Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
T ucker glared at her. “You’re making jokes?”
She waved her flute of champagne. “Just trying to make polite conversation.”
His lip curled. “You think you’ll get polite conversation from me after what you did to my family?”
She looked for his father, Parker, or even Ford, who could stop this from escalating. Despite being the older sibling, Tucker had been the brash, irresponsible one. Making a scene wouldn’t benefit either of them, but Tucker was clearly past caring about the consequences. She didn’t see any Baldwins in the vicinity, but she noticed those around them edging away to watch from a safe distance.
“That was a long time ago, Tucker,” she said quietly, willing him to get a hold of himself.
“Not long enough. We’re still recovering from the destruction you wrought.”
“I didn’t?—”
He stepped into her space—close enough to pin her champagne glass between them.
“Are you really going to try to convince me our fathers dissolved their partnership for some reason other your inability to keep your word or your legs closed?”
The blood drained from her face as a chorus of shocked gasps echoed around them. Tucker seemed oblivious to their audience as he leaned down, so close he was almost kissing her. She should move, but his palpable hatred stunned her into immobility. He looked like he wanted to strangle her with his bare hands.
“My father had no choice but to cut ties with Maximus after you disgraced Ford. And how does Maximus respond? He forces everyone to choose to do business with him or us. We nearly went bankrupt, when it was his fault he had a slut for a daughter.”
Her paralysis finally broke. Moving jerkily, she tried to walk around him, but Tucker grabbed her arm. His grip was painful, but she didn’t protest. She couldn’t. Her heart was in her throat.
“Ford was going places. He had a mind for business. He could have taken us to the next level, but you broke him. While we were trying to keep the company afloat, he loses his mind and takes off to Colombia to become a farmer.”
Tucker said the last word with the same disdain others had for human traffickers or arms dealers.
“I’m sorry?” she said faintly.
“Ford’s a coffee farmer in Colombia,” Tucker said with such fervor that flecks of spit hit her cheek. “I lost everything because of you. My wife left me, and the stress landed my father in an early grave. I’ve worked my ass off to bring the company back from the brink. All these years later, my mother still can’t bring herself to get out of bed, and if that weren’t enough, that half-breed shows up again and starts gunning for me.”
His fingers dug into her flesh, grinding together muscle and bone. He wanted to hurt her. She could see it in his eyes. He wanted a reaction—was hungry for one—so she gave him nothing.
“If your husband thinks I’m going to fold because he’s throwing his weight around, he’s mistaken.”
“Take your hand off me,” she ordered.
He ignored her demand and gave her an insulting perusal.
“I don’t know what Ford ever saw in you. Everyone told him he was making a mistake, but he wouldn’t listen. You were the only thing Ford fought for, so my father relented, allowing him one thing that nearly destroyed us.”
His grip tightened so much she couldn’t suppress a flinch.
“You parade around as if you deserve to be here, when you’re only here because of who you screwed. I can’t believe you wore my grandmother’s ring while you were with him. You make me sick.”
“Tucker.”
Lyle appeared, clapping Tucker on the shoulder with more force than necessary. He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Take your hand off my sister before I break it.”
Tucker released her, but his nasty expression remained as he faced off with Lyle. “I thought if anyone would stand up to him, it would be you. He bought a controlling share of Hennessy the perfect gentleman. She’d hoped he wouldn’t suffer any long-lasting effects from the scandal, but apparently, he’d hadn’t just left the country, but the business world altogether. She couldn’t picture Ford as a farmer. Had it been a secret desire of his that he hadn’t shared with her, or was he so humiliated by her betrayal that he felt he couldn’t show his face in society?
She came to when Roth moved them through the crush. She hadn’t heard him utter his farewells before moving on.
“What else did Tucker say to you?” he asked.
What everyone else already knew, apparently. That she was a slut, ruined everyone’s lives, and was here because of Roth, not because of any personal achievements. “Do you know what Christoph Braun looks like?”
“No.”
Hmm. She looked around for Charlotte or someone she’d met who might be able to help. Her ear picked up a group speaking German. She redirected Roth and apologized for interrupting their conversation before asking if they knew Christoph Braun.
One of the women grinned and jerked her head at the man beside her, who was looking down at her with his brows raised.
“I knew your father,” he said in German as he took her hand. “I’m pleased to know he had one of his daughters learn our language.”
“It’s served me well over the years,” she said with a smile. “I trust your wife, Elsa, is well?”
His face warmed. “She is. She hates to travel, so my son came with me.” He beckoned a man who immediately came forward. “This is my son, August.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” she said before switching to English. “I’m Jasmine, and this is my husband, Roth.”
“I heard about you several years ago. You do business with quite a few of my friends,” Christoph said, eyeing Roth thoughtfully.
When it came to business, Roth was never at a loss for words. It was building rapport through small talk that he struggled with. Christoph and August were clearly Roth’s kind of people and weren’t interested in personal details.
As they talked, she finished her second glass and searched the room for the man with the handlebar mustache Colette had pointed out at the beginning of the night. He was the last person Roth had to meet, and this would all be over.
Her wandering eyes moved over the dancers and those networking on the sidelines. Everyone’s spirits were high, but she felt disconnected from it all. At Charlotte’s side, she’d convinced herself she belonged here; that this was her birthright, and she’d finally been accepted in high society. But her past would always haunt her.
Those icy stares from her father’s associates made more sense now. Many of them had done business with both Parker and her father, but Maximus’s ultimatum had caused a domino effect of dissension. And now Roth was going after Tucker... Had Parker had a hand in running Roth out of the States, or was Roth going after the last Baldwin standing because he felt like it? She glanced at Roth, already knowing how he’d respond to such a question—that it was none of her business. When he turned his head, she resumed her hunt for their final contact and stilled.
Colette stood in a far corner of the room, facing off with her oil-tycoon grandfather and mother. Before, Cecil towered over Colette, but now, he was an inch or two shorter, which Jasmine knew enraged the conceited bastard. Although her sister looked composed, she knew whatever they were talking about was far from pleasant. Lyle wasn’t by Colette’s side, but she knew her sister was more than capable of standing up for herself.
Colette’s mother, Estelle, had her hand on her father’s arm and seemed to be trying to calm him, but Cecil shook her off and leaned into Colette. Whatever Cecil said caused a break in Colette’s placid demeanor. Her sister took a step back, pain contorting her features.
Jasmine wasn’t aware she’d taken a step forward until Roth wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his side. “Don’t interfere,” he said under his breath.
“Is something wrong?” Christoph asked.
“Sorry, I thought someone needed me,” she said with a bland smile.
“They don’t,” Roth said shortly before continuing to discuss a rail logistics company Christoph had recently acquired.
She continued her Where’s Waldo? search for Amos Faulkner, but her gaze kept cutting back to her sister. Colette eyed Cecil stoically as he spoke. Jasmine’s nails cut into her palms. Colette wouldn’t signal for help either. She’d accept whatever nasty things her grandfather said. The fact Cecil had actively tried to make Colette fail, was unashamed of it, and felt justified in shaming her for trusting him made Jasmine’s temper, which had been on simmer, ignite. The same protective instinct that had caused her to put herself in the line of fire to save Hennessy Roth agreeing tore her to shreds. She’d always known she didn’t belong here. That was why she’d tried to find someone outside of society. Whatever confidence the night had granted her washed away like a sandcastle at high tide.
She bent over at the waist so her tears would drop straight to the floor instead of coursing down her cheeks and ruining her makeup. She was grateful he left so she wouldn’t prove him right by crying in front of him. Too emotional. How many times had she heard that from her family? Tears rained down on a plush carpet the color of red wine as the stresses of the evening engulfed her.
Roth was right. No one needed her help. She’d taken it upon herself to cut a deal with him when all her sisters had asked was if she could get him to speak to them. She should have walked away instead of thinking she was doing what was best for everyone. If she hadn’t taken it upon herself to “fix” everything, she’d be unmarried and enjoying a quiet Christmas at Tuxedo Park, writing her book instead of attending the Trentham Ball and browbeating herself over her lack of impulse control and social grace. She was her own worst enemy.
What if she wasn’t supposed to save the company? If Hennessy & Co. was a factor in Ariana’s drug problem and the main point of contention in Lyle and Colette’s marriage, was it worth fighting for? Roth was under siege because of it and pouring significant time and money in, just to keep it afloat. If her sisters lost the company (as Lyle hoped), they wouldn’t suffer. On the contrary, their husbands would be overjoyed their wives could dedicate more time to their families. Was she so desperate to be needed that she inserted herself into this mess and fucked up everyone’s lives by trying to help, instead of letting it play out the way it was meant to? Self-loathing gnawed at her. There was no one to blame for her current circumstances but herself. What the fuck was wrong with her?
Her emotions raged, but she couldn’t allow them free rein. Not here, which was... where? She’d been so focused on Roth she hadn’t even taken in the room. There was a hushed quality about the place. Odd, when every square inch of the Trentham Mansion was swarming with people. Where was she?
She blinked rapidly to rid herself of the last of her tears and straightened, dabbing at her eyes before she looked around. Her heart skipped a beat. Everything she’d seen, from the entrance hall to the gold ballroom, was palatial and over-the-top, but this room was a drastic departure from the rest of the mansion.
She was in a gothic library, complete with stained-glass windows, oversize velvet armchairs, a disturbing ceiling mural, and a spiral staircase leading to a lower floor. There were glints of gold here and there, but mostly dark, gleaming wood. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling in books, with tall, narrow ladders she wouldn’t be caught dead on.
She crossed to the spiral staircase and crept halfway down to see a library that featured a long worktable with chairs around it. Clearly, a meeting place. Maybe Nathaniel had brought them here, which was how Roth knew about it. Quickly, she retreated back to the upper floor, which was dark and cozy and filled to the brim with books.
She sniffled as she explored, marveling at the extent of the Trenthams collection before examining book spines, some of which were in different languages. There were books on ancient history, politics, architecture, art, law, economics, and a whole bookshelf dedicated to biographies. Nonfiction was all good and well when she needed information, but she refused to believe a library with such a haunting atmosphere wouldn’t have...
“Aha!”
She’d stumbled upon the classics— Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland , The Great Gatsby , Madame Bovary , Dracula , Moby Dick , Treasure Island . The worn leather spines of The Iliad and The Odyssey with gold lettering were too tempting to resist. She carefully eased a book from the shelf and gently let it fall open in her palms. It was a translation, with English on one side and Greek on the other. Unable to resist, she leaned down, sniffed, and promptly sneezed. Thankfully, she turned her head aside, so she didn’t ruin the page.
There were rows and rows of standing shelves. She could imagine getting lost in here for days. She knew without asking that this was Dahlia’s favorite part of the mansion. The cozy reading nooks and the beautiful desk made her want to beg Sullivan to allow her to write here. In this environment, she could only imagine what would pour out of her.
Under other circumstances, she would have been content to browse for hours, perusing the books and taking in the paintings and tapestries, but worry over what was happening beyond this room kept intruding. Would Roth succeed in getting back into Christoph Braun’s good graces? If she went up to Christoph and apologized for her rudeness, maybe he would…? She sighed and held up her hands in defeat. She had to stop interfering.
She sat in an armchair by the fireplace. The blanket of warmth eased her tense muscles. She gently prodded her arm where Tucker had grabbed her. It was definitely bruised. If he manhandled her in the middle of the ballroom, what would he do if he caught her alone? She eyed the closed door warily. How many others had vendettas against her that she knew nothing about? A few weeks ago, she told Mo she didn’t have any enemies, and his response had been, “The fact you believe that is why you need security.” Also, Lyle had been a little too relieved that she was being shadowed everywhere she went. What else were they keeping from her?
She hadn’t known Roth was going after Tucker Baldwin, or that Cecil had launched a smear campaign against him. She thought Roth going after her father’s business associates was risky. Little did she know, he was taking on a horde of the most rich and powerful men in the city. Had he bitten off more than he could chew? Was that why he’d become so cold and distant again? She brushed her finger over the diamond necklace, which was cool to the touch, and wondered if they could return it.
Her eyes moved around the library before coming to rest on a marble statue of a woman with a veil across her face. It was so realistic, each pleating carved in exquisite detail. She could practically feel the breeze that tugged the veil taut over the woman’s features. She wished she could wear a veil instead of donning a superficial mask. Artifice had never been her forte. No wonder she had never fit into this world.
She plucked at her satin dress. If she caused too much damage tonight and Roth decided he couldn’t take her to other events, would their deal be off? Would he get rid of her or keep her around to torment her? If he expected her to submit to more degrading, brutal fucks, he was in for a rude awakening. She allowed it because she trusted him to know her limits and care for her in the aftermath. Exchanging power and roleplaying was titillating, but if he wasn’t playing a role and he truly saw her as a disposable object to use and discard, then she didn’t want him to touch her.
Lyle thought everything that came from her father was tainted. Was she included in that? There was definitely something wrong with her. She was so damaged that the only true relationship she had was with a man who was a mirror image of her emotionally unavailable, workaholic father.
The door swung open, interrupting her dark reverie. She was on her feet before the man stepped into the room. It wasn’t Roth who entered.