Chapter Eighteen
Scarlett
T he word horror seems way too pallid a word to describe how I feel.
I mean, Hudson has said this is important, but his brother’s words change things. And I don’t want to be there for that.
If this falls apart because of little white lies, he loses part of himself.
That sounds melodramatic, but it’s true.
And it would be my fault.
My screw up.
My little white lies.
I try to stall to talk to him, but he’s looking at his watch and shaking his head. And I don’t catch what they say to each other through the roaring in my head. I want to faint or hyperventilate or scream.
But I don’t. I am a monolith of strength. Well, I keep it together as he hustles us all into the elevator and out onto the street.
Hudson turns to me, not looking overly concerned, but that’s him. He’s got that kind of poker face. The morning sun catches his dark hair and makes it shine. I swallow, remembering how it was damp with sweat last night when I gripped tightly when he was— “Do you want a car?”
“No!” I blurt the word, trying to rid myself of memories that have no right appearing right now. They’re not a help.
And his brother is watching us both a little too closely for my liking.
“You don’t want a car? To get home?”
“No. I do not. Not a car.” I’m panicking and I shouldn’t be. Shit.
Hudson cracks a small smile and takes the coffee from me. “I’m not getting you a jet or a helicopter. Seems a little excessive.”
I scowl and cross my arms. “I don’t feel comfortable getting in a car.”
What I need is to take a shovel with me to make digging these holes easier.
“They’ve had them for years now. Safe enough,” Ryder says with too much cheer. “Surely you’ve been in one.”
“Shut up, Ryder,” Hudson says. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“I’ll give her a lift—”
“I’m fine.” I take a big step back. “I—it’s a lovely morning, so I’ll walk.” To the train. And I throw a small thanks to whatever deity is watching that it isn’t raining. I look at Hudson as a sleek car pulls up as he takes a sip of the coffee. “Can we talk? Later?”
“Scarlett.”
The warning note throws me, and I realize how my words sound. Or, rather, how he interpreted them. Asshole.
Hudson’s so handsome, so sure I meant another romp in bed. Which I didn’t. I wouldn’t turn it down, but… As I look at him, if it was to come up, I know I should. He is handsome. The best looking man I’ve ever seen, which is saying something because his brother is also gorgeous. But Hudson is different.
“Talk talk,” I say.
“If I have time. You know my schedule.”
I sort of want to scream. There he is, this news sitting there, hand delivered by his brother, and he’s so closed and untouchable, like he often is, and it hurts and I don’t know why.
“It’s just I figured if there’s more riding on this, then we should. Talk. If you have time.”
“Sure,” he says, but he’s not paying attention to me, not really.
The sun is already warm and there are people walking their dogs and this is about as bucolic as New York gets, so I make my goodbyes and take off.
At least getting to Brooklyn in the am is much easier than the other way. But the car would have been a boon. One I couldn’t risk. If I accepted, then he’d know I’d be going to Brooklyn and not a short ride to the other side of the park.
Once home, I jump in the shower again and dress like I’m some matron aunt going into corporate battle. And I grab a slice of bread and race out again and make it to the office before ten am.
I throw myself into my work. There are calls and emails and suits to send out and pick up and all the little bits and pieces. Through it all, I try to concentrate.
The day passes both slow and fast. I’ve been feeling sick to my stomach the entire time. It lurches and turns when all that happened slams into me. And when I’m not thinking about the whole meaning of his brother’s words, it churns away, anyway.
I haven’t been able to check my phone, but I know there are a number of messages as before I turned it off there were little icons showing me emails and missed calls and texts. Lunch is something I forget about as I work through that hour, and the only good thing which might not be a good thing is I don’t see Hudson. He’s busy until early evening.
Being a billionaire isn’t yachts and sun and swimwear models, it’s hard work, at least for my billionaire. I mean my pretend billionaire. He’s a billionaire, but he’s not mine, that’s what I mean.
And…all this work has saved me thinking too much about that insanely phenomenal sex that when flashes come to me, I melt and feel the need to fan myself.
I end up staying until almost seven, which isn’t unheard of when people work for Hudson Sinclair—it seems to be part of the job, actually, but not for me when he’s not here. I think it’s guilt.
The evening is a little cooler than the day, and I switch on my phone as I head out. By the time I’m disembarking the elevator in the grand foyer of the building, I’ve been bombarded by messages from my brother and it seems he’s beside himself about something. I shoot him a text and then I jump in a cab and head to the Lower East Side to meet him.
I get off the F train at Delancey and Essex and make my way to the little bar. It used to be a dive, but now it’s tapas and wine.
Danny is looking at his phone at a little table in the back, a brooding, dark expression on his handsome face as he hunches down, ignoring his wine.
I swipe it and take a deep swallow, like it contains the answers to everything or at the very least, some courage.
Danny tosses his phone on the powder black steel table and glares. “You’re still alive.”
“What happened?”
I pull my feet up under my chair right after I sit down, one hand still wrapped about his wine glass.
“I’m done.”
“What? Danny, what happened?”
My brother doesn’t answer for a long time. Then finally he says, “Adam.”
I’ve been so caught up in my own issues, even if they came about to try and help him, that I haven’t checked up on him. And guilt for that suddenly swamps me. He lost almost everything when his partner double crossed him and made it look like it was all Danny. I’d do anything to help. Except, it seems, be there.
“Adam? I thought things were now separated. Oh, Danny, you didn’t leave something hanging, did you?”
He frowns, snatching back his wine. “I’m not a complete idiot. Even if it seems like it. And I’m not eighteen and careless anymore.”
I breathe out and order a drink as the waitress comes by. Just a house red. Danny holds up his glass to her and she’s off. I turn back to my brother.
“What happened?”
He stares at the table a moment, then lays his palms flat against it and looks at me. “We should be talking about you and Hudson Sinclair.”
“No, we shouldn’t,” I say. “It’s just a fill-in job, that’s all.”
He’s stalling and I don’t know why. Whatever it is, it’s bad. When his so-called partner went out on his own, he burned Danny’s reputation down, badmouthing him and laying everything he’d done on Danny’s doorstep. And through it all, Danny’s tried to pick up the pieces and continue on, to rebuild.
But New York is tough when you’re borderline blackballed, and someone with power and reputation isn’t there in your corner.
“What happened?”
“Me first,” he says. “Then you.”
I slide one hand to my lap and cross my fingers. “Okay.”
He sighs heavily. “I’m gonna lose my office.”
“Shit, Danny. I’m sorry. Can you work from home?”
“And how’s that going to look for me?”
He’s right. The waitress returns with our drinks and when she goes, Danny pins me with a look. “Your turn.”
“What?”
“This Sinclair job?”
I hesitate. In the low light and laid-back atmosphere of the bar, I feel like I’m under bright bodega lighting. But I know I owe him something. Just he’s proud and if I tell him the truth, he’ll tell me to go away, but with the threat of losing his office I can’t do that. If he hasn’t lost it already. He said going to, not has. It gives me a dubious smidge of hope.
“It’s just temporary—”
“You were with Hudson Sinclair.”
I swallow and push the toes of my shoes down against the ground beneath my seat, as if that will give me courage. Or strength. Or something. “It’s a temporary job with him. I got it through a friend. To help her out.”
“Not that flighty one you sometimes have drinks with—”
“Danny, we need to leave it.”
“And what about what you want to do?”
I shrug. “It’s not like there are people knocking on my door. And—”
“Scarlett.” Danny grabs my arm, his expression intense. “I know you’re up to something. You don’t belong in his world. Not in a corporate setting. You’ve always said so.”
“Things change—”
“Not that much,” he says. “I’m not an idiot. He’s real estate. Oh, Christ, this isn’t about me, is it?”
“No!” I’m crossing my fingers hard.
“I’m saying it again. I know you’re up to something. If you’re trying to trick or manipulate a Sinclair into whatever the hell is going on in your brain, stop. They are ruthless. Hudson Sinclair comes across as a nice guy, but he’s ruthless, too, when he wants to be. He turned us down once when we went to him to try and get in under the Sinclair name, did you know that?”
“Look, Danny, I’m not…I’m not trying to trick him.” This is true. I’m not. It just sort of happened. I down my drink, almost choking on the wine as I lay some money down on the table, pulling it from my bag I flung on the table. “I have to go. I’m okay—”
“Wait.” He’s still holding my arm. “There’s something you don’t know. When…when Adam did all that shit to those people, and we got turned down, he tried to steal business from Hudson Sinclair.”
I hiss out a breath. My stomach turns sour. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I don’t know. I was ashamed?”
“I don’t think he knows who you are.”
But Danny’s mouth thinned. “These Sinclair brothers have a way of getting back at people and maybe he found out. Or maybe he thinks it’s still Adam, but you know who’s behind turfing people out of the building?”
He doesn’t need to say it. He doesn’t.
But he does.
“Hudson Sinclair.”
I’m in a state when I leave the bar.
Hudson buys and sells and owns so many places that the little downtown building where Danny rents from would be so low on his list of things that it’s probably just something he’s moving about. Property-wise.
Still…
I might be able to do something, I just don’t know what yet.
And to make matters worse, as I leave, there’s a text from the man himself.
I’ll meet you at your place in two hours.
This isn’t anything other than an order. And I rush home to change and rush out again, barely saying hi to Amber as I fly in and out.
The panic is huge now. Overwhelming.
If this was someone else, the late hour would send thrills through me. This is Hudson. He’s getting out of a business dinner.
And there’s one thing to talk about: what his brother told us.
Okay, I need to tackle one issue at a time. That’s all.
And the first one is getting to Sarah’s before him.
For once, all the subway gods are smiling on me and I get there with half an hour to spare.
I bound up the steps and run into someone.
He’s tall. Solid. Smells good. He makes me melt normally.
Hudson.
Shit.
I find a smile and aim it up at him, but he fails to smile back. His eyes are almost black.
“You’re early,” I say. “I just had to go grab something and—”
“Cut the fucking bullshit, Scarlett,” he says quietly, coolly. “I know you don’t live here. Explain.”