“Did you give it to him?” I ask, my voice taut.
Julian chortles. “You stupid little fuck. You had no idea you were her second choice, did you?”
Nate doesn’t have it. Relief floods through me, but only for a moment. Julian’s insult about me being her second choice hits close to the mark, and my old wound aches.
Julian continues, “Tell my daughter if she wants the painting, she should either do as she’s told or come crawling to me on hands and knees herself and beg like a good little bitch. If she begs prettily enough, who knows? I might find it my heart to be…lenient. Certainly, it’ll work better than sending me young men who want to debauch her.”
I flinch. What he’s saying…what he’s demanding of her…
I suddenly want to shower and clean out my ears. He’s her father. Shouldn’t he be more protective of her? Or at least tell me to get the fuck out because there’s no way he’s selling the painting he promised his daughter?
She probably did something to deserve this kind of treatment from her father. She most likely asked for it.
But Julian is still her father.
My dad walloped my ass whenever I gave Mom any lip, but he never, ever talked this way about me or my sister. He was the first to leap to our defense if anybody talked trash about us.
“You always like this to your daughter?”
“What? Give her what she deserves? ” Julian looks at me over steepled fingers. “You think she walks on water because she feeds a few hungry kids and has a pretty face. You’re thinking, Hey, if I get the painting for her, she might like me…maybe even let me fuck her. Forget it. She won’t like you; she certainly won’t let you fuck her. She likes nothing except the damned foundation and the legacy her grandmother left her.” He leans forward. “You know what I despise the most in people? A lack of gumption. And she has none. Always blabbered about wanting to be an artist or interpreter. What is she now? She’s the face of the precious Pryce Family Foundation. Not because she needs to earn money to make ends meet, but because she’s spineless. It makes me want to puke how people fawn over her, call her brave and wonderful and generous for giving money to the poor.”
He’s saying exactly what I’ve been thinking about her. Except it sounds so petty and mean when spoken out loud.
It’s because it’s coming from a man who should be defending her, no matter how misguided the effort might be.
He continues, “They don’t seem to realize it’s easy to be brave and generous when you’re playing with other people’s money. I hope one day the world sees her for the gutless coward she is so she’ll never be able to look down on me…as though I’m somehow beneath her and her precious Pryce family.” Anger and hatred burn in the depths of his gaze. “After all, no matter how much she wants to deny it, she’s half me. And I’ll make sure she never forgets it.”
His mind is made up. There’s nothing I can do to convince him I have no carnal interest in Elizabeth.
“You should’ve told me this over the phone instead of wasting my time.” My voice is cold and hard with annoyance, disgust and something that feels like…sympathy for Elizabeth?
Whoa. No.
Sympathy… Seriously? After all the lies and betrayals between us—and all the things she’s done to ruin me since that night I learned the truth—sympathy?
“And deprive myself of the best entertainment money can’t buy?” Julian claps once. “I like watching men jump through hoops for Elizabeth…and get nothing for it. Their disappointment—and her frustration—are oh so gratifying, providing an old man like me a reason to get up in the morning. And with you, it’s especially sweet because I know you’re doing it partially to pay her back for what she did ten years ago. Except you’ll never be able to repay her. I’ll make sure of it.” He smiles beatifically—a saint blessing the ignorant with the truth.
He knows about the history between me and Elizabeth? And he’s still acting like this? What the hell…
On the other hand, something about what he’s saying feels off. But I’m too angry to process it. I stand up. “You picked the wrong man to piss off.”
Julian chuckles. “I doubt you’ll be any worse than Nate. Really, young people these days…take everything so personally.” He taps his chin, looking up in an exaggerated thinking pose. “On the other hand, it is personal, so I guess it’s okay for you to take it that way.”
Fury bubbles inside me, but I tamp it down. Venting at Julian is a pathetic waste of time. “Then I’ll respond in the spirit in which you fucked with me. Have a good day, Julian.”
I get up and leave without further ado. As soon as I’m in my car, I call Antoine Boucher—my head of security, confidant, best friend and jack of all trades.
“Wow, great minds think alike!” he says in lieu of “hello.” Although he was born and spent the first ten years of his life in Paris, he also studied in London and Boston and speaks excellent English with a trace of a British accent. He claims it nets him more women. “I was just about to call you!”
“About what?”
“This letter you got, but let’s hear why you called first.”
“I want you to dig into Julian Reed.”
“How deep?” Antoine’s voice’s bright with excitement.
“All the way until you hit rock bottom. A man that nasty has to have something in his past.”