Chapter 19 Silas
SILAS
Ipour Ophelia and myself a fresh glass of wine and turn the oven back on. My phone buzzes with a text and I dig it out of my pocket.
It’s Sly.
I glance up, hearing Ophelia on the stairs, and open the text.
Sly: Can’t imagine what we need to talk about.
Me: I have an offer for you.
Sly: What kind of offer would that be?
“The fire died down,” Ophelia says from the hallway.
Me: You want to save your company? We meet. Tonight. Alone.
Three dots pulsate as he types, then stop, then start again. Ophelia turns the corner into the kitchen, her hair, which is wet from our shower, in a braid. She looks fresh and happy.
The phone buzzes and I drag my gaze to it.
Sly: I’m at the office. Be here for another hour.
I tuck the phone into my pocket and watch Ophelia as she checks on the oven. “Want some salad to start? This is going to take a while.”
“Actually, I need to run out.”
“What? Where? It’s late.”
“I left my laptop at the office and a client just sent his contract over.” I walk down the hall and grab my coat.
“Silas, wait.” She catches up with me.
I turn and take her face in my hands. “I’ll be back very soon. You eat.”
“I don’t understand what can be so important you’d have to leave now.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but this can’t wait. Lock the door behind me. I’ll call Hamish—”
“I don’t need a babysitter. Just stay.”
The hurt in her eyes twists my gut. I remind myself why I’m doing this.
“I’ll be back soon. And he’s not a babysitter.
It’s for my own peace of mind. He won’t bother you.
” I tug her to me, tilt her chin up. “I’ll be back soon.
Trust me, there’s no place I’d rather be than with you.
And when I get back, I’m going to make it up to you.
You just think about all the ways I can do that for you. ”
She rolls her eyes, but smiles. “Hurry up. And I’m not saving you any chicken.”
I kiss her, and it does take all I have to walk out of that house, but I do because I need to tie up this loose end.
The drive to Sly’s office takes a little under twenty minutes, and just like the last time I was here, the building is mostly empty. I ride the elevator up. Not even the secretary is here tonight, and the lone light that’s on is the one in Sly’s corner office.
I make my way to it. The door is open, and I enter to find him standing at the window watching the city lights below. I see the similarities in us as he stands here, back to me. Tall, broad, same hair. I look more like him than Ethan does and I fucking hate it.
“Ever wonder about all those little lives down there?” he asks. Of course, he knows I’m here.
“Never thought you noticed or cared.” I close the door behind me.
“Well, I don’t care, but I do notice. What separates us from them? Do you think about that?” He turns to me. The red eyes of the ring on his little finger stare at me as gold clinks against the crystal tumbler. “About how little it would take for us to be down there. One of them.”
“What makes you think you’re better than them?”
“Oh, I don’t think I’m better as in a better human being. Just better off.”
I fucking hate this man.
He gestures around the opulent office. “Look around you. Money, boy. Money makes the world go round.”
I remember saying similar words to Ophelia.
“And you’re about to lose yours to me.” I take a seat in the same chair as last time I was here.
He sits down behind his obnoxiously oversized desk.
“When you signed that contract with me, you thought Ophelia and Ethan would be married. Thought you’d have access to all that Carlisle-Bent money to save your ass. It’s why you signed without putting up much of a fight. Makes sense now. But you miscalculated and you lost this one, Dad.”
He gives me a tight smile, refilling his tumbler and holding it up in mock toast before swallowing it down in one go.
“What do you want, son?” he asks.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
There’s an infinitesimal raising of his eyebrows, but otherwise he doesn’t react.
I take a piece of paper off his desk and pick up his pen, a fountain pen that’s probably worth several thousand dollars. Who the fuck pays that much money for a stupid pen?
I start to write.
“I want you to stay away from Ophelia. You and your family. You do that, and the loan becomes a gift, and you never find out what it’s like to be one of those people down on the street.”
His eyes narrow as he looks at the piece of paper before him.
It’s just a few sentences but it’s enough.
It states that the loan I made him is canceled on the condition that he and his family never have contact with Ophelia again.
The amount would then be considered a gift. I hold the pen out to him.
“Why would you do that?”
“I don’t want her hurt any more than she’s already been hurt. She’s been through hell and back and you know it.”
He studies me. “That’s not the reason. I don’t buy it.”
“Doesn’t matter what you buy. Agree, and your company is saved.
Don’t, and you lose everything. And I will take every single thing you own.
You’ll be less than those you were just looking down on.
But none of that will matter for long because if you go near her, I’ll fucking kill you.
” I hear myself say that last part and wonder where it came from.
It’s true. I know that. But never once has it been a conscious thought.
He raises his eyebrows, tilts his head to study me some more.
“Why?” he asks.
Love. But I don’t say that out loud. “For reasons you wouldn’t understand.”
“What are you afraid of?”
I stand up. “Are you signing or not?”
He grins, and I know I’ve given something away I didn’t intend to. “So, I sign this, and I don’t go near that girl—”
“And neither does your family.”
“And that’s it. I get the money and my company, and you and I go our separate ways.”
“Forever.”
“Sounds like a dream. Too good to be true if you ask me, though. What’s your game?”
“No game.” I check my watch. “You have thirty seconds before the offer expires.”
“She pregnant?”
That surprises me. “It would be none of your business if she was. I just want you gone. I want you all gone.”
“You’d give up the very thing you’ve been after for pretty much your whole fucking life? You’d give up your quest to watch me fall? For her? Just walk away when you’re so damn close to burying me?”
“Yeah. I guess I would. Guess you’re not that important after all.”
“Huh. Maybe you have more of your mother in you than either of us ever knew.” He picks up the pen, looks at the sheet of paper, then up at me again. He snorts, then signs.
I take a picture of the signed document with my phone and send it to Nigella to get it sorted. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled with me. I look at Sly, who is leaning back in his seat, holding a freshly poured tumbler of whiskey.
“Goodbye, son. Can’t say it’s been nice knowing you.”
“Ditto.”