Chapter Twenty-Three
Magnus
“ M ag? Magnus? Ed?”
I turn in my chair and glare at Ryder. “Why are you here again?”
“Checking in on you. Kingston’s out of town wheeling and dealing, and Hudson and Scarlett are in Europe.”
“So you’re bored.”
“Well…” He spreads his arms to encompass my office, “maybe I wanted to check up on how your task is going?”
“You’re bored. And it’s going well.” Actually, better than well.
The final pieces are ready for my ongoing charities and foundations and they’re good. Actually, I’m pleased to have done them. They look good on paper and they feel better, because I’m doing something that’ll make a difference.
It’s so fucking decent I disgust myself.
Since the pipes at the bookstore were like some kind of gift, my plans there are being fast tracked, too. Although that doesn’t have to come at the same time, there’s pressure.
The sooner I’m done, the sooner I’m free and the faster I shake the darkness that clings.
Darkness because I’m conning her. She’s going to offer to help my fake gran. That’s more than obvious. Amelia’s done her part by backing up the operation angle and the threat of losing her apartment.
I don’t need the money. I’m not going to take it, but the moment she shifts things the right way, we can topple the place from under her and snap it up under a subsidiary. The pipe is icing.
It should be sweeter than what it is.
“What happened to me being the bad guy?”
I give him a narrowed eyed look. “I told you that was just in passing.”
“Yeah, yeah, just thought I’d check.”
“Don’t.”
Ryder comes over after studying the plans I have up for the next phase of my dream, and picks up the matte black folder and flips through it.
“All of this…it looks good.” He looks me up and down. “So why don’t you look happy?”
I sigh. “I’m ecstatic.”
“Nothing to do with the little bookstore lady?”
“Leave her out of this.”
“I can’t. She’s your epicenter.”
I get up. “She’s nothing of the sort. A means to an end.”
Those words leave a bitter taste in my mouth, one I’m not sure I can rid myself of. Although that’s probably just her goodness rubbing off on me.
“That why you have…” He flips to a page in my folder, slaps it down on my desk and spins it to face me, his finger coming down on the thick paper. “This?”
I look up at him. “I’m not a monster. We’ve been over this and she’s going to be better off without that sinkhole for money. This is my way of doing something she’ll like.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Did you turn into some kind of saint when I wasn’t looking?”
“Hardly. I’ve got this blonde tonight. Smoking. But…that doesn’t change you and this Zoey person. Or what’s going on. Because it’s sort of veering on evil, Magnus.”
Shaking my head, I get to my feet. “Hardly. She’ll have more than enough money to set up anywhere she wants after this. I need that spot.”
“Yeah—”
“Just like you apparently want your share of the family legacy, a share I’m guaranteeing by proving I’ve got heart. Now, if you don’t mind, we’re launching everything this weekend. And then I’ll deal with the whole Zoey thing.”
“Cutting it close.”
“As I said, I’m not a monster, Zoey—”
“Oh, yeah, you’re real neutral when it comes to her. I meant the proving you’ve got heart. Just remember, fires have a way of raging out of control, Magnus.”
My brother’s words haunt me. All through my meetings, all through the shit I need to do. Even now, through this meet up with Jenson, my dear dead father’s attorney.
“This looks fantastic,” he says. His face is neutral as he says it, but this doesn’t faze me. Jenson likes to play things close to the bone, just like my father did.
I give him a neutral look back as I recline in the old fashioned wine-red chair in his darkly tasteful home office.
The place befits an ivy league educated attorney, one who rubs shoulders with the rich and powerful. One who keeps secrets. One who’s from the same world as his clients. The dark polished floors. The built-in teak bookshelves with beautifully bound books. The window that overlooks the tree lined East Sixty-Seventh street address. His big desk that’s used as well as something for show.
Jenson’s been on the periphery of my life growing up, handling all the things my father needed handling, the private things. Divorces, prenups. All of it.
I’ve half a mind to ask why and how a man like him, one who knew the intricate details of my father’s life, way more than me or my brothers or any wife, has remained close to my mother.
“Is something bothering you?”
“I don’t like being jerked around,” I say, tapping a hand on the chair’s arm. “My brother got jerked around, and the details keep changing. What surprises are coming my way?”
He breathes out and closes the folder. “This meets everything you’ve been asked to do. This shows, on paper, you have heart. As long as you don’t dump it the next day, which…” He pulls his laptop to him and taps something on the keyboard, the screen lighting up and reflecting on his face and gold-rimmed glasses. “I don’t think you’re going to do unless you want to look like some kind of modern-day scrooge—”
“It’s not Christmas.”
“—or lose the vast chunk of money you’ve tied up in all of this. We still have some time left, not much, but it looks good. I’ll pass this on, and you’ll know on the day. But between us, your stake seems to be set and the family business still in the family’s hands.”
“It doesn’t answer the questions I have as to why he did this.”
Jenson folds his hands together. “Your father always had reasons for things.”
“I know. Which is why this doesn’t make sense.” I study him. “Maybe you can tell me why my mother’s so interested in all of this?”
Jenson, of course, remained tight-lipped on that. Just an ‘ask her’, but when Faye wants to be elusive, she’s a ghost.
The next morning I need to head in to the damn store. I’d love to say that’s done, too, but it isn’t.
Zoey has a way of sliding so far into a man that she tangles around him, but this thing with us isn’t something I’d ever planned. Not to this point. Not where I like her, where I care. Somewhere what I wanted and how I wanted to do things changed. I still need the building, but in another life, I just might want her, too.
I’m not what she wants, though, not really. She wants a fantasy, someone who doesn’t exist. But for the first time, with all my money, I wish I could give her that. And…I can’t.
The car I’m in pulls up a block away. It’s another morning of gunmetal gray sky that threatens rain and makes colors saturated.
I’ve done what I can though, I tell myself as I eat up pavement to get to the store. This morning, before I got here, I went over Zoey’s finances. She won’t be able to hold out against me. That’s obvious. The pipe situation, well…I think that and her sudden bank visits to speak to the loans people mean I might be able to back off on the gran thing.
My plan of Zoey giving me money to help with the nonexistent operation is making my stomach more and more knotted.
As I told my brother, I’m not that much of a monster.
But I know Zoey would do it. I suspect that’s why she’s been visiting the bank.
It’s not like I’d keep a cent she gave me. And I was merely going to ask for a few thousand dollars which I know would push her over the wrong colored line, but…I don’t think I have to.
I think I’m going to simply take care of everything else and let the destruction fall naturally. It won’t be long.
My chest tightens as I push open the door to the store and it’s a punch down low when Zoey looks up and smiles.
It’s a million dollar kinda smile, I realize, even when there’s strain and worry at the edges; it shines. Just like her.
“Hey.” I don’t think, I just stride across the floor of the store to where she is at one of the bookshelves and I slide my arm around her and brush her mouth with mine.
Warm. Sweet. Soft. Spiced. Inviting. She’s all that with a complexity that hides below her surface. I could spend weeks diving into all that. Maybe months.
She sighs. “We shouldn’t. We said we’d take it slow.”
“I know.” I kiss the underside of her chin as I brush the hair from her throat with my free hand. “But you’re too delicious.”
Her soft laughter is music.
Zoey pushes free, reluctance at doing so all over her face. “I need to run off this morning. But…” She bites her lip. “Can we talk a little later? I wanted to discuss something with you.”
My heart starts to beat fast. She’s going to offer me the money for fake gran. I can feel it. “Zoey—”
“I should have texted you last night, but I only decided to keep this appointment this morning.” She rises on her toes and kisses me, then the bell dings and she stumbles back and to the counter to grab her bag and coat I didn’t notice that sit there. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“You want me to man the store?”
She smiles again. “You’ve done it before. I trust you.”
And then, she’s gone.
The customer buys a handful of books. They’re looking at the area, because of my name linked to the upcoming project. And it’s interesting to hear the guy talk. He’s like all the well-heeled, looking for a touch of Brooklyn cool, and is saying how he’s looking to buy around here because he knows how the prices will skyrocket once the Sinclair project takes off.
People like that… I shake my head as the guy leaves, and I’m not like him. I can see the value of things, while he’s just trying to cash in, like Zoey’s ex, Bronn.
“Where’s Zoey?”
I frown and stop, staring after the guy who left and Mikey stands there, glancing about, a worried expression on his face. “She had errands.”
“Oh. Yo, why you talking to that dude?”
“The customer who left?” I prep the little bag of treats Zoey always gives the kid, because he’s a little skinny. “I’m meant to do that. You know, the hint lies in the word customer.”
The kid glares at me, but nabs the paper bag I set down. “He was talking about that Sinclair dude.”
“He’s the one behind the after school job you have,” I say, somehow keeping the annoyance out of my voice.
Mikey sniffs. “Yeah, but I don’t see him. And I’m not with the evil arm.” Then the kid looks me up and down in a way I don’t like. “How you know him?”
I’m sure there’s a terrible sitcom in this. Somewhere. I don’t want to get in deeper in my web. I’m the spider, not the fucking fly. So I just say, “He’s running a bunch of charities and centers.”
“Hard to move in this town for all the rich dudes.” Mikey shifts a bit, then shoots a furtive glance about. “Tell Zoey I said hi. Laters.”
After he leaves, people come in. Some to buy or browse, but there are a bunch who have lived here for ages, who are moving or getting ready, and they all come in to see Zoey.
And all of them, every single fucking one, have nothing but great things to say about her.
Even Tuesday Harry drops by and the colorful Mrs. O’Reilly who flirts with me in that way happily married older women do—just for fun and no meaning behind it.
They’re not moving on…Harry is a few blocks away, but he worries that other developers will move in, and he’s right. They will. When I build, prices will skyrocket further. It’s the way of the world. I don’t say it. I don’t say a single word of reason to any of them.
It’s not until around four pm that I realize a few things.
One, I actively find myself adoring Zoey the way these people do, and despising their mythical version of Edward Sinclair.
Two, where the hell is Zoey?
Three, I got so hungry I ate a cookie and it was like the entire world switched on. The burst of complex flavors and sugar surge through my blood, which might explain the first thing.
But I don’t think so.
It’s Zoey.
She’s got in deep.
She’s made me sit here and dislike Edward Sinclair as though he’s someone else.