Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX
“Mr. Mercer?”
Looking up from my desk, I find Natalia, my brand-new assistant, standing in the open doorway to my office.
It’s a small space—reception area barely big enough for a desk and a few chairs and an interior office that isn’t much bigger—in a newly renovated building.
The rent is ridiculous and I’m probably going to regret signing the lease but after two years of running my business from my phone and using rent-by-the-hour conference space to meet with clients, it was either take the leap or give up and sell out to Jase Bright.
Besides, it came furnished and there’s a private bathroom with a shower so if I lose everything, I can always move in here and sleep on my desk.
“What is it, Natalia?” She’s a nice kid—hard worker.
In her sophomore year at NYU, I stole her from a summer internship at one of the big firms in the financial district.
She’d dropped an entire tray of to-go coffee on the sidewalk in front of my building and started crying hysterically about how she was going to get fired.
While helping her clean it up, I calmed her down enough to realize that you can’t really get fired from a job that isn’t even paying you.
I hired her on the spot and while I’m still not sure it was a smart move on her part, I can’t say I regret it.
Having her around to keep me organized and on task has been a game changer.
“There’s a gentleman here to see you,” she says before leaning into the space between us and dropping her tone. “It’s that douchebag Millie Blackwell was going to marry—Alex. Albert?”
Feeling the back of my neck go tight, I shoot a glare past her. “Allister.”
“Yeah—him.” When I say his name, her mouth curls in distaste. “Should I tell him you’re—”
“Why don’t you go grab some lunch,” I say, offering her a flat smile. “Use the company card—I’ll text you when it’s okay to come back.”
“No.” Shaking her head emphatically, Natalia’s eyes go wide like I just told her to do a backflip off the Brooklyn Bridge. “I don’t think—”
“Send him in on your way out,” I interrupt her, mid-protest. When it becomes obvious that I have no intention of relenting, Natalia sighs.
“Okay… well, for the record, I don’t mind being an accessory to murder when it involves lying, cheating assholes,” she tells me before straightening herself. “I’m going to Barney’s. You want your usual?”
“Sure.” My usual is a pastrami on rye with extra dressing and a side of potato salad. Rather than tell her I’ll more than likely have committed murder and will be fleeing the country before she gets back with my sandwich, I give her another flat smile. “But don’t come back until I tell you to.”
“Okay.” She flashes me a bright smile that I’ve come to recognize as her I hear you but I’m not listening smile before disappearing from the doorway.
“Natalia,” I call after her but she ignores me.
Outside my open office door, I hear her desk drawer open and slam shut, followed by a few words murmured in a terse tone.
As soon as I hear the frosted glass in the outer office door rattle in its frame when she leaves, Allister strides into my office like he owns the place.
He looks terrible. Rumpled suit. Disheveled hair.
In desperate need of a shave. Nothing like the man I’ve come to know and despise over the last couple of years.
“You look like shit,” I tell him. “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me—Paige dump you yet?”
“Fuck you, Mercer,” he practically snarls, stopping in front of my desk to glare down at me.
“I bet she did,” I say, sitting back in my seat with a shitty grin. “I bet she quit taking your calls months ago, didn’t she?”
He drops his gaze to the Rolex strapped to my arm before bouncing it up to meet mine on a nasty grin of his own. “Nice watch.”
“This ol’ thing?” I lift my arm and flash my wrist, struggling to keep my tone as flat and indifferent as possible “You like it? It was supposed to be your wedding gift.” Deciding that getting this over with as soon as possible is the safest course of action for everyone, I don’t give him a chance to respond. “What the fuck do you want, Allister?”
“What do I want?” he parrots back, volume rising to a near shout. “I want to know where you got it—that’s what I want.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him, sitting back in my seat on a sigh. Looking up at him, I give him an apathetic shrug while he practically foams at the mouth. “Got what?”
“You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you?
” he sneers at me. “Paige told me all about you—how obsessed you’ve been with Millie since that weekend in the Hamptons.
How you’ve been following her around like a stray dog for the last two years.
” Now he laughs at me and it takes everything I have to not lunge at him and break his fucking neck.
“I bet knowing I’m the one who fucked her first eats you alive, doesn’t it? ”
“It probably would if I didn’t know how utterly abysmal you are in bed,” I reply, the muscle in my jaw flexing so hard I can hear the click of it in my ears.
“As it stands, I can’t say it bothers me all that much.
I’m just glad Mills figured out what a complete piece of shit you are before she made the mistake of marrying you. ”
“Why?” He laughs, still glaring down at me.
“Like you ever had a chance with her? Millie’s not just a Blackwell—she’s the Blackwell.
Preston Blackwell’s eldest child. Heir to the throne—do you really think a guy like you would ever be good enough?
” He leans into the space between us, a nasty grin smeared across his face.
“Get real. Not even turning her into your whore could fix that.”
Shooting forward in my seat on a snarl of my own, I wrap my hand around his tie and give it a vicious jerk, slamming his head into my desk, his nose exploding in a spray of blood across my blotter.
Letting him go, I watch while Allister crumples to the floor on the other side of it.
Standing up, I round my desk to find him sprawled across my office floor, out cold, leaking blood all over the brand-new carpet.
Shit.
There goes my deposit.
Hunkering down next to him, I give him a dispassionate once over, before I reach down and give him a stinging slap against his blood-smeared cheek. “Wake the fuck up,” I say, giving him another hard smack that brings him to. “Ope—there he is.”
“You broke my nose,” he says groggily, his gaze, swimming in and out of focus. “You—”
“Be grateful it wasn’t your goddamned neck,” I tell him quietly.
“Now I need you to shut the fuck up and listen, Al—because this is important.” Leaning over him, I grip my hand around his jaw and squeeze hard enough to nearly pop his eyes out of their sockets.
“If you ever so much as think about disparaging Millie’s name or character again, I’ll kill you.
” I say it quietly, my tone heavy with promise.
“I’ll find you and drag you from whatever rock you’re hiding under, and I will end your fucking life—do you understand? ”
“You broke my nose,” he says it again, still stunned that the situation has taken such an abrupt turn. “I’m gonna—”
“Call the cops? That’s fine—go ahead.” Letting go of his face, I grip his tie for the second time, jerking him into a half sitting position before I slap him across the face again, this time hard enough to rattle his teeth. “But right now, I need you to focus, dipshit—do you understand?”
“Yes.” Eyes wide, Allister looks up at me, his expression caught somewhere between panic and disbelief. “I understand.”
“I’m unconvinced,” I tell him, pushing the words through clenched teeth. “Repeat it back.”
“If I…” Swallowing hard, Allister looks away because whatever he sees on my face is telling him I’m dead serious. That his life hinges on the words he chooses to push out of his bloody mouth. “If I ever talk badly about Millie again, you’re going to kill me.”
“And I’m going to make it hurt,” I tell him with a nod, even though I’m nowhere close to satisfied.
Letting go of his tie, I let him fall, the back of his head hitting the floor with a dull thud.
Looking at the blood on my hand, I wipe it off on his shirt with a distasteful grunt before standing up to glare down at him.
“Now, kindly get the fuck out of my office.”
Not waiting to see if he complies, I move back behind my desk to settle in my chair, just in time to stagger to his feet.
“Her father is going to find out who sent her those texts, you know,” he says, reaching up to pass the sleeve of his ruined suit under his leaking sieve of a nose. “He has someone working on it. It’s only a matter of time—”
“I know—he told me.” Opening my laptop, I don’t even spare him a glance when I say it.
To be honest, I don’t understand what’s taking so long.
The matter should’ve been settled weeks ago.
“Which means you and Paige are living on borrowed time because we both know no one fabricated those texts. They’re absolutely real and as soon as Millie and her father know that, the two of you are going to get everything you deserve. ”
“And you think she’s just going to forgive you for what you did?
” Dropping his arm on a scoff, Allister shakes his head.
“Yeah—I cheated on her. I fucked her cousin but so did you and when you found out about us, you used the situation to your advantage. You think you’re better than me? You’re not. You’re just a—”
I look up at him. “I know exactly what I am and I know exactly what Millie thinks of me,” I tell him, swallowing hard against the surge of bile that saying it out loud pushes up the back of my throat.
“I know what I did and I know I don’t deserve her—neither of us do.
” Sitting back in my chair, I shake my head before refocusing on my laptop.
“The difference is that I actually love her.”
“Look…” Desperate now, Allister lunges at my desk, but pulls himself up when I flick a warning glare in his direction. “I already lost my job,” he whines plaintively. “I lost my apartment—”
“It was Millie’s apartment,” I remind him. “Everything you had belonged to her. You didn’t even buy the engagement ring you gave her.”
Jerking back like I took a swing at him, Allister shakes his head but he doesn’t bother trying to deny it. “I just need you to get rid of it. That’s all I want. That’s all I’m asking for—just please get rid of it.”
“I’m sorry.” I tell him with an indifferent shrug. “But I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do,” he shouts at me, his tone high-pitched and edging toward hysteria. “It was you. I know it was—”
“It wasn’t him, fuckstick,” a voice I recognize says from the still open doorway. “It was me.”
Hearing him, Allister wheels around and glares at the man standing a few feet away from him. Taking in the man’s worn jeans and tattoos, he lets out a disgusted jesus, there’s another one kind of scoff. “Who the hell are you?” he demands before taking another swipe at his nose.
“Me?” Conner Gilroy says, pointing his finger at his own chest. “I’m the guy who’s gonna post the video of you fucking a blow-up doll on the internet—nice to finally meet you.”