31. Slade
SLADE
I lean against the front of the building with a takeout cup—Caffeine Couture—printed on the side of it inside one hand. The coffee place is a new addition in the past three years, and their blend is a vast improvement on the last place I recall being here.
Tipping my head back, I drain the last of the americano, before pushing off from my resting place and tossing the cup into a trash can.
It’s been days of watching from across the street. It’s time I went for a closer look.
The deep blue canopy juts an imposing shadow across the sidewalk as I cross the street, framing the giant gold doors and expanse of glittering window displays beneath it.
The familiar sight is one every cell in my body recognizes. Each muscle inside me coils tight as I move closer, breathing in deeply as the suited doorman opens the large heavy door for a woman to exit.
Even the scent is one I’d know anywhere. One of velvet cushions, white linen gloves, and the hint of expensive fragrance that’s discreetly spritzed around the store by the staff throughout the day.
The entire place smells of opulence and glamor. And of glistening diamonds and precious gemstones that attract price tags reaching into hundreds of thousands of dollars and beyond.
My restraint at coming this close before today was only upheld because I hadn’t seen her yet.
Jude.
The reason I returned to this city in the first place.
I needed to see her, to look into her eyes when she saw me again. To read her reaction to me. Both in her words and in her body.
I needed to know if I was going to get on a plane out of here and disappear again.
Or if I had something to stay and fight for.
One kiss in the alleyway last night told me everything.
She wants me as much as I want her. She needs me like I need her.
It took everything in me to resist crowding her body with mine as we kissed and tearing her panties to shreds so I could fuck into her so deep that she’d leave nail indents in my shoulders again.
I needed her more than I’ve ever needed anyone.
I could have lost myself in her last night, gone home with her and spent the night inside her.
Instead, I hailed her a cab and watched as it drove away with her inside.
Because first I need to do this.
I adjust the clear glasses I’m wearing and pull my baseball cap low over my forehead. Taking my time, I peruse the window display, one eye on the doorman as he greets customers and chats with those leaving the store.
A giant cylindrical fish tank is visible in the center of the store. I smirk. My brother was adamant that the store needed a central eye-catching display of some kind, and that he’d install one once he took over as CEO. I didn’t expect a fish tank, but Sullivan always keeps to his word.
“Good morning,” the doorman greets a couple who go inside.
I take a deep breath and loosen my shoulders, aiming to appear like a regular guy shopping for a gift as I move closer to the door. I wait for a man to exit the store and take my opportunity as the doorman chats to him, nodding a curt good morning as I slip inside.
My throat dries up, my lungs ceasing.
It’s been almost three years, but here I am.
Beaufort Diamonds.
Our flagship store on Fifth Avenue. One glance around tells me so much has changed. Yet, at the same time, everything is the same.
Maybe it’s just me who’s changed.
The last time I stood inside this store, I was a young man destined to become part of his family’s business, his future mapped out for him.
Now I’m… Who the fuck am I?
To them I’m a killer.
And no matter what Jude says about the circumstances surrounding my mother’s death and my role in it, it’s their belief about what happened that day that matters.
A highly respected billionaire businessman like my father, or his runaway son with a love of adrenaline and a short temper—I know whose story I’d believe.
The sales assistants greet me, but are busy assisting customers, which gives me time to walk around, taking everything in.
Posters of Sinclair modeling different designs hang prominently on the walls, and in one corner, there’s a giant display made to look like one of our signature velvet gift boxes, complete with silk ribbon.
Our signature boxes. What am I saying? I’m not a part of this. Not anymore. Not ever again.
A giggle rings through the air and the words from one of the sales assistants behind me makes ice slither up my spine.
“Good morning, Miss Beaufort,” they trill.
“Good morning,” a light female voice replies.
I incline my head over my shoulder to survey the scene without showing my whole face.
She’s a swirl of blonde hair and pink outfit as she glides through the store toward the private elevator at the rear that services the company offices on the higher floors. A giant guy in a dark suit follows her, two strange-looking dogs—both wearing sweaters—cradled in his arms.
Denver—my father’s head of security.
He and I always got on well. Sinclair never liked him much.
Said he was boring and uptight. But as the elevator doors slide shut, she looks at him, batting her eyelashes, before reaching up and kissing him on the mouth.
I can’t make out what he says to her as she eases back, but whatever it is, combined with the adoration in his eyes, has her pulling his mouth down to hers and kissing him again.
She looks so happy.
Tightness grows in my chest making it hard to breathe.
I make my way to the exit.
This was a mistake. I’m an idiot to think I could walk in here and be unaffected. Even if I hadn’t just seen my estranged sister, merely breathing in the air, the scent, the sounds, even the feel of the thick plush carpet beneath my feet would have ruined me.
It’s all too familiar. It’s all too much.
I don’t wait for the doorman to open the door for me. I push out through the other giant door beside it and drag in a deep breath of city air as I spill out onto the sidewalk.
I stride away but only make it a couple of feet when I spot a familiar woman walking toward me from the opposite direction.
Flashes of a silver dress rush to the front of my mind.
She’s heavily pregnant, and I can feel her eyes scrutinizing the side of my face as I keep my head down and pass her.
“Excuse me?” she calls in a British accent.
But I pull my collar up and hunker down into it as I speed up.
I wait until I’m safely across the street and concealed around the edge of a building before I look back.
She’s standing on the sidewalk, looking in the direction I came in.
She’s been joined by a man with silvering hair in a suit.
He’s whipping his head around, scanning the street in-between talking to her.
She’s pointing in my direction and shaking her head.
He kisses her, resting one hand over her bump as he does so, then he’s striding in my direction, pulling a phone from his jacket as he does so.
The only time I’ve seen my father in the flesh in the last three years is that day at the beach.
His wedding.
He looked happy that day. Serene even. Like he was at peace.
As he strides closer, all hint of that peace has evaporated, and been replaced by a haunted look as his face drains of color.
I sink against the wall of the building, shielded by the corner as he strides past, his phone glued to his ear.
“Hallie’s certain it looked like him,” he says.
He listens to whoever is on the other end of the line before sighing.
“I know. You’re right, Son.”
He’s talking to my brother.
The one son he still acknowledges. The one son that still exists to him.
The sound of the word from his lips, knowing I’ll never again hear it directed toward me is the final snap of a fiber to an ever-fraying rope.
I slam the edge of my fist into the wall before heading onto the street and not looking back.