Wicked Obsessions (Wicked #4)

Chapter 1

1

LAYLA

I shuffle the box in my hands as I push the button and ride the elevator up to the fourteenth floor. My excitement increases with each passing number on the screen in front of me. I still can’t believe this is going to be my new home.

The Halcyon is a highly sought-after building. When I started looking, this place was so far down my list it wasn’t even on my list. When Tori mentioned it to me, I practically laughed in her face. Then she told me she knew someone who lived here who was desperate to sell, and that the apartment in question hadn’t been listed yet. I’m not much of a dreamer, so I didn’t see the point in pursuing it only to have my hopes dashed. Tori is nothing if not persistent. She set up a viewing before it hit the market and somehow convinced me to attend. It was love at first sight, just like I knew it would be.

Tori worked her magic. She had to pull a lot of strings to get me in here. I guess that’s one of the perks of having a best friend and business partner who is one of the top realtors in the city. Amend that…the state. She was relentless when it came to negotiating the price down to something closer to what I could afford.

Not only is the building beautiful and in a great location, but the amenities that come with it are amazing. They include a rooftop lounge and pool, a state-of-the-art gym, and a twenty-four-seven doorman and concierge. Besides a spacious two-bedroom apartment, Tori also managed to secure a parking spot for me in the underground parking garage below the building. It really is a dream come true for a poor Brooklyn girl. I’m going to owe her big time for all of this.

The elevator dings as the number fourteen appears on the screen, and the door silently slides open. My smile grows along with the butterflies in my stomach when I stop in front of a dark wooden door with 1422 inscribed in gold.

I move the box to my hip. My fingers shake slightly as I insert the key and push the door open. A gasp escapes my lips, even though this isn’t the first time I’ve been here.

“Oh my God,” I squeal as I step inside and set the box down, letting the door click shut behind me.

This is surreal. I pinch myself as my eyes glance around the space. Never in my wildest dreams did I dare to believe I would ever own something this nice. Two thousand square feet. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a cute little balcony, gleaming hardwood floors, a brand-new chef’s kitchen with marble counters, and an island with a gas cooktop. I’ve never had an island, or a gas cooktop. I can only imagine how fun it will be to cook and create in such a beautiful space.

I keep moving. The only sound I hear is the beating of my pounding heart. I’m riding an unfamiliar high, buzzing with excitement I’ve never felt before. My sneakers are silent against the hardwood floor as I make my way down the hall. I pass a bathroom, then another room that will become my office/guest room, before stepping into the master suite. It has a sizable walk-in closet and a small but luxurious, well-appointed bathroom. I spin around, taking it all in. A giggle bursts from my chest. I can’t believe this is all mine.

As of six p.m. yesterday, I am officially the new owner of suite 1422. I paid for it in cash, and that’s where my stupid conscience kicks in and ruins the high I’ve been riding since I picked up the keys last night. My smile falters.

As much as I hate to admit it, the money I used to buy this place came from Victor Bancroft. My father—or more accurately, the man who, for the first thirty years of my life, I knew only as my sperm donor. A man I’ve hated for most of my life. A man I only met for the first time just over a year ago. A man who knew of my existence but never lifted a finger or donated a dime to raise me—or so I thought. It’s a complicated story. I thought I knew how it went, but it appears my mother left out a few details when she gave me the quick and dirty on Victor Bancroft.

I was raised by my Brazilian immigrant single mother who put her entire life on hold—permanently—to raise me on her own. Gabriella Silva was a stunning beauty in her youth. She still is, but thirty-one years of hard work as an emergency room nurse, on top of raising a headstrong girl all by herself, has taken its toll. I love my mother to death. Next to the three women who will be here shortly, she is my best friend—the only person who has been there for me unconditionally since the day I was born.

Mom left Brazil with nothing when she was in her late teens. She came to the United States on a scholarship, seeking a better life. Her dream was to become a doctor. It was going well. She was almost finished university when she had an affair with a married man—Victor Bancroft—my father. She didn’t know he was married at the time. She was head over heels in love and foolishly thought he was the one . Unfortunately, when she found out she was pregnant with me, things didn’t turn out the way she had hoped they would.

Victor told her he was married—to a very wealthy woman. A woman whose family owned the company he was CEO of. He refused to leave his wife. He knew what side his bread was buttered on, and he made his choice. It didn’t include my mother or me.

My mother never talked about him. I was raised knowing only his name and the fact that he didn’t want either of us. As a child, I never bothered to look him up. If he didn’t want me, I didn’t want him. I didn’t care; I had one awesome parent, which was more than a lot of my friends had.

Imagine my surprise last year, on the night of my thirtieth birthday, when a man claiming to be Victor Bancroft—my father—made his first appearance in my life. He was waiting for me outside the restaurant where my friends and I had just been celebrating my birthday.

He called my name as we walked past him. My head swivelled in his direction. He was leaning up against a sleek black town car right outside the front door of the restaurant, looking like he was someone special. All the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and an immediate sense of dread settled over me as I studied him the same way he was studying me. The smile that had been spread across my face all evening fell, crashing all over the pavement under my feet. I knew I had seen this man before but I just couldn’t figure out where.

There was no doubt he had money, lots of it. He was lean and fit in his four-thousand-dollar Brioni suit. He was also unspeakably handsome in a silver fox kind of way. I didn’t know much about my father, but I’d seen pictures of him. I looked him up when I was older, when curiosity got the better of me. The man’s smile grew as we stared at one another. His blue eyes crinkling at the sides as they locked onto mine. When he told me his name, my world tilted on its axis.

At first, I refused to speak to him. My emotions ran the gamut. Everything I didn’t know I’d bottled up my entire life bubbled to the surface.

Hurt.

Rejection.

Anger.

Hatred.

I wanted nothing to do with him. I turned on my heel and started walking away. Of course, he followed. He was persistent. He asked—then practically begged—for a few moments of my time.

“To explain,” he said.

I don’t know why I did it, but eventually I gave in and agreed to listen to what he had to say. “You have fifteen minutes. Talk fast,” I barked out as I crossed my arms over my chest and stood next to his car, refusing to get in. I didn’t want a relationship with him. I chalked it up to morbid curiosity. When I walked away after his fifteen minutes was up, I was more confused than ever.

I’ve now heard two very different versions of the same story from both of my parents. I’m still working through most of it. Letting Victor into my life has affected my relationship with my mother, but I am working on that as well.

My relationship with Victor, if you can call it that, is rocky to say the least. He’s a player, or at least he was. That’s what my mother claims, and until he proves he wasn’t, I’m not sure I want him in my life. I’ve met guys like him, and I despise them all. I won’t make an exception just because Victor Bancroft provided the sperm that helped create me. He claims, now that I’m old enough to understand, he wants a chance to be a part of my life. I’m not convinced. He’s agreed to give me time to process it all. He says he won’t force it and will ultimately leave the decision up to me. All he has asked for is a chance.

The money he gave me for this apartment was the support money my mother had refused to take from him to help raise me, after she cut him out of my life before I was even born. He told me he started an account in my name the day I was born. Aside from support payments, it also included every birthday and Christmas gift he had missed, as well as an education fund that far exceeded what I incurred to put myself through school. After thirty years, the amount was beyond substantial. I couldn’t believe my eyes when he showed me the number.

Building a relationship with him is completely up to me, but refusing the money was apparently not an option. Victor gave me the account information and told me it was up to me how I chose to spend it. He was insistent about the fact that the money had always been mine. I let it sit in that account for over a year, untouched. Then Tori told me about this place, and here I am. Hence my current state of mind.

With a sigh, I shove it all back into the box I’ve kept it in for the past thirty-one years. One more day won’t hurt. I refuse to let anything ruin one of the happiest days of my life. The girls will be here soon and so will the movers, so I better get my butt in gear.

I spend the next couple of hours unloading my car and directing the movers from room to room as they bring in the new furniture I ordered and purchased with my newfound money. I wanted a fresh start. I didn’t want any of the old hand-me-down stuff I’ve been carting around for the past few years. I’m a grown-up now. A successful lawyer. It’s time I started living like one. Besides, I highly doubt the building manager would have even let me bring my crappy old furniture in here. I’m sure there’s some sort of expected dress code for these apartments, just like there probably is for the people who live in them. Thank God I make a very good living and have great fashion sense. I know I can measure up in that department at least, not that I’ve ever really cared much what people think of me.

The doorbell chimes. My heart skips a beat. My girls are here. Tori is the only one of the three of them who has seen this place. They all have incredible homes of their own, and I’ll never be able to compete, but I’m still proud and excited to show them my new home. I come from a very different background than the three of them, but that doesn’t matter to any of us. We don’t define ourselves or our friendship in dollars and cents.

Victoria Davison-Pierce, or Tori as we like to call her, comes from money. A lot of money. She recently inherited a trust fund worth a hundred million dollars, not to mention she’s married to one of the hottest rock stars on the planet. Grayson Pierce is the reason she was able to inherit all that money, but that’s a story for another day.

Avery Carmichael, now Sanders, also comes from a wealthy family. Her dad was the mayor of New York City for over a decade and has recently been elected governor. Her mother was a brilliant criminal lawyer who succumbed to breast cancer not long after we all graduated from Columbia Law. She left Avery a tidy nest egg, along with her legal practice at Carmichael Law. Avery is now married to Liam Sanders, a very successful ex-Navy SEAL who works for Cross Security and has plenty of money of his own.

Madelaine Devereaux’s story is the most interesting of all. We’ve all known her for years, but she just recently opened up to us about her past. It reads like a suspense thriller filled with fraud, murder, and enough deception for three lifetimes. She’s probably the wealthiest of all of us, but the amount remains to be seen. She hasn’t seen a dime of it since her entire family was murdered when she was sixteen, and she won’t until the court proceedings against her uncle in France have been completed. We call her Maddie, and we will be with her during that trial to support her every step of the way.

I push the box I’m currently digging through aside and rush for the door. Jesus, I feel like a bloody teenager about to have my first sleepover. I throw open the door and my three best friends all squeal in unison. They’re just as excited as I am. I knew they would be. If there is anyone in this world I can count on, it’s the three women standing in front of me.

“Get in here, bitches,” I giggle as they each hold up a bottle of bubbly. Once they are inside and the door is shut, Maddie and Avery both disappear before I can offer a tour. I let them go, taking advantage of a few moments alone with Tori.

“Holy shit, babe, this place is amazing,” Avery shouts excitedly from somewhere down the hall.

I hear a cork pop. “Where are the glasses, chérie ? Or are we going to rough it the way we used to when we were at Columbia?

“Just a minute,” I yell back. I’ve thanked her a dozen times already, but I just want to take a minute to thank Tori again, now that I’m here and reality has set in. I turn back to her with thank you on my lips when she shoves the huge bouquet of flowers she is also holding into my arms. I noticed them when I opened the door but haven’t had a chance to take them from her. They are gorgeous. A myriad of happy, bright colors tied up in a silky white ribbon.

“Thank you. I kind of expected the champagne, but this is too much. You guys didn’t need to bring anything. I should be buying all of you gifts for helping me unpack. Not to mention…” Her green eyes cut me off as she presses a perfectly manicured finger against my lips.

“Stop, hon. You’ve already thanked me for my help. I don’t require anything else. I’d have done the same for any one of you.” She removes her finger, and her eyes drop to the heavy bouquet in my arms. “Besides, those aren’t from us. Do you have a secret admirer you’d like to tell me about?” Her green eyes glitter with mischief.

I scoff, dropping my eyes to the bouquet. A small white envelope peeks out from between the colorful petals. “You know better than that,” I admonish. There is no one special in my life. At least, not the way she’s suggesting. I don’t date anyone long enough for them to become special. I never have, and I doubt I ever will. I’m fine being on my own. I won’t make the same mistakes my mother made.

Tori raises an eyebrow and shrugs.

“Strange shit happens all the time, hon.” She looks around my new space as we walk towards the kitchen. “Case in point,” she tags on the end.

I can’t argue with her logic. But, when it comes to men and relationships, I’ve made it perfectly clear to all of them that I’m much happier on my own. When I walk into the kitchen, Maddie is bent over, digging through a box labeled glasses . She comes up with a disgusted look on her face and four tumblers in her hands. She’s French and very serious when it comes to wine and how it should be served.

“These will have to do for now. I’ll have some proper glasses delivered tomorrow. You simply cannot live like this, chérie .” She shakes her head in disgust.

“Wine snob,” Avery snickers as she reappears from the hallway.

“ Mon Dieu , what can I say”—Maddie shrugs and chuckles—“it’s true. I won’t even try to deny it.” She nods towards the flowers that I’ve set down beside the glasses she is currently filling with champagne.

Jesus, if we start now, we’ll never get anything done.

“Who are they from?” She stops pouring, curiosity getting the better of her.

I shrug as I pull out the tiny envelope and slip out the card inside.

Congratulations, sweetheart! Victor

I tuck the card back inside and slip it into the pocket of my sweats, not exactly sure what to say or do. I have three pairs of eyes staring at me, waiting for an answer. I have to say something. Finally, I decide to go with the truth. After everything I’ve been through, I’m not much for lies.

“They’re from Victor.” I move on quickly. They know he is a topic that is not open for discussion, especially not today, and maybe not ever. I’ve told them all about him, I’ve shared everything I know with them. We all have our own opinions, but they respect mine and wisely stay silent.

I clap my hands together, breaking the sudden tension in the room. “Okay, one drink and then we need to get to work.” I pass around the glasses that are now frosty from the bubbling liquid inside.

“Cheers!”

The three of them clink their glasses with mine. Warmth spreads through my chest as my heart swells. I love these women so much.

“This is the start of something wonderful. I can just feel it,” Avery says as she brings her glass to her lips.

“To new beginnings.”