Chapter 7 Julianna
SEVEN
JULIANNA
My mother used to tell me love made you crazy.
She was wrong.
Hate makes you crazy.
I’m staring at her picture resting on my brother’s polished, mahogany desk. Mahogany wood that’s been derived and crafted from a legendary designer located in Sweden, no less. I would know because I helped him decorate this office years ago when interior design was my main focus.
I run my finger over the curved edge, barely lifting my eyes to her picture.
It’s hard looking at her. An invisible string tugs at my core, reminding me of the giant hole her absence has left on our family.
The one currently being torn apart by scandal after scandal.
Then the string pulls again, this time harder than before.
I adjust in Holt’s office chair, the back of my bare legs peeling off the leather, burning my skin. I delight in the feeling. It’s a distraction from the impending conversation I’m about to have with Holt—one I don’t want to have but that’s needed.
“Who? Who the fuck wrote it?” my brother’s booming voice echoes from the other side of the double mahogany doors.
Again, I know this because I helped with the remodel.
There are two entrances to my brother’s office.
The main one, which is connected to his secretary’s entrance leading to the main entrance of Scribe Magazine’s level, and the other through a conference room.
A conference room he only uses in the direst of circumstances.
There are several muffled voices at a lower octave than Holts’, surely telling my brother they have no idea who submitted the anonymous article, because that’s the whole point. It’s anonymous.
Years ago, after Holt acquired Scribe Magazine, he wanted to push the boundaries with his work.
Holt is always pushing the boundaries. But the first course of action he’d taken had been to create an anonymous column—one where anyone could submit a story or opinion completely anonymously.
The source could never be traced, and the writer could never be held accountable for their submissions if they were published.
Most submissions have been confessions about themselves or others. Some have been to ruin reputations.
I place my hand on my stomach and massage the sickening feeling that’s growing.
With a side glance, I stare at the rich, dark wooden door, wondering when the fuck my brother will end this clusterfuck of a meeting.
One minute he’s rattling off about the anonymous article Rome is suing him over, and the next he’s talking about something to do with Rhys O’Connell—a name I swear I’ve heard before.
My patience is wearing thin when the sound of muted footsteps comes from the other side of the door. Then the doors are flying open. Holt pushes his way through them, coming to a screeching halt when he sees me sitting at his desk.
His hair is perfectly styled, as it always is, and his Armani suit is polished, with not a single speck of dust to be seen. Unlike usual, though, his cheeks are flamed red, and the muscles in his jaw are strained under his freshly-shaved chin.
“You know what I told you about hanging out in my office.”
I swallow thickly, averting my gaze to the front door of his office. “I need to talk to you.”
“If you don’t mind, I’m a little busy.”
“Too busy for me?”
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
His nostrils flare before he lifts his gaze back to mine with narrowed eyes.
“In case you’ve forgotten, Rome decided to sue me, and the magazine is on the verge of collapsing.
So, yes, I’m a little too busy to hear what gossip or lecture my sister is deciding to lay into me today. ”
I grind my teeth. Fine, I deserve it, but only a little.
I do lecture my brother more than I probably should, but he usually deserves it. History tends to linger, lending to a certain air of distrust, even when it comes to him.
I cross my arms and fight back the bile crawling up my throat. “Of course, I haven’t forgotten Rome has sued you.”
“Great.” He sighs, smoothing a hand over his thick, dark hair. “Then, if you’ll excuse me, I have one of my writers following an important lead.”
“Important lead?” I know I’m supposed to be here to talk to him about the lawsuit with Rome, but color me intrigued. “Does this have to do with Rhys O’Connell?”
Holt’s head snaps in my direction, his eyebrows slanting. “What do you know about Rhys?”
“Nothing.” I widen my gaze, then nod toward the conference room. “The doors I installed may have cost six figures, but they aren’t exactly the best when it comes to being soundproof.”
“Oh.” Holt clears his throat. “Don’t worry about Rhys.”
“Right.” I snort. “Because that’s reassuring.
Why does his name sound familiar?” Holt’s silence gives me time to recall before it finally hits me, and my jaw drops.
“Wait. Isn’t he the one Heath, West’s brother, got wrapped up in to cause him to fake his own death?
The leader of the Irish mafia or some crazy shit like that? ”
Holt looks away from me, his expression refusing to confirm or deny.
Worry settles in my bones. “Whatever mess you’re getting you and your magazine into, don’t. You aren’t an investigative journalist, Holt. This is serious shit.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. When he opens them again, he’s clearly annoyed with my presence. “What exactly did you come down here for? To lecture me on how to do my job, or is this about last night? Let me take a wild guess. You’re here about Selene.”
I open my mouth to tell him exactly why I came here, that I need to make a confession, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity.
“Not that I’m ever in the mood for your opinion on my personal life, but I’m especially not in the mood for it today, Julianna.” The cloud of tension surrounding him swells.
I stand from his chair; his words cutting me deeper than usual. Now my annoyance is bubbling over. I step forward, bringing myself closer to him as I look up and stare into his eyes. Eyes like mine. Like our mother’s.
I chuckle, the sickness is my stomach still apparent, but the memory of the shit my brother pulls time and time again shoves it aside. “Why did you kiss her?”
Holt scoffs and shakes his head. He moves around me, takes his place in his seat, leans back, and rests his elbow on the desktop.
“Why did you kiss Selene, Holt? You were only supposed to kiss her on the cheek. Those were the rules.”
“What rules? I’m an adult, Jules. Fucking thirty years old.
You don’t have the right to gatekeep who I’m allowed to kiss, talk to, or, hell, even fuck.
As much as I know you love to control the narrative.
You don’t see me butting in when it comes to the petty bullshit games you play with Rome, do I?
” He pauses, curling his lip. “This little tit for tat game you both play is a little childish, don’t you think? ”
His mention of Rome lights a series of fireworks beneath my skin.
“First of all, you don’t date, you only fuck.
Fuck with women and their hearts.” I set aside my frustration with Rome, recalling how my brother hasn’t always been the best when it comes to relationships.
I remember how it felt to have my arms wrapped around my best friend in the bathroom during prom, sobbing uncontrollably.
“And I don’t love to control the narrative. We agreed.”
“Agreed to what?”
“To you not getting involved with my best friends. After Rebecca—"
“Fuck.” He curls his hand into a fist and slams it against the mahogany wood. “We didn’t agree to anything. That was all you. You made those terms yourself, and it’s been eleven years. Are you seriously trying to crucify me for the rest of my life over one fucking mistake?”
“Rebecca was more than a mistake. She was destroyed because of you Holt. Destroyed. So, excuse me if I’m trying to prevent you from doing the same to all my friends. I would like to keep this group intact without any of them being touched by you.”
He presses his lips tightly together and massages his fingers over his mouth before huffing out an exhausted breath. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I just care, that’s all.”
“Care about who?” he shouts, shooting daggers in my direction.
I open my mouth to answer but again, he shuts me out. His pain and stress is evident. Clearly, this wasn’t a good time to talk, and I bury my confession beneath all the hurt he’s piling on.
“Because it sure as fuck doesn’t seem like it’s me you care about,” he continues. “If you did, you’d be more worried about this lawsuit than interrogating me for kissing Selene last night. You know as well as I do that I wouldn’t hurt Selene.”
I swallow back the tears threatening to spill over.
Straightening my spine, I take a few steps forward and feather my fingertips across the glossed wood.
I stop close enough for Holt to see how serious I am just by looking at me.
“Selene just lost her grandmother—the only real family member she felt truly understood her—and she’s been through a lot of shit in her life.
Horrifying things no one should ever experience. You took advantage of her last night.”
“Like you didn’t?” He tilts his head. “Like you didn’t ask her, practically beg her to go up on that stage to help you?”
I pause, allowing his words sink in for a moment. “Break her heart or hurt her in any way, and I’m not sure the outcome will be the same as last time. My forgiveness only goes so far.”
“You truly think that low of me?”
I arch a brow. “Track record speaks for itself.”
“Jesus Christ, Jules.” There’s a vulnerability in his usually contained appearance. His expression relaxes, and his lips part to take in a breath. His eyes shift toward the full-length glass windows overlooking the city. He’s attempting to conceal his hurt. “Get out,” he grinds, clenching his jaw.
But he’s also hurting me.
I came over to his office, first thing, to tell him the truth. That it was me. That it’s all my fault.
At one point in time, I thought Holt and I were as close as a brother and sister could be thanks to the endless nights as kids spent sneaking into our secret hideout in the garden of our manor on the outskirts of the city.
But we’re no longer those kids trading secrets.
Instead, we’re keeping them guarded, locked inside a vault having tossed out the key.
“Leave,” he says, turning his angry eyes back on me. “Leave before I lose my patience all together and say something I might regret, forgetting you’re my little sister.”
The lump in my throat is unbearable. Everything is fucked.
I keep my confession to myself as Holt holds on tightly to his secrets. Rhys, the development of Rome’s lawsuit, and his feelings for Selene.
Because as much as I don’t want him anywhere near Selene, deep down I know he’s different when it comes to her. I see it in his eyes. I hear it in his voice when he talks about her.
But through the glimpse of softness and vulnerability, reality hits me: I can’t confide in Holt. I never have been able to truly count on him.
I leave his office without another word, allowing the guilt to wrap itself around me. I won’t be able to contain the truth much longer—I can’t.
I’ll tell him soon, it just won’t be today. Not when we’ve traded cuts and wounds, exposing each of our vulnerabilities, knocking each other down until we’re at our lowest.
Selene for him.
Rome for me.
His mention of my and Rome’s tit for tat being childish is the biggest cut of all.
He doesn’t know it, but he’s widened the wound that’s festered for years, opening the sore and allowing it all the spill out of me like the breaking of a dam.
I try to keep it contained, never showing that the rivalry between Rome and me isn’t simple. It never has been.