Or turn me in?
“I admired Hank Prescott. I enjoyed his company, friendship, and sometimes, advice.” Gideon leaned forward and wiped a smudge off the gravestone.
I noticed that it appeared in far better condition than the rest of the ones in the cemetery. How often did he come here?
Gideon continued, “I regretted the way Virginia treated your family, but she needed to control the household. It gave her something to do outside of pestering Emery and scheming. I also know you stole the ledger the night of the cotillion.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I saw you burn it. If not for your dad, I still wouldn’t have turned you in because of what you did for my daughter. We all knew you hospitalized Able. He only pointed at Reed, since he knew hurting your brother would cut you deepest.”
To this day, my relationship with Reed had never recovered. Small Dick was smarter than I gave him credit for.
“How do you know I burned the ledger?” I thought of the charred remnants I’d locked in my safe before driving down here. Still viable evidence. Against the thief. Against me. “You were holed in the office with Eric Cartwright and Virginia. You couldn't have seen.”
“I saw the replay. I had hidden cameras installed in the mansion when I became suspicious of Virginia.”
The second profiting party Brandon Vu had mentioned.
“She was the one who embezzled,” I said, a statement. Not a question.
I pieced it together, mostly because I knew Dad would never befriend someone who'd hurt so many people.
“I figured it out too late.” Gideon's lament seemed genuine. “I stole the ledger from her and would’ve turned it over to the S.E.C., but you took it after I confirmed Balthazar and Cartwright’s involvements. Why’d you burn it?”
“Emery. She stood up for Reed and got you to negotiate his release.” I shook my head and raked a hand through my hair. Regret felt like a bullet to the skull. All this could have been prevented if I’d left the ledger where I’d found it. “She’s loyal as hell.”
Gideon hummed in agreement. “Why’d you take the ledger back from the fire?”
“I overheard you arguing in the office.”
“If Emery finds out, I will cut you off, Virginia, and I will sue you for everything you own, Cartwright,” Gideon had warned, his voice steady and threat real.
“Please,” Virginia scoffed, “she already knows. Why do you think I sent her to that shrink to set her straight?”
“I thought Emery knew about the embezzlement and kept it from my family,” I continued, “despite knowing we’d invested everything into your company.”
“That wasn’t what Virginia meant when she said Emery already knew.”
“What’d she mean?”
“Virginia needed money to leave me. I would’ve given her a divorce settlement to keep her out of our lives, but she’d signed a prenup. It made her uncertain. So, she embezzled from the company. First a little, but she got greedy.”
He toyed with his words, selecting them like you would a pet. With careful consideration. “I had plans to turn her in, but she had something over me. If I kept my mouth shut on her involvement in the scandal, said nothing about Eric or Balthazar, and left Eastridge, she’d keep her mouth shut.”
“They deserve to pay.”
“I can’t go after them. Not without Emery suffering.”
And then he explained the argument I'd overheard in the office.
He spilled his secret, telling me the one thing that could convince me to keep this from Emery.
I didn’t agree with lying to her, but I agreed she needed to find out from him.
She was a plot twist. A surprise. The curveball thrown at me near the end of the book. If I wanted to reach the happy fucking ending, I needed to embrace the twist and fight my way to the finish line.
I couldn’t keep secrets from her.
If I didn’t tell her, I would lose her.
But if I told her, I would hurt her.
So, when the man I’d spent four years seeking revenge from asked me to keep his secret, I agreed.
Even if it meant losing Emery.
“What if the only word people knew was thank you?” I asked from the floor of Nash’s penthouse.
I laid on the living room carpet, rolling around in four king-size comforters. Excessive, yes, but so plush. I imagined riding a unicorn through a wave of rainbows and cotton candy clouds compared to this.
Being sick is amazing.
My excuse for missing work the past four days ended yesterday, but I’d convinced my hot boss to call in sick for me. (Nash. Not Chantilly.)
The philophobia shirt rose up my stomach. I didn’t bother to lower it. Nash sat on the couch, wearing nothing but dark gray Nike joggers, scars on display for me to feast on.
Tipping my chin at the extra comforter, I summoned it with my eyes. In reality, Nash tossed it on me, adding to the pile of bliss.
He watched me turn myself into a human burrito, lips finally—fucking finally—turned up since his visit with Dad. “That’s two words.”
“Humor me.”
“Thank you would become meaningless.”
“Or everything would improve. Think of it this way—would you rather say you’re sorry for being late or you’re thankful someone waited for you? I’d rather be thankful than sorry.” I mimicked an explosion with my mouth. “Boom! Game changer. Perspective forever altered.”
He muttered something under his breath and gazed at me with hooded eyes. The joint cradled between two fingers came from Reed’s stash. He never lit it, but I often caught him toying with them.
“What’s with the weed, Seth Rogen?”
He discarded it in the plastic baggie and set another blanket on me. “Fucking hell. Twenty Questions again?”
I rested my chin on my knuckles. “Do you consider yourself sentimental, Nash?”
“Why?”
A hum vibrated the back of my throat. “It’s just that you're walking around with weed from the night I baltered for you, and you sent my Easy, Tiger shirt to the dry cleaner’s instead of donating it like I asked you to.”
Even though I wanted to keep the shirt, I always donated them. I needed all the good karma I could get. That included spreading magic words and helping people who need it. If I caved and kept the tee, I’d do it again and again.
Nash made the choice for me.
“Emery?” He ran his fingers through his hair. Once, which I noticed he only did for me.
“Yes?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“Fine.” I lowered my head into the cloud of blankets. “Another comforter, my servant.”
His deliberately blank face drew a smile from me. He dropped another comforter on me.
I groaned into the clean laundry scent. “Remind me to never give up amazing blankets again.” Bye, bye, shitty quilt and your sleepless nights and endless holes. “Where did you get these?”
“Delilah had our supplier ship them over early.”
“Remind me to kiss her.”
He lowered himself beside me. “Or you can learn the way capitalism fucking works and reward the person who paid for them.”