Chapter Twenty-Five JACKIE #2
“My brother might be a lot of things. Arrogant. Stubborn. Overbearing. A shit tennis player.” I count on my fingers, and Eliza lights up with amusement. “But I doubt there’s anything else in this life more important to him than seeing you happy.”
“But—”
“Don’t make this decision on your own.” I plop back on the couch, staring at the Lasvit chandelier glinting above us. “God knows it didn’t work out for me.”
The first time true regret hit me like a punch to the gut was by Carter’s hospital bed, after he woke up. Adam was there. Steady and warm. Keeping us afloat. It reminded me of everything I’d loved about him.
Eliza’s voice scatters my thoughts. “Are we finally talking about why you and Adam broke up?”
There’s no point in avoiding the conversation again. “Did he tell you anything?”
Eliza wobbles her head, scrunching her nose. “Not much. Only that you cut contact when you left for London. But I have exceptional observational skills,” she whispers dramatically.
“Are you saying we’ve not been subtle about our little drama?”
You can tell she’s been around Carter for some time because she gives me the same unimpressed glare.
“Things moved very fast after he came back from college with Carter. It was a whirlwind romance.” I lift my hands into the air, fingers sweeping wide, framing the imaginary title of a bad rom-com.
“Until it wasn’t?”
“Until I went to mandatory monthly brunch with Blanca and her minions.” I see their faces, already seated around the table, polite smiles barely masking the thrill of the impending drama.
I remember how Blanca took my hand and softened her voice.
“A friend of hers saw Adam at a bar with one of his colleagues. I’ll spare you the details.
Let’s just say he was acting too friendly and handsy for a man in a relationship with someone he claimed he loved… ”
Eliza’s mouth twists. “Oh…”
It was like I took a wrong turn on a hike and fell into a ravine, and I kept falling without the merciful final crash.
“What did he say?”
I hike a shoulder. “Never asked,” I say, a bit unsure.
“You didn’t ask?” She blinks at me like a baby owl.
“A professor from Colombia had emailed me a couple of months earlier about the MBA in London. She thought I was a good fit, offered to write a recommendation letter. At the time, a whole year away seemed like too much. But after the brunch? I packed my bags and didn’t look back.”
Mom worried about the sudden move. Dad… didn’t care either way.
It took me a week to cool down before the first tendrils of regret broke the surface. For leaving like that. Even then, pride and self-preservation had a tight grip on me.
“For years, we’ve been doing this avoidance dance. And at the same time, finding ways to draw blood, any chance we get. Still…Whenever I need him, he’s there. I called in a panic, and he came rushing after those guys chased me with their car,” I murmur.
Even though the night we finally spoke about it, he looked so desolate when I told him why I left. Like I reached inside and ripped out a vital part of him.
Maybe I deserve his anger.
“Nothing changed after that,” I continue. “Now the immediate danger has passed, he’s back to keeping away like there’s a mine field around me.”
He left separately for New York without even a goodbye. I’ve tried texting, but his answers are terse. As if he’d get hurt again if he came too close.
And it nags at me. The pieces that don’t add up.
This inexplicable feeling I’m terrified to explore.
It follows me into my sleep. A dark door I keep seeing in my dreams. It has nothing to do with the break-in or the attacks on the company. Those are nightmares.
There’s something important behind the door. That much I know. Every time I work up the courage to finally step toward it and reach for the handle, I wake up.
We sit in silence for a while before Eliza speaks.
“Adam never struck me as the cheating type. But…” She makes a face, lips pressing together. “I’ve been wrong before.”
“We finally talked about it a few weeks ago,” I admit. “He denied it. Vehemently. It didn’t go well.”
Eliza looks at me for a long moment, and then, ever the optimist, voices the question I’ve been keeping under lock and key for years.
“If he could prove it. Would it change anything?”
Eight years ago, I had a knee-jerk reaction. When everything spun out of control, doubt and fear surged in like a tidal wave, blinding whatever sense I thought I had.
I’ve been living with the echoes of that decision ever since.
But I keep replaying that brunch. The sorority crew huddled around me, concern in their furrowed brows. And Blanca’s complete irrational disdain for Adam. I never thought much of it before.
Anxiety churns in the pit of my stomach, greasy and slimy.
Carter’s back, and while he and Eliza are busy making plans for Italy, I slip out, two confused guards on my heels as I jump into my brother’s car, startling the driver leaning against the garage door on his smoke break.
“To the office,” I snap at the poor man.
He hesitates. “Mr. Rawlings—”
“Is busy. Drive. Now.”
In my agitation, it didn’t cross my mind that nobody in the office has seen me in anything but sharp heels and blazers. Everybody’s back at their desks now, and they’re all staring as I cross the floor. The loungewear must freak them out.
“Call Radu for me, please,” I rattle off to Michelle.
With her nose pressed to the computer screen, she startles and knocks her water bottle over. “Oh my gosh!”
Five minutes later, the lanky twenty-year-old struts into my office with a dramatic swipe of his shaggy fringe.
“You wanted to see me, boss?” His strong Romanian accent is adorable and oddly comforting, in contrast to the dark Gothic aesthetic he’s adopted lately.
“Close the door.” My voice is flat, which throws him off, but the look on my face sets him in motion.
“I need some intel. Any intimate communication between these women.” The piece of paper with the names of the only two blonde interns in Turner’s office back then trembles in my grip. A prickly lump rises in my throat as I point to the last entry. “And him. Go back eight years.”
“OK…”
A passing thought makes me add Blanca’s name to the list. “Check if his name comes up in her messages, too.”
Radu does not react with the slightest flicker of interest or curiosity. Not surprising, since my young computer whiz likes it best cooped up, enjoying that weird reclining chair and coding glasses, rather than diving into the gossip pool with the people he tried to hack three years ago.
He scratches his chin. “How deep do I need to go?”
“Let’s say law enforcement would need a warrant for the type of digging you need to do.” I force the words out, swallowing the bile rising in my throat.
He looks mildly taken aback.
“Is it going to be a problem?”
“Boss, you’re the only thing standing between me and prison.” He studies the paper, then folds the list, silent, deep in thought. A dust of pink settles on his cheekbones before he asks, “Am I also looking for…video or photographic evidence?”
His question is something I expected, but it still leaves me hollow and nauseous. If he lied…If there is proof, I don’t think I can stomach some little home movie starring Adam and another woman. The thought makes my hands go cold.
But I need to know. I have to know. “Send me everything you find,” I say, with a clarity that scares me.
I don’t want to hurt him anymore, but I can’t let this ache keep carving at whatever’s left of me.
A sense of calm settles over me like a weighted blanket once Radu leaves my office. Strangely, I’m relieved it’s out of my hands now. The die is cast.
When I step outside, Michelle jumps to her feet, clutching the tablet to her chest.
“Is Joseph in his office?” I ask, offering an apologetic smile for storming in like that earlier.
She checks the company calendar. “Yeah, in a meeting.” She looks up from the tablet, the worry in her voice palpable. “Are you back? Is everything OK? Did they catch the guys?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. But I’m not staying.” Not sharing what I know with her feels wrong, but Derrick and the FBI were clear. “Thanks.”
The corner office on the other side of the floor reflects Joseph’s personality to a T. The old way is the best way. Dark tones, mahogany desk, Persian rugs, and leather armchairs. One of which is occupied by a stern-looking Adam.
A flash of guilt slashes through me at the thought that a moment ago I asked Radu to invade his privacy.
His gaze finds me before I even step inside. Like some invisible string yanks taut between us. And while I couldn’t see it before, I know he always read me in ways no one else could. The real me. Not Carter’s sister, not the family princess.
Joseph is deep in their conversation, not scowling at him like he usually does. When he finally sees me, his tanned skin creases at his temples.
“The move on Sander played out spectacularly.” He claps once, standing to hug me, draping his arm around my shoulders like a proud uncle. “You remind me of the raiders in the 80s. Cutthroat.” He grins around his unlit cigar.
With a sideways glance, I catch Adam watching me with an indecipherable expression.
Joseph’s secretary pops her head inside the door frame. “Mr. Robertson, Eugene needs a word in the media room.”
“Be right back, kids.” He ambles out, in a great mood, shoving the cigar into his breast pocket.
“You haven’t changed,” Adam says as soon as the door clicks shut. He leans back in the armchair, ankle resting casually over his knee. The posture is unfairly attractive. “It’s always the nuclear option with you. No warning. You don’t let anything slide.”
“Should I roll over? Let people think I’m a pushover? Would that soothe your male ego?” My tone hardens. “People need to learn I’m not some bimbo playing dress-up.”