Chapter Ten #2
I have to wonder how Hunter actually survives in this world, considering his irritation with the human race as a whole. “I was wondering if I could get your help with something.”
“Always, even when you’re being unreasonable as fuck.” Hunter stares me down. “What do you need?”
“I need a cryptanalyst to help me with something.”
Hunter’s eyes narrow. “Want to explain why you require the services of a hacker, little sister?”
“Not a hacker!” I say quickly. “No, I just need a cryptanalyst. There’s a bunch of data I got from an analyst on the team, but it’s sitting behind encryption that I can’t even fully figure out, let alone break through. I need the data to train my algorithm.”
My brother does not look convinced. “Why not ask the analyst? If they gave it to you, they should be able to decrypt it, right?”
My guess is yes, but… “Pride.”
“Pride,” Hunter scoffs, “is a dangerous game. And a difficult position to defend.” If possible, his eyes narrow even more, until he’s practically staring at me through slits. “Since when did you start choosing pride over sense?”
“Since few people on the team take me seriously, Hunt. I was a fucking errand-girl at the last race, and nobody’s even giving me the decency of a real job at headquarters.” That might be advantageous to my work, but it also means I'm not seen as valuable in any way, shape, or form.
I’m not even second-best on the team, which is what I’m used to. I’m a goddamn afterthought.
Hunter’s eyes darken. “Is that so?”
I hold up a hand, already anticipating where his twisted mind is going. “Don’t do anything about it. Do not intervene. I’ll handle it.”
His expression turns furious. “You think I’ll let a bunch of morons treat my sister like—”
“Your sister is also an adult.” I cross my arms. “I’m asking you for a specific favor, not to do anything crazy or start pulling strings to get me special treatment.
I have to do this on my own, Hunter. If you won’t help me, I’ll find someone else who will.
” I still have a few friends from MIT who I can talk to, though I’d rather not pull those levers just yet.
“Fine.” Hunter yawns. “Send me whatever it is you need decrypted, and I’ll—”
“No dice. It’s proprietary as fuck. You send me information for a cryptanalyst who owes you a favor, and I’ll take it from there.”
Hunter sighs irritably. “Fine. I’ll get you in touch with my guy tonight. Just don’t ask him what he does for work.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Something tells me that Hunter’s guy is a black-hat.
Conversation flows to lighter, safer topics.
He relays some gossip about our half-siblings, several of whom are currently in rehab for drugs or alcohol, and we talk about movies and books that we’ve recently enjoyed.
It’s only after our appetizers have come and gone that Hunter decides to drop a bomb on me.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Is it Mom?” I ask, pulse quickening. I sit forward. “Is she alright? Fuck, I shouldn’t be so far from her—”
“Mom’s fine, and you’re just fine where you are—sans the squalor.” He clears his throat. “It’s Dad.”
I give Hunter a warning look. “That man is not my father.”
“Sperm-donor, then.” Hunter looks mildly amused. “Dickface. Fuckwad. Whatever you want to call him. He’s engaged again.”
I go still for several moments, processing this. Then, I release a snort. “Of course he is.” The ink isn’t even dry on Reynard’s fourth divorce, and he’s already onto wife number five. “How old is this one?”
“Twenty-six.”
Jesus, she’s only two years older than me. “And how many more stepsiblings will you be acquiring when they marry?”
“None. She doesn’t have any children; never been married before.”
“She’ll be divorced with several in the next few years.” I know my sperm-donor’s routines perfectly well. “Why are you telling me this?”
Hunter steeples his fingers under his chin. “You’re invited to the engagement party. Father called in a favor to have me personally deliver the invitation.” He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a beautiful crème envelope, stamped with my name in gold lettering.
I gaze at it like it’s a snake readying to envenomate me. “I don’t want that.”
“And I don’t want to act as a middleman because he’s a fucking pussy, but here we are,” Hunter deadpans. “Take it.”
“I’m not going.”
“That’s your prerogative. At least give it a read so you can laugh at the stationary.”
My fingers tremble with anger as I accept the invitation from my brother.
He’ll keep pestering me, so I decide to get it over with, ripping the envelope open and withdrawing the smooth, metallic card inside.
Of course, Reynard is far too wealthy to use regular paper; this invitation is lasered onto some sort of hard plastic cut into a flower shape, studded with crystals. Snob.
When I finally read the words finally etched into the surface, my blood boils.
To my dearest Victoria,
Please join me and Sienna in celebrating our engagement on May 29thth at The Plaza.
Love,
Dad.
I read and reread the letter several times. If it were a piece of paper, I’d tear it into shreds and set it on fire.
Love, Dad. Is he fucking joking?
“I haven’t been invited to any of his extended family holiday parties since I was a teenager,” I hiss. “I haven’t spoken to him in years. What the hell is this?”
“Probably his ridiculous attempt at some sort of reconciliation.” Hunter rolls his eyes. “In any case, it’s my duty to advise you to attend. He might write you into the will and give you a trust fund if you form a relationship with him.”
“I’m not interested in his fucking money!” I shout. Several patrons at nearby tables turn to stare at me, and I shrivel. Thinking about my father is enough to get me riled, but talking about him—getting this bullshit invite from him—makes me want to set the restaurant on fire.
Hunter yawns. “You’re being short-sighted.
He’s a multi-billionaire, Victoria. As in, when he dies, about ten figures in cash, properties, and investments will be split amongst his biological kids.
Even though there might be a dozen of us by then, that’s still eight figures each.
You’d be stupid not to take him up on it. ”
“I’d much rather be stupid than be beholden to him.
Besides, if he was going to leave me anything, don’t you think he’d have done it already?
I don’t have—or need—a trust fund, and I know I’m not in the will.
” Mom told me as much in a very awkward conversation many years ago, when she also first explained that I was the product of an affair that took place between her and my DNA- bestower, years after she and my father had divorced.
Now that you’re old enough, you should know… Reynard hasn’t left you anything. He’s prioritized his other children.
At the time, it hurt to know I was so thoroughly disinherited, especially because I didn’t understand why. Even now, when the pain has had years to fade, knowing that I’m second-best still stings. Literal drug addicts get more attention from Reynard than I do.
I toss the invitation back at Hunter. He picks it up and scans it with the same aloof expression I’m sure he wears when he’s staging hostile takeovers.
His lips curve with amusement. “This is a bit much.”
“A bit much? It’s bullshit, and I’m not interested. I’m not going, and that’s that.”
Hunt nods. “I’ll let him know you’re still thinking about it.”
Asshole. I’m preparing to launch into a rant when I see a familiar scowl flash in the corner of my eye. My head slowly swivels toward it slowly, exorcist-style, and my heart plummets all the way into the depths of a miserable abyss.
I really thought tonight couldn’t get any worse than having to ask my brother for a favor, talk him down from getting rash, and then see a ridiculous party invitation from my father.
But now, it looks like Asher fucking Lawrence decided to disgrace this restaurant with his presence.