“They do. My friends don’t keep secrets from their wives. But back to the art dream,” he says, bluntly switching the subject. “Tell me what you want.”
He picks up our glasses, handing mine to me. I curl one knee up underneath me as I twist around so I’m facing him. “I would love to do something connected with art, but my options are limited without an art degree. I saw an opening for a receptionist at a small art gallery a few blocks from here, and I was considering applying.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“Fear and money, mainly.”
“Money?”
I nod. “The pay is really low.”
He curses under his breath. “Sydney, if you need money, I’ll give you money. I didn’t stop to think. Just message me your bank details, and I’ll wire you some funds.”
“I don’t have a bank account.”
He frowns. “What do you mean you don’t have a bank account?”
I explain how my father keeps me on a tight leash, watching the skin on his face turn redder and redder the more I speak.
“He’s a motherfucking asshole. I don’t care what you did or didn’t do. He has no right to treat you like that.”
“I was pretty messed up on drugs for a while though I’m sure you already know that if you looked at my background.” He nods. “I’m clean now. Have been for four years, but he doesn’t trust me.”
“That’s some straight up controlling bullshit, and I’ll fix that tomorrow. I’ll call my friend Charlie Barron. He’ll have an account and a bank card to you by the end of the day. And I’ll transfer money to you. How much do you need?”
I’m assuming Charlie is the Barron in Barron Banking and Financial Investment Services. “I don’t need any money. My father is still lodging my monthly allowance. I’m fine.”
“How much, Sydney?” he growls, looking angry now for a different reason.
“I don’t expect you to give me money, Sawyer.”
“You’re my wife, and I won’t have you going without.”
“In name only, and I don’t want to be a burden. I know your family’s financial situation isn’t the greatest right now.”
He chuckles before taking a healthy gulp of his wine. “Things aren’t that dire. If you don’t think my father has money stashed in secret personal offshore accounts, you’re more naïve than I thought. As for me, my parents threw money at me instead of giving me their time. I’ve been investing in the stock market and trading on the foreign currency market since I was fifteen. I’m independently wealthy. I own this place outright, and I have plenty of money in the bank. If Techxet goes under, I’ll be fine.”
“Why do this then? If your parents and you will be okay personally, why did you marry me?”
He sits up straighter. “My parents won’t go broke, but they would lose a lot of the lifestyle they’ve grown accustomed to. They are more concerned with perception and appearance. The main reason they want to save the business is both of them are married to it. My dad built that company from the ground up, and he sacrificed a lot to do it. A normal marriage. A proper relationship with his son. Techxet is how my parents met.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Mom was Dad’s secretary, and she was studying marketing at night. I’m not sure how they got together, but when they did, Dad promoted her to the marketing team and he covered her college fees and student loans. A year later, they were married and Mom was the VP of marketing. Now she runs the whole department.”
“She must be good at her job.”
“She is. They both are great at their jobs. Parenthood, not so much.” He shrugs, and I want to ask him more, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity. “Anyway, they love that company. Seeing it go under would kill them. As for me, I’m doing this because I’m an idiot who can’t say no to his father and I feel a sense of responsibility for the employees. If Techxet goes under, thousands of people in hundreds of countries around the world will lose their jobs and suffer. If I can stop that from happening, then I owe it to those people to try.”
“You’re a good person, Sawyer.”
His brow puckers. “I’m not so sure you’d say that if you knew some of the things I’ve done. Trust me when I say the jury is definitely out on that one.”
15
Xavier
I stare at the pictures with my heart wedged at the back of my throat and acid churning in my gut. It doesn’t matter that I know Sawyer is miserable behind the wide smile he’s wearing. It still hurts seeing him posing with his bride on their wedding day. It’s the main feature on the celebrity site today, and I swore I wasn’t going to look, but I must be a glutton for punishment.
Tossing my tablet aside, I lean back on my couch, twisting my head so my face is pressed against the cushion. The scent is faint now, but I can still smell it. Still smell him as his spicy cologne lingers where he sat.
It hurt me to see him in that state. Sawyer is usually so in control. Getting drunk is not his thing. In our relationship, he was normally the one taking care of my drunk ass, not the other way around.
Forcing my feet to move, I head to my bedroom and pack an overnight bag. I’m glad I chose to head to Rydeville tonight, ahead of the meeting with my boss in the Boston office tomorrow.
I need me some Abby time.
I blast the music in my car as I set out on the three-and-a-half-hour journey, emptying my mind of all thoughts of Sawyer Hunt and his new wife, focusing instead on our lack of progress with the Techxet breach. Something is very wrong, and I have a feeling it’s right under my nose and I’m missing it. I pride myself on being one of the best hackers of my generation, and the fact I haven’t been able to find even the tiniest trace of this person makes me feel like a complete failure at a time when I’m already feeling low.
I need to find this person. Not just to sate my ego. I want to put an end to this person so I can quit my job and start properly putting Hunt behind me. As long as I’m working for his father’s company, I will never be able to fully move on. As long as I’m forced to work closely by Sawyer’s side, I will never be able to forget the devastating hole in my heart, and my life, caused by his absence. I know he goes back to school in five weeks, but it’s five weeks too long for me. Every day shaves another layer off my fragile sanity. Jamison helps to distract me. But that’s all he is right now, and I doubt he’ll ever be anything more.
I pull up in front of the ballet studio a little early. Locking my car, I head into the building, hoping to catch the end of Abby’s rehearsal. I know she’s been busy practicing like crazy ahead of the two-week performance run, which commences next week. Finding Anderson in the back row, I slip in beside him, plonking my sorry ass down on the chair next to him.
“You’re early,” he says, talking in a low voice, his eyes glued to his wife on the stage.
“I know. Shocker.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Who’s the guy?” I ask, watching some tall lanky dude in spandex lifting Abby into the air.