Chapter Thirty-Nine
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
DOMINIC
My office used to energize me. Inside these glass walls, I controlled the world and everyone in it. Now it’s a prison. These glass walls have become iron bars, and my wardens are the very people who brought me to power.
Milly leans against the doorframe, her arms folded across her chest. “You can’t hide out here forever, you know.”
The overdue invoices littering my desk are killing my buzz, so in one uncoordinated motion, I swipe them onto the floor. Satisfied, I reach for a nearly empty bottle of whiskey and take an indulgent swig. “Why not? Wasn’t it you who told me to keep my dick in my pants and come to work?”
Wincing, she pulls off her glasses and rubs her eyes. “I don’t think it’s your dick that’s the problem here.”
My fist tightens around the bottle. “Don’t.” Milly flinches at the harsh bite of my tone, but I don’t care. What happened is my fault, and mine alone. It won’t be mentioned inside these walls .
Now or ever.
Rolling her lips over her teeth, she pushes off the doorframe and invites herself into my office. “Dom, it’s been five days,” she says, slumping into a chair in front of my desk. “You’re like a pendulum, swinging from one extreme to the other. Either you ghost us, or you’re like the manic party crasher who never leaves. You can’t live like this.”
Spinning my chair, I turn the bottle up and stare out at the street. “Why not? It worked for Hemingway.”
“Hemingway shot himself.”
I glance over my shoulder, offering a whiskey-infused smirk. “Maybe he just knew when it was time to leave the party.”
“Jesus!” She yells, slamming her palms against my desk, and the sudden movement causes me to swivel my chair back around. “What’s wrong with you? This isn’t the Dominic McCallum I know. The one who went after the most powerful men in Hollywood. That guy knew everything could blow up in his face, but he didn’t care. You know why?”
I shrug, lifting the bottle again. “Because he’s a fucking moron?”
“No, because he’s not a quitter.” Letting out a frustrated groan, she shoves her glasses back on her face before collapsing back into her chair. “Have you talked to her?”
Her.
She doesn’t have to even say her name. My heart races just at those three letters.
“Nobody’s talked to her.” I rub the space in my chest that hasn’t stopped aching in five days. “Since the leak, she hasn’t left the estate.”
Milly chews on my admission for a few hesitant moments. “Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems. Maybe after everything blows over, this could be a good thing.” She holds up her hand as I roll my eyes. “I’m serious! Actresses launch successful careers off sex tapes all the time.”
Dragging a hand over my face, I let out a heavy sigh. “Not when said actress is already tits deep in a studio scandal and rumors about collusion with yours truly.”
Greg Rosten might be a sexual predator, a pathological liar, a narcissist, and an extortionist, but he doesn’t make idle threats. He promised I’d pay for putting my hands on him, and he delivered.
Five days ago, the picture of Angel and me uploaded to the dark web and immediately crossed over into mainstream. Within minutes, it went viral, and our lives irrevocably changed.
And not equally.
Hollywood is the double standard capital of the world, after all.
I’ve tried calling her, but there’s no answer. Not that I expected there to be. I got so caught up in making her feel what she refused to hear, I neglected to tell her the blackmail didn’t die with Freddy Wiseman.
She threw me out before I could tell her about Rosten’s threat. Maybe that makes me just as responsible as him.
“What about you?” Milly asks. I glance up to see her head cocked to the side and her eyes boring into me. “How are you doing?”
“Me?” I let out a dry laugh. “Oh, I’m great. You know, other than having to fire all the employees you just rehired, being days away from getting kicked out of this building, and having my house and car repossessed.”
She opens her mouth for what I have no doubt is another motivational speech when the main BTN line rings. It can ring until the end of time for all I care, but when I see Milly’s ass lift off the chair, I shove a finger across the desk.
“Don’t you dare!” I warn. Milly’s one of the only friends I have, but if she makes one more move toward that phone, I’ll wrestle her to the ground. “It’s either a bill collector or another reporter wanting an exclusive on...” I swipe my hand through the air, mocking their newest bullshit headline. “ Alexandra Romanov’s Erotic Fall From Grace .”
She plops back down with a huff. “Wouldn’t they just call your cell phone?”
I smirk as the ringing stops only to immediately start again. “They would, if I didn’t toss it in the garbage outside my house.”
Good luck getting a quote now, fuckers.
Four rings later, Milly slams her palms against the armrests of the chair. “Well it’s driving me insane.” In a blur, she’s out of her seat and stomping out the door.
“Wait!” But before I even get the word out, she’s halfway across the bullpen.
Fuck it.
Sinking back into my chair, I spin back around and look out onto the darkened street again. Corralling Milly is like herding cats. Control the controllable , as my mom used to say.
Another one of Brenda McCallum’s nuggets of wisdom. Don’t spend your time flipping your shit over things out of your hands. Concentrate on taking hold of what’s in your grasp and manipulate it to your advantage. I’ve done it my whole life.
That’s what this whole damn thing has been about.
Controlling the controllable.
I didn’t start the hunt for a lost little girl, but I seized the opportunity to control it. Sure, I needed the money, but that was a fringe benefit. Two birds, one stone, no mess.
But when you build a labyrinth of deceit, you can get lost in your own maze.
Maybe in the beginning my reasons were a selfish attempt at protecting myself. As long as I found Alexandra Romanov first, people would stop looking. They’d stop questioning. And in case the little girl with green eyes broke her first pinkie promise, another queen would have already been crowned.
But that was before a down-on-her-luck cocktail waitress from Chula Vista, California stole twenty bucks from me and something I didn’t even know I had.
A heart.
She slowly brought me back to life, and in return what did I do? I turned her loose in her own labyrinth. The one that slowly chipped away at her sanity and soul, pushing her toward the edge.
Every day I watched more and more of Angel slip away as the truth bled through the fissures in her mind. I saw it coming and said nothing. Not out of fear of losing my freedom, but out of fear of losing her.
I watched my mother break before my eyes.
I refused to watch Angel break, too.
Be careful what you ask for.
Now it’s too late for apologies or confessions. It’s almost poetic. I finally get the balls to say the words to her, and she didn’t want to hear them. But I meant every word.
I love her.
I think I always have. The type of love changed over time, but she stole my heart the moment I saw her. The hope in her eyes when she first looked at me sealed my fate. Sitting there in the eye of the storm, she looked at me like I was her world.
“Are you God?”
Every jagged piece of me belongs to her. Even the ones hell-bent on cutting her and drawing blood. Somehow, she’s smoothed the edges just enough to tolerate the bite without breaking the skin .
I’ve never allowed anyone this close, and it feels like I’m being smothered and set free at the same time. Like soaring headfirst into the sun only to suddenly burst into flames. She’s my salvation and damnation. My redemption and ruin.
The biggest mistake I’ll never regret.
As soon as I hear footsteps, I palm the back of my neck and spin back around. “Let me guess, Rosten sold the rights.”
Milly’s face is chalk white. “Dominic…”
“I hope he knows I deserve at least a third of the—”
“Dominic!” she says, again, her voice unsteady. There’s a silence in her tone that chills my blood, but it’s her next words that bring me to my knees. “It’s your mother.”