Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hudson
T he flames in my little-used fireplace in the drawing room I also barely use eat the paper.
I stare, getting nothing, not even grim satisfaction at watching the fucking unopened dossier on myself and the NDA and contract burn.
Scarlett hadn’t even bothered opening it. That’s how much of a terrible scam artist she is. Or is that good?
I’m not really sure because she got me good. Tied me in knots and had me believing—well that doesn’t matter.
Or maybe not opening it was a big screw you to me.
Who knows?
I worked from home today because after she left yesterday, I didn’t think another day of me like that inflicted on my staff would be good for morale. The unemployment line, perhaps, but not morale.
Standing, I go over to the tightly shut window and think about letting in the light of day or what’s left of it, but I don’t see the point in that either. There’s something big and dark and restless in me. And it weighs me down. It’s also got claws and it feels like I’m bleeding inside.
My phone rings for about the hundredth time that day and I ignore it. The last few were Jenson. I don’t want to speak to him. Or my brothers. And certainly not my mother.
Scarlett has taken my advice and kept away, and I tell myself I’m glad.
When it rings again, I stalk over to it and pick it up. I could smash it to pieces, but the short-lived satisfaction isn’t enough for the headache that will bring. And…it’s Jenson. Again.
“What?”
“Charm like that and you’ll be mistaken for your father,” he says in smooth tones.
“I’m not in the mood. I left word the meeting’s canceled. It’s all canceled. You win. My father wins.”
He pauses a moment, and I can hear the leather of his chair as he shifts. “It’s not a competition.”
“Yeah?” I rub a spot on my chest that both feels heavy and empty and aching all at once. I know I should try and get what’s mine here. I’m built for this. To win against the odds, to find the way in and trick the system. Smart over hard work, that’s the rule. And do whatever it takes.
I should, but I ease down on the settee I think I might hate. I’ve never thought about this room much. It serves its purpose with certain guests. But right now, it feels like I’m in some bespoke hotel and nothing seems to fit.
“So, by your message and…this I take it you’re just giving up?”
“Why would you care?” I’m taking it out on Jenson and I’m trying to feel guilty, but when I look at it, everything comes back to him. If he’d quietly lost that fucking letter, I wouldn’t have met Scarlett and I wouldn’t be feeling like this. Lost and broken.
I’m just not sure why.
I like her. I’m into her—or was. I find her hot and insanely fuckable. But hormones and attraction are reactions, not anything more.
“Because it’s my job.” For a man who keeps it bland and calming there’s a lot of sarcasm in that answer but I let it slide.
“Fine. Yes, I’m giving up. I made a mistake. Happy?” I don’t give him time to answer. “I was a fool and I fell for someone who only wanted money.”
Those words were an attempt to perhaps pave another path in, but as I say them there’s something to them, something I don’t want to go near at all.
I could have almost any damn woman I want. They practically throw themselves at me and my brothers, so why her?
“There’s no other way, Hudson. Say the word and I’ll meet up and we’ll have that interview. Maybe you and your girl can work it out.”
“She’s not my anything. Not anymore,” I say. “So what’s the point? I lost.”
And I disconnect the call.
My words ring in my head. Loud.
I lost. In more devastating ways than a trinket. More than family history. That last one shocks me. Family and tradition and the history and sanctity of the Sinclair clan is important to me, but all I can see is Scarlett and that dark honeyed hair.
I’m hurting and I’m furious because she’s not what I thought she was, not what I was discovering and continuing to discover. All I’d found was a pretty bundle of lies.
The door rings and I rise and stalk out of the room and down the hall and pull it open.
I can’t breathe.
Scarlett.
Pale and scared and breaking my heart with those big hazel eyes. Breaking my heart, if I had one that believed in love.
“I thought we should talk,” she said, moving from one foot to the other as if she’s half thinking of running away. “I already spoke to your lawyer.”
“Oh, you did? Trying to get a sweeter cut of the fucking pie?” Her words are a red flag to my raging bull and the fury takes over. I want to lash out, but all I can do is push her away. “I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ve destroyed the NDA and the contract, you’re free to do whatever you damn like, and I’ll pay you the money. Just go and do whatever it is far away from me.”
And I don’t give her a chance to respond. I just walk in and slam the door.
It should feel better than it does.
But it doesn’t.
It feels like utter hell.
I’m three drinks into the bottle of whiskey and I’m not planning on stopping any time soon. My anger is still at nuclear levels but there’s something else there, as I toy with the glass, staring into the contents, that I don’t like.
Regret? Self-doubt? I don’t know and I don’t care. Magnus has called me a few times, and my mother. But I ignore them all. Just like before.
I slammed the door on Scarlett about an hour ago and even I have to admit it was a low moment. Low and pathetic and not something I do.
Cool and calm and smoothly calculating, that’s me. The man who works hard and only has time to play on his tightly controlled schedule. Fits of passion aren’t me unless they’re in the bedroom and…
Even then, it’s getting off for me and the lady in question. On finding the release. But Scarlett got down in deep and it became a clawing need I couldn’t control.
I shove my hand through my hair and consider throwing the handmade antique glass.
Actually consider it.
For the second time that evening, I’m thinking about destroying something. Something shifted inside and I can’t get it to move back. It’s like Scarlett invaded and decimated and—
The doorbell rings.
“For fuck’s sake.” I slam the glass down on the delicate side table next to the settee, and I don’t know why I’m back in this room, maybe it’s because it’s the least like me and therefore doesn’t seem infused with her, even though she hasn’t been in most of my place, I slam it down and stalk to the door, ripping it open.
“Mr. Sinclair, I’m—”
“Scarlett’s brother. I don’t want to see her and I don’t want to see you,” I snarl at the light brown haired man who, now I know who he is, I see the resemblance. “You can go.”
I start to turn, but his hand comes up and catches the door. I look at it and then at him, but Danny doesn’t release the door and I do have a spark of respect for that. A small one.
After all, no doubt he was in on the whole fucking thing.
“No.”
“Excuse me?” I say.
“I said no.” Danny’s shaking a little, but he lifts his chin and looks me in the eye. I have staff who’ve worked for me for years who wouldn’t do that when faced with me in this mood. “You know, for years, ever since I got into real estate—and no, you don’t know me, I’m the smallest of the bottom feeders, and I’m honest—I saw your empire as my dream. I wanted to be good enough to work for you.”
“They all want to be agents who deal with the best clients and rake in the big bucks. I’ve heard it before.”
Danny smiles a little. “I wanted to work with the best of the best. Small can be good, too, and not every client will rake it in, but I guess you wouldn’t know that. Too big. Too heartless. See, I made one mistake. I trusted my partner a little too much when I set out and he stole everything and blackened my name.”
“If you’re here to beg for a job, I don’t hire the Colton family.”
The smile vanishes. “No. I wouldn’t work for a man like you. How you treated Scarlett? Never. She’s worth a million of you.”
“She lied to me. Tried to scam me.”
“Scarlett?” Danny laughs and shakes his head. “Never in a million years. She didn’t tell you she wasn’t rich and then she fell for you, and she tried to help me. And even though you stomped over her, she tried to help you.”
“What are you on about?” I have a whiskey with my name on it and this kid is annoying the shit out of me. Or maybe he’s making me uncomfortable when he speaks of Scarlett, hitting a little too close to the marrow.
He glares at me. “The only thing Scarlett’s ever been guilty of—apart from opening her mouth before thinking some things through—is having a giant heart. You don’t deserve her and I’d rather clean toilets than work for you.”
“Why are you here?”
“To tell you that you’re a class A idiot.”
And with that, he lets go of the door and walks off.
After he’s gone, I look at my whiskey in the drawing room but I don’t want it anymore. Danny Colton’s words haunt me. I am an idiot. And what’s worse, is he’d be the kind of person I’m interested in hiring.
Or investing in, if he’s to be believed in the little people comment. I have small businesses I support, ones who don’t fit in with me, but I invest in and regardless of what he said, I make a note on my phone to have him looked into—properly. He was courageous and determined and he stood up to me.
If he’s got what I like, I’ll take him on, or invest, or both. My business is something I know. And regardless of what I said about not ever hiring him, I will if he’s what I want.
But the rest of it? Scarlett? That’s done and dusted.
Problem is, it doesn’t feel like that. And her brother’s words haunt me as I haunt my home for the next hour. I can’t sit. I can’t work. I’m not interested in eating. And even the booze lost its charm.
I want something, but I don’t know what it is.
Suddenly, I stop and close my eyes.
Yes, I do.
I want Scarlett.
I don’t stop to think as I call for my car. The ride to Brooklyn seems to take forever, but finally we’re there. I hit the ground at a run and ring her doorbell.
We can talk. We can—
“What are you doing here?”
It’s her roommate, dressed up and heading out the front door of the building. My finger is still on the buzzer.
“I’m here to see Scarlett.”
“She’s not here, asshole. She’s gone.”
I frown. “What do you mean, gone?”
The girl gets in my face. “Like gone in a puff of smoke and not coming back. See ya. Wouldn’t want to be ya.”
She saunters off over the cracked pavement, high fiving a guy who’s pants ride low under his boxers as she goes.
I pull out my phone to call Scarlett, but it’s straight to voicemail.
There’s no one else I can speak to. And Scarlett…
I fucked the hell up.
She’s gone.
That rocks me right down into the ground and I can’t breathe. It’s like a boot, crushing my ribs into dust.
I get back in the car and we return to Manhattan.
I’m a successful businessman. A billionaire. I can be ruthless. I stop at nothing to get what I want. But I’ve lost before. In different ways. Deals, businesses, investments. I always thought I understood the meaning of losing.
But I haven’t.
Until now.
Because I just realized I’ve lost the one thing I didn’t think I had.
I’ve gone and lost my heart.