Chapter Thirteen
Magnus
T hree hours after leaving Brooklyn, I sit in my penthouse, looking out over the river and the nearby Woolworths building.
That…what happened tonight in her living room, the small slice of unexpected heaven, wasn’t in the script. At all.
I put my bare feet up on my desk. The floor to ceiling window in my library/study and its view usually bring me focus and peace.
Not tonight. Tonight I’m…shit. I shouldn’t have kissed her again. No…no, kissing her was something I’d planned, but the rest of it? That came from nowhere. It blazed in, overtook, and she was utterly delightful.
I want to fuck her. I want to bury myself so deep inside her I don’t know where she ends and I begin. I want to pound her so hard. I’m over this fever that burns in my veins when I’m that little bit too close to her.
Jesus. She tastes like sin and all the sweet things the world has to offer.
Tapping my hand against my thigh, I force myself to go over everything once more. Already things aren’t following my plan. I wanted her power out for a day. But…yeah. When I woke up my person in charge of all that, all I got was a story about how the systems are antiquated and the city hadn’t yet come in to fix the power grid in that part of Brooklyn, to bring it all kicking and screaming into the 21 st C.
I reamed out Georgio for good measure, although he sounded a little hurt and said he’d get on things for me. So I’m waiting for his call. And in my head, I can hear my brothers laughing at me.
Because I’m feeling bad about this plan.
But a few unasked for emotions aren’t getting in my way.
And I can fix this whole thing. I want her pushed to a limit, to see how she takes things, but it’s not the right approach. Zoey Smith is made differently. She’ll sit there, and she won’t budge. Even if I pay the entirety of New York to rain misfortune down on her, she won’t give up.
Georgio calls me back. “We’ll need a day. It was all ready for the city to fix the power grid, but since we’re redoing everything with state of the art, we have special permits, and…”
“Fine. I’m putting you in charge of overseeing it tomorrow.”
“Me?” Georgio takes a moment. “Boss, that’s not the work I do.”
“It is now. Make sure the guys on the ground have her power up and running tomorrow.”
“Sure. And the other work?”
Thing is, I sanctioned this work, even though all the paperwork isn’t signed for other parts of the block—people and places I’m not worried about. They’ll come around. It’s Zoey. Even though I now own most of the large block, her being the hold out means my plans will eventually slam into her. It’s easier to have her gone than fight her in court.
“We need to get a start. Everything goes ahead. Just bring the lights back. She won’t budge that way.”
“I told you she’s cray-cray. I bet you she’d sit in the dark for the next ten years than sell.”
“Everyone has their point of breaking. I’m finding hers. Just make sure this goes the way I need.”
“Yes, boss.”
I ignore the large twinge of guilt. It’s probably from the Indian we ate earlier. And it’s probably indigestion. I hang up the phone and grab my laptop. It’s time to see about Zoey’s special breaking point.
I pull up the special account I made and click on the emails.
I almost laugh. Tons of responses to my ad I put up.
Looks like I’ll be interviewing tomorrow for a gran.
And then I’m going to move in for the kill.
Combine the fruition of my ambitions with the next blast of fucking heart I’m ready to unleash, I’m on my way to winning big.
And Zoey…
I refuse to think any more about her for the rest of the evening.
“Hey, Zoey,” I say the next morning, answering the call I’ve been expecting. “I’m on my way.”
“Don’t come in today. Still no lights.” She gives a hysterical little laugh that cuts more than it has any right to.
“Are you sure? I’m going to make some calls for you. I was planning to do them at lunch—”
“No, no, I don’t want you to waste your time. Spend the day with your gran.”
I smile and pour another coffee, plucking out some blueberries from the container that sits on my pristine marble kitchen island. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll pay you, so don’t worry about that.”
Jesus fucking Christ. This woman.
It’s going to be a hard lesson she’ll be learning, but one she needs. After all, no one can go through life being as nice and sweet as her without expecting to be burned. And she’s going to get burned.
“If you’re sure,” I say.
“Yes, now say hi to your gran.”
“That I will. That I will.”
And I hang up and down my coffee, following it with the blueberries.
I’ll make more than sure to say hello to the winning gran candidate.
Wednesday and Thursday I’m still interviewing, but after work—work, I’m fucking calling it work now—I hurry away from sweet Zoey. They’re almost finished with the work on her street I sanctioned, but I quietly pay extra for them to work in shifts to have it done.
It’s because it’s giving me a fucking headache and not because I can’t stand the look on Zoey’s face, the toll it’s having on her. No, it’s got nothing to do with that.
I’m running out of time and I don’t need my brothers to tell me that when we have a late meeting Thursday. They’re worried about the flagship company, and to be fair, I am too.
We don’t trust whatever the fuck our dead father is up to.
“It’s worth a shit ton of money. And reputation.” Kingston stretches out in my living room, a whiskey in one hand as he scrolls through his phone. No doubt he’s got an eye on some new investments. I know how he is when that happens.
“I care about the heritage.” For all his lazy air, Ryder, who’s pouring a drink, dressed in his East Village vibe outfit, along with his reputation as a lady’s man, works hard. And he loves the original company.
He looks around.
“And the money.”
“We all have enough.” Hudson is sending a text and it’ll be to Scarlett. No one will color me surprised if they announce a baby’s imminent arrival in the next year.
“It’s not about that, Hud,” I say. “It’s about principle. We’re being fucked with, manipulated from beyond the grave, and it’s annoying.”
“And we don’t know what’s going to change next.”
“Because,” I say, nodding at Ry’s words, “that’s what he’s done so far. And he had some game plan in mind with these fucking jewels.”
“We stick together and we keep the company, and we take our share.” Kingston looks up. “At least, that’s my plan. These jewels are worth a lot in reputation alone. So we just do the bullshit—”
“The bullshit is getting in the way of my project.”
King lifts a brow. “Or is that the girl?”
“I’m handling that. And I’m handling the heart crap.”
And I really am. So many things set to go.
“We’ll be calling you Mr. Bleeding Heart.” Ryder chuckles into his drink.
A low smile hits Hudson’s face. “Or Mr. Philanthropy.”
“Hey, this is for you, jerks. I’m good as I am.” Which is mostly true. I want the heritage to stay our heritage and not somehow fall completely into public hands. I’ve seen too many highly regarded businesses dragged down that way. Still…
“What’s your next move?”
“Zoey’s a lot tougher than she looks.”
Hudson gives me a funny look as I say this. “I meant,” he says quietly, “the proving you have heart thing.”
Oh. Right.
I outline my next moves. When I get to the one about the reading center, Zoey wanders into my mind, infecting me with the unease I’m beginning to know well.
Guilt. That’s what it is. Misguided, unwanted, unwarranted guilt. I squash it once more and will it to stay that way, but the woman has a way of somehow breathing life into my conscience and letting the guilt flare up.
Damn pretty, sweet Zoey.
I can’t wait to be rid of her.
And I just hope that one day when my dream is built, I’ll be able to believe that.
One day.
Amelia Johnson isn’t exactly grandmother material when she sashays into my office. More Studio 54, Good Time Gal, and broad who intimately knows the block and has it exactly where she wants it. She has to be around seventy, and I’m ready to dismiss her when she leans over my desk and pins me down with a hard glare.
“Boy, I’ve been dealing with your type long before you were born.”
I lean back and look at her. “Billionaires.”
“Yup. And movie stars. Mobsters. All kinds. You have a job, you have the pay, and I can show you why I’m worth my weight in gold. Also, I don’t have a pesky conscience.”
I point at her. “Sick gran. Frail. But has life. And someone a bleeding heart wants to give her life and soul and building to save.”
She smiles. “Bathroom?”
It’s Thursday night and I have a reading center to open in the name of my actual maternal great grandmother. So I check my watch, straighten my tie, and point to the executive bathroom.
The woman who emerges looks old. Frail. Sweet. Amelia hasn’t done much, her dark hair is pinned differently, old fashioned, and she’s moving slower, like things hurt. But it’s her aura.
Somehow, someway, she’s captured the idea I’ve been struggling to build.
The woman might have a heart as black as mine.
She hobbles up and talks to me in a slightly quavery voice. I hold up a hand and offer her a cool smile.
“If you manage to help me part this woman from her building, then I’ll pay you triple.”
And with that, I shake her hand, wait until she goes, and grab my jacket.
If my stomach seems a little heavy, I ignore it and head out. I have an empire to build, family heirlooms to grab, and a legacy to secure for my brothers and myself.
I don’t have time for Zoey or emotions.
Of any kind.
By Friday afternoon I’m quietly amazed at Zoey.
Not her sweet smiles, or the way she works way too hard for too little, but at how she cares. People come in, more than I saw in my first week, and they’re all concerned about the handful of days her store stayed shut.
She’s also very easy on the eye, and the tension between us grows more palpable by the passing hour, as it’s done since that…session on her sofa.
Did we nearly fuck? Yeah. I’m aware of that, painfully. I need to do something about it, because me not having sex and being attracted to Zoey is a dangerous recipe, a disaster waiting to happen.
It’s not I don’t think I can handle it, sleeping with her, but I’m playing a game and I moved too soon and—shit. I don’t know. I like her. That’s the problem. Too much. That’s the other problem.
I can use that, but I have to do it my way.
And I’m talking myself in circles.
Her frequent, long side glances with her emotions in her eyes are what I want. Add some heart to that and I can really manipulate her.
By seven, she breathes a sigh, turns the sign, and locks the door. Then she stands in the middle of the store and looks at me. It makes my heart thump hard.
“You don’t have to stay so late.”
“I know, I wanted to make up for me not coming in. You insist on paying—” something I actively feel terrible about, but then again, fools and their money…even though I don’t think she’s a fool “—so it’s the least I could do.”
She nods. And opens her mouth, a worried expression on her face.
So I step in, right up to her, and slide my hands along her shoulders. Christ, she feels good. “Gran’s been asking about you.”
“It’s the cookies I send with you.”
I go to say she’s diabetic, but for some reason I stop myself. I’ve been giving her treats to my PA who I swear swoons every time. If I say something snarky, it would be like slapping Zoey and I don’t hit women. Even metaphorically. Not like this, anyway. “She loves them. And she thinks you sound like a dream.”
“That’s so sweet.”
I lift her chin with my fingers. Dark circles shadow her eyes, and her soft mouth is pale. “So are you, Zoey. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”
The moment I say those words, I know they’re true.
Sure, I’m taking away her rickety store. Sure, I know it’s going to burn her. But it’s true. And part of me wishes things were different. The other part wonders what the hell the suddenly sappy part has been drinking and I know I need to get out of there.
I have two weeks to deal with the whole heart bullshit, which I’m off to do again tonight. I’m setting up a job and shelter service. Not a halfway house, but it came about from listening to Zoey yesterday. She was talking about the problem of people who’d gotten themselves up from the gutters of society, and how for some it’s hard to find work, and that means it’s hard to find a home. And then she told me about programs for ex-cons and how restrictive some are.
So I’m going to set something up. Offer housing and set up different kinds of places where people can work. As well as a place away from the city where people can make and sell things like home goods. That one came from Tuesday Harry and his knitting.
It’s not happening overnight. And it might all sink terribly. Tonight is dinner and drinks with others who I think will be on board.
People love good deeds and projects, and for once, even if it fails, I’m fine with backing this.
“Magnus…”
Her mouth is calling to me, but I reluctantly step back, releasing her. “Keep that thought, those words, whatever they are. I have to go. And who knows, maybe I can bring Gran this weekend.”
And Zoey smiles.
It almost breaks my heart.
If I had one.