5. The Butterfly Effect
Chapter 5
The Butterfly Effect
B rinley dropped into an open seat on the Metrobus and let her head tip back for just a second. Her eyes already hurt from staring too hard at a screen—specifically, from squinting at badly lit, blurry pictures and trying to determine whether or not they were salvageable. She shouldn’t have been surprised that so many had proven to be useless. On the other hand, that meant she was rushing off to work without an actual article written for submission. She now needed to beg for one or three more hours to pull tiny threads from the photos still on the drive into one cohesive story. You’d think it was Monday.
The bus started moving again and a body plunked onto the seat next to hers.
Brinley braced herself to straighten and chug the chain store coffee she held in her hand. She honestly hated riding the bus, especially since the city had changed the pay system, but sometimes she had no choice. Parking in Miami was terrible.
The passenger at her left bumped into her shoulder in a blatantly purposeful nudge. “Morning,” an accompanying female voice said. “How’d it go?”
Brinley jolted upright and found herself staring into bright blue eyes that were far too clear for the early, emotionally exhausting morning she’d had. “Excuse me?”
The other female lifted a hand over the top of her face, covering everything above her nose, then split her fingers horizontally in order to peek through. Mimicking a mask. The motion drew Brinley’s attention, for a split-second, to the silky black sleeve with lace detail that covered the woman’s arm.
Understanding slammed into her and Brinley sucked in a breath. “Holy crap.”
The woman smirked as her hand lowered back to her lap, revealing a face that was, in fact, vaguely familiar. Smooth, blemish-free skin, dark red lips, and hair a similar color to Brinley’s own shade of blonde, but longer and pulled partially back in a waterfall braid. “So?” she prompted.
Brinley blinked, still feeling stunned. This was the woman who’d pulled her winning raffle ticket from the bowl in that spontaneous event at the mall. An entry of one ticket had cost two dollars, but everything was supposed to contribute toward hurricane relief efforts, so she’d participated. A two-dollar donation really wasn’t much, but it wasn’t enough to break her, either. That was how she’d viewed it. Until this woman had called her number. “You … did you just … why are you here?”
The other female tsked at her. “I wanted to check in,” she said. She raked her clear-eyed gaze over Brinley as if appraising her. “I guess I have my answer, though.” Mischief sparked and her smirk widened. “Good night?”
Heat flashed through her and Brinley pulled the coffee closer as if it might defend her. “The party was fine,” she said stiffly. “I wore the wrong shoes, so I didn’t dance much. Probably for the better.”
“Uh-huh.” The woman reached over and poked her firmly in the arm. “Well, let’s see if we can’t speed up the drudgery, yeah?”
Brinley leaned away from the persistent poking. “Ow. Stop. What are you even talking about? Who are you?”
“Me?” The woman blinked once and her expression softened to something like neutral. “Call me Ella. Not that who I am matters, Brinley. This is about you.”
“What’s about me?” Brinley rubbed at her arm. “Why do you remember my name? That’s kind of awkward, you know?”
Ella’s grin returned and she waved her hand in a dismissive manner. “No wonder you’re a reporter. You ask so many questions.” She stood, not swaying when the bus swung to the side for its next stop. They did not have the smoothest driver that morning. Ella extended a pointer finger toward Brinley. “The next little while might be uncomfortable, honey, but it’ll be worth it. Promise. You just have to follow this”—she leaned close and tapped Brinley’s chest, over her heart—“and not this.” She finished by lifting her hand to tap Brinley’s forehead. “Got it?”
Brinley awkwardly shook her head. “Not at all.”
Ella chuckled and turned away. “You will, you will.” She didn’t wait for a response before striding down the aisle between the seats and disappearing out the door.
Brinley gaped after her, leaned forward, and attempted to see which way the strange female went when she got off the bus. Though she had no idea what she might do with that information. It didn’t matter. Ella never reappeared. That’s impossible. She had to have gone the other direction, and Brinley’s line of sight just wasn’t as good as she’d thought. Maybe one of the oncoming passengers had blocked her view.
She sank back into her seat and rubbed at her chest. Ella hadn’t poked with any fervor that time, but somehow, her heart felt achier in the wake of their bizarre conversation than it had minutes earlier. Maybe I’m hallucinating. Too little sleep, too little caffeine, and too much stress. That had to be it.
She curled as in on herself as she dared on a public bus and focused on gulping her coffee before her stop. The boost of caffeine and sugar would settle her, she was sure.
****
The unexpected sound of heels clicking on polished stone floor reached Lennox’s ears only seconds before the double doors to his home office were shoved open. He frowned—at the unannounced intrusion, and more severely at the sight of the woman strutting in like she owned the damn place. A single click was all it took to darken his monitor screen and he adjusted to face forward, not bothering to soften his expression. “Matilda. Would you be so kind as to explain how you got in?”
Matilda rolled her eyes and let out a practiced sigh of exasperation. She settled her overpriced handbag in the crook of her arm and made a dismissive gesture. “Isn’t it obvious? I let myself in.”
Lennox pushed to his feet. “I’m not in the mood to play this game with you, Matilda. We don’t socialize. Even when we were together, I never gave you the security codes for my private residence.” Considering the number of arguments they’d had on the subject, he doubted she’d forgotten.
Her manicured brow pinched for a single second before smoothing out again. “I am well aware of the secrets you kept. You were a terrible fiancé.”
By choice. “And you’re trespassing.”
Matilda balked. “Hardly. More importantly, what’s this I’m hearing you were glued to some charity case at that annual throwback last night?” She took a single step forward, her voice rising. “Were you bored , or have you completely lost your sense of self-worth?”
His lips threatened to curl with the growl of warning that burned in his chest, but Lennox fought both reflexes down. Matilda had always aggravated him. Always gotten under his skin in absolutely the worst way. He’d thought he could endure her once, for his father’s sake, but it hadn’t taken long to realize indulging her made her worse and ignoring her only served as a provocation. Neither was there any sense in asserting his dominance as an alpha where she was concerned. The woman was human. She only ever laughed it off. So he chose instead to express his irritation with his words. “I’d say you’re the one with insecurities. Barging into a home you know damn well you’re not welcome in and making a scene over something that doesn’t concern you? For what, your pride? Or are you the one who’s bored?”
She reared back, her artificially extended and painstakingly straightened hair swaying with the movement. “I beg your pardon? All I had to do was politely ask for the security code from your kind mother and she was happy to offer it. That’s hardly barging . Don’t be such a boor. And I’ll have you know, your social preferences reflect on me. So of course it concerns me.”
The hand he’d left resting on his desktop to remind himself of his surroundings curled into a fist. “You called my mother?” The question was out before he could think better of it. He shouldn’t have been surprised. His parents were the reason they’d met, the reason they’d become engaged, and the reason he’d worked so damn hard to make it work. It didn’t matter that he’d explained to them on multiple occasions how incompatible he and Matilda were, before or since the split. Matilda was among the most manipulative and self-centered people he knew. Of course she’d called his mother to get what she wanted.
Matilda marched forward, into his personal space, and smacked him across the face. “You were salivating over some low-class whore in public! How do you think—”
Lennox caught her by the wrist before she could retract her hand. “Trespassing aside, I will not tolerate you disrespecting her.” He tightened his grip and a little of his natural, angered growl thickened his voice. “ Never let me hear that shit again.”
Matilda sucked in a sharp breath and retracted her arm as soon as he released it. “Do you even know her name?”
He held her glare easily. “Nice try. Now get out.”
She raised her chin defiantly. “You’ll never do better than me, Len. Remember that.” Then she twisted in place, adding an extra flourish with her neck to make her hair swing wide, and strode out as if she hadn’t been dismissed.
Lennox locked his jaw until he was fairly sure he wouldn’t snarl at whomever he spoke to next. He typed out instructions in text to his security staff to make sure she was swiftly removed from the property and kept that way, and then he stalked forward and snapped the office doors firmly shut. He blew out a rough breath, returned to his desk, and stared at his phone.
He wanted to get back to the important and more valuable work he’d been doing. But now, apparently, he needed to call home again.
He grunted and tapped a key to wake the monitor, simultaneously unlocking his smartphone and swiping open his contacts list. He was one of the world’s most successful businessmen. He could fucking do both.
His mind was still processing that new information had come in while he’d been dealing with his ex when his father answered. The blinking tab taunted him, promising the unknown, potentially the most desirable things.
“Unusual to hear from you on a workday, Len,” Carey Mitchell said in greeting.
Lennox exhaled harshly and dragged his eyes from the blinking promise and back to the slightly blurred still photo from the security camera footage. “I wish I could say this was going to be a pleasant call.” It felt wrong to be so agitated while looking at the figure of his admitted obsession with one leg sticking out of a modest sedan. He remembered how that leg felt beneath his palm, wrapped around his hip, and hooked over his shoulder. He remembered the taste of her on his tongue. He even remembered the way the mask that looked so fuzzy to the camera sparkled under the light of the ballroom chandeliers.
Carey made a sound of confusion. “Something the matter?”
Lennox sat back, pulling his hands from the desk. Maybe this wasn’t one of those things he could split his focus between. “Matilda just let herself into my home.”
“Oh?” Too much interest loaded that simple response. “That’s a strange way to tell your father things have smoothed out between you two.”
“I can barely stand the concept of her existence,” Lennox replied. “She claims Mom gave her my access codes. I sure as fuck didn’t. So it was one of you, or someone I can fire. I’m only asking once.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carey said, his tone defensive. “And I don’t appreciate that accusation. I may be getting older, but I’m still your father. Show a little respect.”
“I respected you so hard I nearly committed myself to a woman whose death I would celebrate. There need to be boundaries,” Lennox said. “I’m not a child living under your care anymore. I haven’t been for a long time. I am my own alpha now, father.”
As he always did at the reminder, Carey made a sound of displeasure. No alpha liked losing control. “You’ve always been too much of a dreamer, Len,” Carey said after a beat. “I haven’t spoken to Mattie in months, but I think she and your mother still talk sometimes. Female stuff. I stay out of it. You should really reconsider—”
“Right after you reconsider prioritizing your actual son.” Lennox drew a breath. “I’m busy. You understand that I’ll be changing my codes and not sharing them with either of you moving forward. Talk later.” He didn’t wait for his father’s response before disconnecting. More than likely, it would only be argumentative. Most of their conversations tended to reach a point where they devolved into an argument nowadays.
Lennox allowed himself a moment to breathe through the lingering frustration of that conversation, and the one before it. He raked a hand through his hair, counted to five, and darkened the monitor again. Changing the codes needed to come first.
Then he could settle in and see what information had come back on his sweet little omega.
****
Day. From. Hell. She had no better description for the day she’d been trudging through since the butt-crack of dawn. Admittedly, for those first few seconds, it had been pretty nice. It was a little hard to believe she was still in the same day she’d started out in that oversized, comfy bed, tucked beneath Lennox Mitchell’s muscular arm. In so many ways, that entire happening felt like a hazy dream she’d hallucinated. Probably months earlier.
Brinley slumped in her desk chair, trying to simply breathe through the mess of feelings on permanent tumble-cycle in her chest. The whole thing had her belly so upset she hadn’t been able to eat lunch, even, and some jackass had cranked the office heater up too high. Again. But she couldn’t say anything. Gods forbid the female complain about the temperature in a shared office space. She just had to endure the pinpricks of sweat that had broken out around her hairline and the way her clothes were starting to feel itchy.
At least she’d managed to scrape together enough words to meet their minimum article standard, after a small uncomfortable altercation with her boss, and get that submitted before the morning was done. Project: Millionaire Masquerade was complete in every way except for the dotted line that was the final detail of her raise.
A rank, sour stench cloyed its way into Brinley’s nostrils and she scrunched up her face before even realizing the probable source. It was always worse after midday. She really was having the worst luck.
From off to the side, surely propped above the cubicle barricade, her least favorite coworker’s voice called, “Looking a little down there, Young. Did you not score yourself a sugar daddy to whisk you away from your troubles?” He chuckled at his own joke.
Brinley bristled and pried her eyes open to glare up at the man. He was more than a decade older than her, but his maturity level had never graduated high school. “Do you not have anything better to do than bother me in the middle of the day, Jerry?”
His laughing smile fell. “It’s Jerrod , dammit.”
She knew that, of course. But since he refused to treat her with a modicum of human decency, she refused to use his proper name. It was still more than he deserved in her mind. “Go stink up someone else’s sandbox, please.” She waved her hand in a clear motion of dismissal.
“You’re a real bitch, you know that?” Jerrod leaned further down over the partition, but made no effort to lower his voice. “I hope you failed so hard they toss your stupid ass down to the mail room or some shit. Make you play errand girl for a while. Teach you a little fuckin’ humility.”
The more he spoke, the more her stomach churned. Brinley turned her head in an effort to escape his genuinely repulsive body odor situation. “Seriously, go away,” she said. “I will never be your little gofer. In your dreams.”
Jerrod snickered but straightened. “Bet you couldn’t even do that right, anyway.”
He has got to be kidding. She knew he was still upset that he hadn’t been gifted her winning party invite—and therefore the assignment—over her, but he was being worse than usual. She was not in the mood for it. She even opened her mouth to tell him so when their boss’s door flew open and the man himself leaned into the hall.
“Young! My office, now!”
The fight drained out of her system.
Jerrod laughed louder, sounding exactly like the bully who succeeded in getting his victim called into the principal’s office. “Maybe they’ll give you another costume for the new gig!”
Brinley pushed to her feet, turned her back to her unhygienic, asshole colleague, and squared her shoulders. I am not being demoted to gofer. Absolutely not. So what she’d deleted a few photos from the drive? One way or another, everything she’d deleted had been unusable. Would her boss love to know that she could one-hundred-percent identify one of the partygoers as anti-spotlight, ultra-rich billionaire Lennox Mitchell? Without a doubt. Was she going to use that to help herself? No. She treasured the memory of her time with Lennox too much to betray him that way.
“Close the door,” her boss said sharply as she stepped into his office.
Brinley quietly obeyed, then hesitated. The air in the room was oppressive. It stank like sweat, tobacco, and old take-out. The wall-mounted heater he had for his office space emitted a low hum and his worn chair squeaked in protest when he resettled in it. She didn’t want to be there. She very much did not want to be in that space. She didn’t remember it ever making her so uncomfortable.
It’s just nerves. She really, really hoped it was just nerves.
Neil Waters leaned forward, propped his elbows on the desk, and scrubbed a hand down his face before leveling a hard stare at her. “What happened, Brinley?”
She blinked at the calmer than expected tone. “Um, I beg your pardon?”
He continued to stare. “You took two extra hours this morning, and this”—he smacked his palm onto the paper in front of him—“is the crap you give me?”
She flinched at the sudden, threatening noise and it took her brain a moment to process his words. “What?” She shook her head. “It’s not—”
“It’s shit is what it is!” Waters shoved to his feet again, snatched the paper up, and began waving it in the air, uncaring of how it crinkled in his grasp. “I can’t publish this garbage, Brinley. This is un-fucking-publishable , do you hear me? It’s absolute brainless drivel. It’s crap. It’s less than crap. It’s the toilet paper you wipe the crap up with!”
Brinley sucked in a breath as tears pricked her eyes. She certainly couldn’t have argued it was any kind of masterpiece. She never would have presented it as her gold-standard, most exemplary work. But she would never have turned it in if she’d felt it was as bad as Waters was making it sound. Her head was shaking with the denial before she could even think better of it. “Mr. Waters, please reconsider. I know you looked at the pictures. I had to write something that I could—”
He crumpled the paper into a loose ball and pitched it at her from across the office.
She flinched again, on reflex, as the harmless paper bounced off her chest and tumbled down. Her gaze was riveted as it landed on her booted toe, wobbled, and finally rolled sideways onto the old carpet.
Waters ranted all the while. “I sprung for a fucking gown for you so you could go to a goddamn exclusive rich-kid party, Young. Where is my thank you?” He threw his hands into the air. “Where is my Pulitzer?”
Brinley jerked her head up, the ridiculous question snagging her attention. “You can’t be serious.” The words were out of her mouth before she even realized she was thinking them.
But she had his whole attention. He was red-faced from his ranting, nostrils flaring, a warning in his eyes.
She wanted little more than to go home and cry in her shower, but she fought her tears. “I did the best I was able, Mr. Waters. I went to the party, I participated, I engaged as many people as I could. As you can see in the photos. Their masks were elaborate. I have no idea who half of the guests were and a poor man’s guess on most of the rest—if we printed those guesses you’d be opening yourself up to so many lawsuits, the publication would never survive. I shouldn’t have to tell you that. I’m sorry, sir, but nothing wild and scandalous happened at the party. It was a ball with purposely poor lighting and lots of fully covered faces.”
Waters stepped closer. “And I suppose you didn’t make much effort to chase those conversations when people walked away from the new girl?”
Brinley heard herself scoff. “Nothing quite screams ‘I’m desperate to learn your identity so I can spin a tale of lies about you’ like pursuing people who’ve made it clear they don’t want to talk. Sir.” Shut up. She needed to stop running her mouth. Waters was already angrier with her than she’d ever seen. She didn’t understand it, didn’t feel it was justified, but she could plainly see it.
“You had a job to do, Brinley,” he said in an almost jarringly low tone.
She wiped a bead of sweat off her face. “I still believe there should be integrity in reporting, Mr. Waters. I won’t write lies and I won’t compromise myself.” Had she? Did what she’d done with Lennox not thoroughly qualify as that?
No, it did not. She hadn’t done that for work, for starters. That had been self-serving through and through. And she couldn’t afford to be thinking about him—about that—in this office, in this conversation. It was only making her a different kind of uncomfortable.
Waters curled his lip. “I never thought I’d be so disappointed in you. You had so much potential.” He turned and stepped back toward his chair. “Get out.”
Brinley’s head spun. What? What’s … happening? “Sir?”
He swung his arm violently outward in her direction, shouting again. “Get the fuck out of my office! You’re benched until I can stand to look at you again.”
Benched? She’d never been benched before. Brinley bit back the argument that so badly wanted to fall from her lips and turned to do as she’d been told. The rank stench of the office smacked her in the face when she opened the door and her belly twisted painfully, bringing with it a flush of heat that rolled over her skin. Only when she raised an arm on reflex to ease the pain did she finally, much too late, process what was actually happening.
Yes, Jerrod smelled. But everything else was all her.
She’d slipped into an early heat.