Chapter Nineteen
Magnus
I t’s been a hell of a morning. I’ve been at it since five a.m.
It’s ten now, and I need to head to Zoey’s store soon.
Thing is, my leisurely timeline to do with her store is now fast track. Tapping my pen against the leatherbound notebook on my desk in my office, I glare at my notes. I should have known the longer it took me to close all the deals and crush the last holdout—Zoey—into dust that the hyenas and vultures would come sniffing.
Bronn Lichtenfeld won’t mention me by name, so that’s not a worry. I don’t like him and I’ve met him a few times, but I don’t have to know someone not to like them. I learn a lot by watching how people conduct business and he’s about money. Shallow, vulgar in that Lichtenfeld way.
He, or I’m betting his father, has seen what I’m buying up and knows it’s big. They’re in banking but they like to invest in money makers no matter what. If it’s got the name Sinclair attached, then…
No. He’s not going to mention Magnus to Zoey, although his calling her sent a jolt through me yesterday. He’s going to try and buy her out. She won’t do it. But his sniffing about, or rather his sniffing about properties in the area, means I have to push fast forward.
I’ve no intention of giving him money, of paying overblown prices to an overblown ego. And I’ve also no intentions of sharing anything I’m doing. Especially this project.
What I need to do is up the gran game, which I’ve set in motion. Part Zoey with money for dear old gran.
It’s not like I’m going to let her sink, at least not now. She’ll get it all back and I’ll save her, making everything come together.
But I need to get at her books. As in the ones with the numbers. And I’ve got a special charity ready to launch, one of the reasons I spoke to the kid.
I was more than aware of one wrong move with him and the kid would take it the wrong way. Worse, Zoey would have as well, and I don’t want to disappoint her.
As part of the game, of course.
I rub my hand against my chest, like I can dislodge the sudden cold lump that feels a little like regret and foreboding, but is probably hunger.
If I get the kid on board, get him some work, it gives him purpose, and it makes me look good in Zoey’s eyes. And down the track, when she comes crashing down along with her store, well, she’ll remember that.
“You look like you’re both plotting and the world is weighing you down.”
I flick my glance up at my mother. “I’m getting a new personal assistant.”
“Please. I’m your mother. An employee can’t stop me.”
“You have other children. Don’t you want to terrorize one of them?”
My mother pulls out a chair and elegantly sits down, smoothing her hands along the front of her tailored skirt. “They’re not the ones who are trying to keep hold of the Sinclair jewels and the company, Magnus.”
I pick up a matte black folder from my desk and toss it to her. She catches it with a grimace and opens it, flipping through the thick hand cut paper inside.
She closes it and sets it down. “Impressive.”
“Heart, mother. That’s a whole lot of heart there. Think Jenson and his little team will be impressed?”
“No doubt.”
I narrow my eyes at her.
“But thing is, I’m going to be judging you.”
“So it’s all good.”
“I told you this is more complicated than you might be thinking, Magnus. Heart isn’t just money.”
“Money helps and you know it.”
“Money, Magnus, isn’t the only way.”
I spread my hands. “You told me three-legged puppies were out. I’m actually doing good things.”
“You are, and I commend you.”
“Well?”
She sighs and leans forward, hand on my desk. “Well, what?”
“You were there at one of my charity events. And that—” I point my pen at the folder “—is a billion-dollar foundation I’m setting up. Does my dead father want blood?”
She stands suddenly, her face a cool mask. “Don’t, Magnus. That level of callous disregard is—”
“What he made me and you know it. And I’m not complaining. I’m fantastic at what I do, Mother. I care about the legacy of our family company, but between you and me, I don’t give a shit about earrings. If it was just the company, I’d probably let all these stupid games he’s making me play go. But my brothers care. So… here I am. A performing monkey.”
“That isn’t what this is about, Magnus.” She crosses to the floor to ceiling window and stares a moment out into the gunmetal gray day.
I follow her. “Then tell me. I’ll save the damn jewels so Ryder can get his share, and the company to keep everyone happy. And I’ll do it without wasting time.”
She looks up at me. “Your father had some kind of plan he wants played out. He wasn’t a good husband…”
He wasn’t a good father, either, but I keep that to myself. Because it’s not really something I’ve focused on in the way I am now. And my mother…we’re closer to her than we were to him. But he had a variety of wives, all younger versions of my mother. And so I don’t get why or how she remained close to him. Love? Their fucked up version?
It’s not my place and it’s not my arena of life. Making money is.
“But he did love all of you.”
I just nod. “Is that all?”
“How’s the girl?”
“What girl?”
But she isn’t buying it. My mother smiles. “Zoey.”
Heat prickles down along my spine. “You remember her name?”
My mother places her palm against my shaved cheek. “I told you she’s different from your usual type. And yes, I get you said you’re helping her, but you looked at her in a way that I’ve never seen.”
“Oh good God, please don’t go reading into things.”
I say this with sarcasm and intended bored cynicism. Except…except it doesn’t come out that way. The words are soft, with a tinge of something I don’t like, so I ignore them and she doesn’t say a word.
She just looks past me to my desk. “You didn’t open your present.”
“I never got around to it. I’ve been busy. I can do it now.”
“That wasn’t my point…” My mother stops and shakes her head, sighing. “It’s nothing much, Magnus, but it’s not…” She shakes her head again. “Sometimes things are more than what they might seem.”
“Like my foundation.”
“Everything you’ve done looks good. Great even. But Magnus, I think it’s worth repeating myself. Heart might not mean what you think it does. Money really isn’t everything.”
I laugh and cross the floorboards, back to my desk, my gaze falling on the neatly wrapped gift. She has a point, I should have opened it. That’s the polite thing to do. But we don’t give out that many gifts, not unless it’s something coveted by one of us. After all, we can just buy shit ourselves.
And I’m not an idiot. I get the whole thought that counts bullshit.
“Money is, Mother, and you know it.”
“Do I?”
I look at her, sitting on the corner of my desk as I pick up the small, light gift. “Yes. After all, why stay so close to our father? You’re not the sadist type.”
She just smiles and comes over and kisses my cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”
Faye Sinclair walks out of my office and I can’t shake the feeling her whole visit held something more than I’m getting. With a sigh, I check my watch. I need to check in with Gran. I need to get to Zoey’s books soon. And then, I need to bring the next step into play.
I’m about to put the gift down when something stops me.
Guilt?
Curiosity?
I pull the paper off and dump it onto the desktop.
It’s a long, flat, light black leather box. I open it, and inside, is a key.
The key’s big, old fashioned, gold, with an intricate pattern engraved over it. The thing is beautiful, if you’re into that kind of thing, but what the living fuck does it mean?
A bauble? Something to put on display? Who knows. I put it back in its box and close the lid, setting it down on the desk.
I don’t have time for my mother’s convoluted gift. I’ll send her flowers and a thank you. I call through to my assistant and set that up.
Then, I grab my light coat to head out to the car I’ve got waiting.
I like details, so we head to Bushwick, to where I told Zoey Magnus Simpson has his apartment.
Once I’m inside, I grab a shower, and change into his clothes, jeans, T-shirt, sneakers, hoodie. The place is a studio and there isn’t much here. But that fits. I don’t intend to bring Zoey or anyone else here, but I’ve crashed a night or two, and if anything changes, if she wants to stop by, I have a place.
And then I’m ready to head out.
Inside my stomach is heavy and again, it’s got to be hunger. After all, there’s nothing to feel guilty about.
But there’s a part of me that can’t shake the feeling that if I was Magnus Simpson, I could bring her here. And there’s a part of me that wishes things were different.
They’re not.
And Zoey is a victim of circumstance, her place being in the wrong place for her. I know I wasn’t going to give a damn, but it’s hard not to. She’s so likable. Moreish. I’ll take care of her whether she wants it or not. And she’ll be better off without that eyesore. Without her having to scrounge her way through life.
My phone buzzes as I’m locking up.
“Amelia?”
“Hello, dear,” my fake gran says, “phase two is under way.”
It’s time to move.