He eases back in his seat, a wry smile playing across his lips. “So arrogant and self-righteous. You’ve always been a bit of a prick, but I think it’s actually getting worse as you get older. Maybe it’s the bitterness that’s starting to come through.”
If he’s trying to push me over the edge into a homicidal rage, he’s succeeding. His stupid jabs and childish insults are nothing new, but there’s a limit to how much I can put up with. A hard limit that he’s quickly approaching.
“I’ve changed my mind,” I sigh, reaching for the intercom button. “I don’t mind causing a scene after all. If it wasn’t for this meeting that’s about to start, I’d throw you out of here myself. So do you want to leave on your own? Or will you give me the satisfaction of calling security?”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter. Call whoever you want. But it’ll be a shame if you throw me out before I have a chance to tell you why I’m here.”
Oh, Jesus.
I seriously want to strangle him. It might even be justifiable in court at this point. “Do you plan on telling me before we both die of old age? I’ve already asked why you’re here. Pretty sure those were the first words out of my mouth.”
“I want NewsCorp to do a better job of backing my campaign.” He tosses out the request so nonchalantly that it takes a moment for my brain to catch up.
“People already assume we’re biased in favor of your campaign. There’s not a lot more we can do without coming right out and saying it, and you know very well all the reasons why we can’t do that.”
James might be a lot of things—sneaky, manipulative, exploitative, and mean are just some of his better qualities—but he isn’t an idiot. He has a shrewd mind for business and for politics, so there has to be something more to his request, something he isn’t telling me.
I don’t have to wait too long for the other shoe to drop.
“There’s more you can do,” he insists. “Don’t pretend to have morals and virtues and journalistic integrity now. It just doesn’t suit you. Not after everything else you’ve done over the years.”
I could keep arguing, but what’s the point? Instead, I fold my hands in front of me and wait. He knows the rest of the board members will start filtering in here any minute, so time is on my side. I’m still not totally convinced he has something important to say, but he’ll have to make it fast if he does.
He leans in a little closer and whispers, “I’ve seen the tape.”
My heart stops beating for a second. Literally stops in my chest. “What tape?” I can feel the blood draining from my face. “You’d better choose your next words very carefully, James. What tape are you talking about?”
I already know the answer, of course, but I want to hear him say the words. Does he really have the balls to sit here and blackmail me on my own turf? In my own boardroom?
“The sex tape you made with your little whore.”
Yeah, turns out he really does have the balls to say those words out loud. Fucking bastard.
I feel sick to my stomach. I can’t believe I’m being blackmailed by my own brother—actually no. I can believe it. It’s a skill he must have picked up from my parents somewhere along the way.
“You’re disgusting,” I grind out through clenched teeth. “You’re going to regret fucking with me.”
“Maybe.” He’s back to his characteristically flippant tone of voice. “But you’ll regret it more. And I’ll make sure you regret it first.”
“Why?” I ask, not that it makes a difference. “Why are you doing this?”
The door opens and half a dozen board members start to file in quietly as James looks at me with a smug, triumphant smirk that makes me want to punch him in the mouth.
“Because I can.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ELLA
Isla and I are just finishing the short, kid-friendly ballet routine I’ve been teaching her when she fixes me with a look that’s way too serious and intense for someone her age.
“Can I ask you a question, Ella?”
“Of course.” I squat down so that I’m at eye level with her. “What’s up, kiddo?”
She glances over toward the door as if she’s making sure we’re alone. “I, um… do you remember when we talked before about things I can’t control?”
I remember it very well. I still think about that conversation a lot, probably more than I should. It was a good reminder to myself that I should take every day as it comes and not get too invested in a future that might not ever happen. But it was also the moment I learned about the weight of all these adult problems that Isla has been carrying around on her shoulders.
That weight has been put there by every grownup in her life—from her dad to her grandparents, her uncle, her mother, and even me. And while I think we all try to convince ourselves we’re shielding her from the worst, complicated parts of our lives—well, most of us are trying to shield her, anyway—the truth is that she’s a heck of a lot more perceptive than any of us are willing to admit.
“Have those things been bothering you again?” I ask. “Things that you can’t control?”
“Sometimes.” She looks down at the floor for a moment. When she meets my gaze again, there are bright tears welling up in her eyes. “How do you stop thinking about things when they’re always on your mind?”
There’s no good answer, but she’s counting on me to come up with something that might help. I’m just going to be as honest as I can while I try to teach her some ways to cope.
“Let’s go sit down for a minute,” I nod to the chairs in the corner of the room. “We can have some girl-talk and rehydrate.”
She seems to perk up a little at the idea of having girl-talk with me. After we sit down, she’s still watching and waiting with that wide-eyed wonder that only a child possesses, hanging on every move I make and every word I say while she waits for me to pass along some wisdom that I’m honestly not sure I have.
Fake it until you make it, though, right?
“So back when I was your age or maybe a little older,” I begin. “Things were kind of rough at home. We didn’t have a lot of money and it was just… not a fun time.” I’m obviously not going to give her all the details. Even if I did, they wouldn’t be exactly the same struggles she’s facing. Still, I hope she’ll be able to see some parallels.
“Did you worry about things? Grown-up things like money and stuff?”
She doesn’t know it yet, but her big, perceptive brain is going to be the best asset she has in life. It’s also probably going to be the source of a lifetime of anxiety.
God, I wish I could just scoop her up and protect her from all the rotten things in the world—not to mention some of the rotten people in her extended family.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I did worry about that stuff, even though I also knew there wasn’t anything I could really do to fix it. Sometimes it’s hard to turn our brains off when we start thinking about those things, isn’t it?”