I smirk. Fine by me. She can drag this out as long as she likes, but I’ll get what I want in the end. I always do.
19
Logan
Two weeks earlier
“Mr. Steel?” asks a hesitant voice.
I look up to see my new secretary poking her head into my office. I gesture roughly for her to hurry up and come in. She straightens her skirt and noisily crosses the distance to my desk. Click. Click. Click. Her cream colored heels look uncomfortable, and there’s no way the tight pencil skirt she wears isn’t cutting off her circulation. She sets the file on my desk, making sure to lean forward enough that I could have an eyeful of her cleavage if I wanted.
But I’m not in the mood. She’s not my type, for starters, and the last thing I need right now is to get entangled in another relationship that could hurt the image of my company. I’ve spent too long trying to fix the public’s opinion of me to throw it away now. A few years ago I might have taken her up on her obvious offer, adding fuel to the public’s opinion of me as a playboy billionaire. I was young, successful, filthy rich… and filthy between the sheets.
Eventually, my business partners started to wonder if I was taking the company seriously. The fuckers tried to maneuver behind my back to take my own company out from under me. Their mistake. I left every last one of them in financial ruin. No mercy. No regrets.
Now, I trust very few people. There’s my little sister, and my business partner, Dean. That’s it. Everyone else can go fuck themselves as far as I’m concerned.
“Sir?”
The secretary has worked her way around the side of my desk and I can smell her perfume. It’s nice, but she’s wearing too much. She’s trying too hard, and I can practically hear her heart thundering in her chest.
I snatch the thick envelope from her hands and let it flop loudly in front of me. I temple my fingers in front of my forehead, breathing out my frustration. It’s not her. It’s this week. Hell, it’s this year. My patience has been pushed too far. I can feel myself on the verge of snapping. “That’s all,” I say, forcing a calmness into my voice that I don’t feel.
I turn in my chair, looking out the floor to ceiling windows lining the back wall of my office. The view should be beautiful. I can see the entire city laid out before me. From up here on the 92nd floor, I can imagine it’s all mine. In fact, a lot of it is mine, but the realization brings none of the pride I thought it would while I was fighting and clawing my way to the top. For as long as I can remember, striving for more was enough. It was what got me out of bed in the morning and what helped me fall asleep at night. I knew I attacked every day with an intensity most men can only dream of, and I knew no one was better at this than me.
I hear the click of my secretary’s heels and the door closing gently behind her.
I huff a humorless laugh as I turn back to my office, taking in the opulence on display. “Living the fucking dream,” I mutter to myself dryly as I open the manilla envelope the secretary brought. I only need to read the first few words on the thick packet to know what it is. More of my ex-wife’s bullshit. I scan through the first page and realize she’s trying to get money out of me again. I guess the last check I cut her has dried up already.
I flip through the pages of the document, knuckles turning white as I unconsciously grip the armrest of my chair. The lines keep referring to “the Newbury family” as potential recipients of the money they are seeking. Family. When I think of what she did to me, my reputation, and most of all to our unborn son… Fuck. It’s no wonder I have anger issues. I slide the packet to the side, making a mental note to deal with it later.
It’s not like me to put something off, but today would have been his birthday, if she hadn’t…
I sigh, shaking my head. It figures she would serve up some bullshit like this today of all days. I stand from my desk, sliding my arms into my jacket and adjusting my tie. I make my way through the empty office. Everyone else has gone home for the night. I’ve always been last to leave. Some might call it a point of pride, but it’s just how I operate. I have always out worked every last fucking person I’ve met. Nobody puts in more hours or more effort than me. That’s why I am where I am. I take my dreams by the fucking throat and beat them into submission. Maybe that’s why I don’t like the way they look when I finally reach them.
I have a missed call from my sister, so I call her back as I pass through the darkened office. She picks up as the elevator dings and I step inside.
“Hey, loser,” she drones.
I smirk. Nothing like my sister’s perpetually sarcastic and dry personality to cheer me up. “What is it?” I ask.
“Oh, I just wasn’t feeling depressed enough so I decided to call you. I can always count on you for bad news.”
I raise my eyebrows, only slightly surprised that my sister’s intuition is so accurate. “Lana is trying to get three mil out of me this time.”
“Shit,” says Olivia. She has a talent for cursing. She draws out the word, twisting it around her mouth so it sounds like the most filthy and black thing ever to pass through a human’s lips. I can practically picture her balling her fists, wanting to hit Lana. I’m not the only one in the family with a quick temper, and the thought makes me grin.
“Before you ask,” I say, stepping into the lobby on the ground floor. “I’m still not giving you her address. The last thing I need is her murder on my conscience.”
“You can afford any lawyer you want. Just sue the shit out of her for a change, Logan.”
“Yeah,” I say sarcastically, “And give her the excuse she has been waiting for to take her bullshit public and ruin me? I’ll pass.”
Olivia sighs heavily. “Bullshit is the right word. I know you would never do any of that shit she said you did. Let her try to lie about it. The truth will come out.”
“Right,” I say distractedly. I know my little sister just wants to help, but I still have to meet Dean and I have a long night ahead of me. “Look, I need to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Asshole,” she says, but I can picture her crooked smile as she says it and hangs up.
I step outside to a gust of wind. The cold November air bites straight through my suit coat and dress shirt, but it fits my mood just fine. A few years ago, this would have been the kind of mood that sent me prowling for a woman to slake my thirst. I would’ve buried myself in her for the night, teasing out her every need and desire, bringing it to life. Dominating her. Then Lana happened.
I met her at a BDSM club and we had a healthy sex life. We had clearly defined boundaries. I never pushed beyond her limits and she loved every minute of it. Until she got pregnant. She was on the pill and it was a fluke. I never thought I wanted kids, but as soon as I knew it was like a bomb went off, rocking me to my core. I wanted to meet my son. I wanted to be a father. I wanted it so badly it hurt.
After that, things are like a blur. I’ve thought about it so much the memory has gone dull, like an old polaroid that has been handled so much the ink has faded. I remember having yelling matches about it. But I never touched her. I never hurt her. We couldn’t agree about the baby, so she went to the club where we met and found some deranged asshole to beat her bloody. She had pictures taken to document the abuse and then claimed it was me., Then she ran off and got an abortion at some shady fucking place over the border where they don’t keep records. She took my son, and uses her bullshit evidence to squeeze money out of me whenever she wants more. According to her, she has enough evidence to bring me down and send me to prison overnight.