurt them. Are you done trying to intimidate me, or do I need to change my mind about giving you a chance to prove you can handle me?”
“I can definitely handle you.” His blue eyes flicker over my face, and something warm tingles low in my belly.
I’m not the only one lying here.
He still likes me.
And I like that about him.
It’s brave.
And unusual.
Few people in my life see me as anything more than a bloodthirsty boss bitch.
Finding a complete stranger unafraid to go toe-to-toe with me?
A stranger who recognized me at my best?
Who’s now making something flutter in my belly at the recognition that he has a little bit of a taste for revenge too, even if he’s not saying it out loud?
This could be fun.
As long as he doesn’t fuck up my plans. It’s taken me four years of meticulous planning to get this close to taking my father down.
God help the person who gets in my way.
No matter how much he might have once liked the person I want to be.