“I can’t do that, I’m afraid.” Her tone was not in sync with my mental and physical state. She looked so jaded and sleepy, and I felt like a kernel of popcorn about to pop at any moment. “He doesn’t want any interruptions when he’s working.”
“Look…” I leaned over the counter, seriously tempted to grab her by the collar of her white shirt. “I know he’s a jerk, and you’re afraid that he’ll be even more of a jerk to you if you disobey his rules. But I’m telling you. If he finds out I was here and you didn’t let me in, he’ll fire you. Just like that.” I snapped my fingers. “So please, just tell him I’m here, waiting for him.”
She stared at me with a peculiar expression before punching in his extension and bringing the phone to her ear.
“Sir? I have a woman named Emilia here for you. She says it’s important.” She waited a few seconds, muttering a “mmm-hmm” punctuated with a nod, before her head snapped up, her gaze meeting mine.
“He said he doesn’t know any Emilia, but he does know a girl named Help.”
Darn you, Vicious. I rolled my eyes and leaned my elbows against the counter. “Tell him it’s important and that he’s a bastard.”
Her mouth hung open and her light brown eyes stared at me like I’d just tried to recruit her to the SS.
I repeated myself calmly. “Tell him that.”
She did.
And it almost made me forget how angry I was for one second. A faint smile tickled my lips.
A minute later, Vicious pushed his door open and appeared in the hallway in front of his glass wall. It took me less than a second to realize his new receptionist had a serious crush on him. She swallowed hard when her eyes swiped over his body, and then she shot me a hate glare when she saw the look on his face when we locked eyes.
“Missed me?” He offered one of his cocky smirks as I strode toward him.
“Not quite.” I gave him a shove back into his office.
He didn’t put up a fight. If anything, he grinned like an idiot and winked at the receptionist meaningfully while my back was to her as he walked backward. I slammed the door in her face, then pushed him to sit on his office couch and crouched down so that we looked at each other. He was still grinning like I came there for another make-out session.
“Your stepmom fired my parents because I worked for you,” I said evenly.
A frown replaced his smile. “What a bitch.”
I nodded, feeling hot tears welling in my eyes.
“How did she even know?” he asked
That one was easy. I thought about it on the train on my way here.
“My mom mentioned it to her. Look, Vicious, they have nowhere to go. Your stepmom’s their only reference. They’ve lived and worked on your estate for ten years. What do I do? I’d fly to them, but the exhibition…I mean, I could. I would. It’s just…” I shook my head.
Vicious considered my words for a few seconds, looking down at his hands, before shooting me a resolute glare. “I’ll take the next flight to San Diego and sort it out.”
My eyes widened. “Didn’t you say you have something on Thursday?” It was already Tuesday afternoon, and no matter what his plans were, it was a long shot to make it in time for whatever it was he’d wanted to do by then.
He shrugged. “I’ll postpone my plans.”
“What were they?”
“Does it matter?”
I considered his question for a second. Did I have any right to ask him what he was doing? No, seeing as I kept pushing him away, not even giving him the chance to explain himself to me for five minutes.
I shook my head. “Thank you. Can you keep me posted?”
He arched an eyebrow, which I imagined meant “what the fuck do you think?” and strode to his glass desk.
Being back in office reminded me that not long ago, we were different. For a fraction of a second, we were together, and it had felt divine. Not nice. Not safe. Not taken for granted. It was short and beautiful and painfully memorable. Like the tree I was obsessed with.
“Anything else?” He fell into his executive chair and didn’t try begging for more of my time. He pressed a finger to his intercom. “Sue, book me the earliest flight to San Diego and get me my turkey and cranberry sandwich. Also, for fuck’s sake, tell the girl at the reception to stop sending me “Have a Good Day” cards. We all know my days are shitty because this city is a motherfucking downer.”
He hung up the phone and tilted his head back to me. “You’re still here. Do you want your PA job back?”
I shook my head quickly. “I’m just not sure how you can be both nice and compassionate and a terrible asshole all at the same time,” I muttered.
He smiled. “It’s a hard job, but someone’s gotta do it.”
IT WAS TIME I CAME face to face with Jo.
I needed to. Not because of closure or to talk about it or some psychological bullshit, but because I needed to deal with what she’d done. She’d tricked my father. She’d sent her brother to kill my mother. And now she’d revealed her true, shitty personality again by firing Emilia’s folks.
This had to stop.
It had to stop a long time ago, but now I didn’t have time to stew in my anger for her anymore. I had to act.
My plan wasn’t sophisticated. It wasn’t brilliant. It was actually borderline stupid. But it was the only one I had at this point.
I hoped Jo wasn’t there when I got to town, because it would’ve made things a lot easier, but I knew that more than likely, she was there and waiting for me.
The flight to San Diego passed quickly. I had so much shit to catch up on, seeing as I’d slept through the majority of the day two days ago—hence my lateness to Emilia’s commute home. At least I saw the complete and utter relief on her face when I finally made it, albeit ten minutes late when she was already at the door.
Our private driver, Cliff, was no longer at my disposal, seeing as my father no longer owned the car, so I took a cab to Todos Santos and called Dean on my way there. We were still cold to each other, but being the new majority shareholder of FHH—something neither Jaime nor Trent liked one bit—had made Dean fucking agreeable for a change. He was no longer falsely heartbroken over his ex-girlfriend, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he actually loved the LA life.
“Where’s a good Mexican place to eat in this city?” he muttered when he picked up the phone, then yawned. It was seven in the morning. Jesus fuck.
“Pink Taco. Listen, I need a favor.”
“Another one?” Dean groaned.
I could practically hear him rolling his eyes on the other end of the line, and it grated on my nerves. I could also practically hear another woman in my bed moaning for him to lower his voice.
And then another one.
Two. Goddammit, Dean.
“Spit it out.” He sighed.
“I’ll be at your place tonight, ten or later. We’ll party all night. You’re throwing a big-ass party at my condo, and you must invite a ton of people. I’m talking at least fifty.”
“And why the fuck?”
“Dean,” I warned. I hated it when he asked questions. He never asked the right ones. “Just do it.”